#recovering your essence | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

x1asirene · 4 months ago

Text

push n' fracture ! — caleb 夏 (f1 rider! au)

— ! lexical count : 5.7k words

— ! affinity : caleb (xia yizhou) x fem!reader

— ! essence : caleb doesn’t do rivals. especially not when they’re plastered across your skin. jealousy twists into something sharp and dangerous as possession takes over, and the line between love and obsession blurs. this is about claiming what’s his, no matter the cost.

— ! precautionary : fem!reader, use of ‘y/n’ and feminine pronouns, f1 rider!caleb, sexual content, jealousy, possessiveness, intense physicality, car crash (non-fatal), semi-public setting, slight degradation, overstimulation, roughness, dom!caleb, rivalry-based tension, angry sex

— ! writer’s foreword : just crash-landed home from, brain leaking out my ears, and what did i do? rest? recover? touch grass? no. i opened my laptop and immediately started writing this unholy, feral filthfest. if this fic makes no sense or feels like a fever dream, blame the caffeine overdose and my sleep deprivation. also, send help (and snacks). preferably both.

— ! soundtrack in play : ohmami by chase atlantic

this is my only account. any similarities between this work and others—published or unpublished—are entirely coincidental. i pour a great deal of time, care, and emotion into what i create. it is against both my principles and my moral compass to plagiarize or steal from the work of others. i hold deep respect for the creators who came before me, and i would never knowingly compromise the integrity of their work or mine. furthermore, i do not condone the use of AI in the creation or replication of fanworks. everything here is original and made with clean intentions.

minors dni. this work contains dark, mature themes and is intended for adult audiences only. accounts that do not clearly indicate age in their bio or blog will be blocked without warning. this is for my safety and yours—respect boundaries, respect creators.

you weren’t even wearing his team hoodie.

no red bull colors. no little sticker of his number on your cheek like you wore in monaco. no subtle sign that you were his—not even a glance in his direction. instead, your shirt clung to your skin in the dry desert heat, speckled with sun and cropped enough to bare your ribs when the desert wind blew. that tight mclaren crop tee clung to your skin, the bright tarocco tone screaming his rival’s colors as you stood too close—way too close—to rafayel.

it all started with a laugh. just a laugh. nothing more.

you’d meant nothing by it—just a shared joke with rafayel in the hospitality lounge before qualifying. rafayel leaned toward you with that signature half-grin, elbow on the counter of the lounge, head tilted just enough to make it intimate. charming. relaxed. fucking smug. his hand had brushed your arm when you’d thrown your head back, the soft trill of your giggle carried into the desert air. head tipped back, fingers brushing his arm as you caught his eye and giggled at something he said. a soft, unconscious motion. a friendly exchange. nothing malicious, nothing overt.

you should’ve known. you should’ve seen it in the way caleb’s jaw locked during the driver briefing—helmet held by its chin bar, fzipped up to his collarbone, gloves hooked around two fingers—and for the first time in his career, he wasn’t thinking about tire temps or DRS zones. his jaw flexed tight enough to cramp as he watched rafayel lean in closer, and watched you—his girl, the girl who should never let anyone that close—giggle and tuck your hair behind your ear like it wasn’t a fucking dagger straight through his sternum.

“caleb,” his engineer’s voice crackled through the headset. “you alright, mate? you seem out of it—everythin’ okay?”

he didn’t answer right away. swallowed hard, blinked once. his grip clenched tighter around his helmet, the carbon fiber started to dent. “…peachy.”

he didn’t look at rafayel again. didn’t need to.

he’d already decided.

i’ll deal with you later.

P2 on the grid.

of course it was P2.

rafayel sat in his mclaren like he already had the win wrapped around his fingers, one gloved hand drumming rhythmically on the top of his wheel, the other giving a little mock salute to the crowd through the visor cam. caleb didn’t look at him. his gloves were already tugged tight, helmet sealed, eyes locked forward—but all he saw behind the visor was the orange shirt stuck to your back in the heat with the stupid bold mclaren settled on the fabric right over your heart. his number and name nowhere in sight.

“radio check,” his engineer called.

he didn’t respond.

“caleb? radio check, mate?”

his voice finally came through, taut and venomous. “loud and fucking clear.”

there was a beat of silence. a pause on the line, “you good, man?”

he forced a breath through his nose. “let’s just get this over with,” over the loud hum of the engine, all he could hear was the echoes of your laugh with that shithead rafayel.

“five lights on,” the race director counted. “and it’s lights out and away we go—!” rafayel’s launch was clean—but caleb was rabid. the red bull fired forward like a predator loosed from the leash, barely missing P3 as he launched straight into turn 1 side-by-side with the mclaren. rafayel closed him off with a hard brake, forcing caleb out wide on the dirty part of the track, but caleb didn’t lift — not even when his front wing came within centimeters of rafayel’s rear.

“he’s driving like he wants to fuckin’ kill me,” rafayel spat over comms, his voice crackling. caleb didn’t respond on his own. he was too busy chasing. he spent the first dozen laps locked inside DRS range, not even trying to overtake clean—no, every move was calculated pressure. he drove like he wanted rafayel to feel him breathing down his neck. every brake was late. every corner exit was close enough to make the mclaren engineer panic.

“back off, caleb!” his own team barked at one point. “you’re risking a collision!” but caleb didn’t care. he wanted him to feel cornered. to know that he was prey. because he was. you don’t put your hands on her, he thought darkly as he tailgated out of turn 10, and walk away unscathed.

you were on the pit wall by then—wearing orange, still—and caleb saw you glance up at the timing tower. every time his number lit up right behind rafayel’s, you tensed. he saw it.

good, he thought. watch me. watch what i do to the man who touches what’s mine.

it built slowly—tire wear creeping in, temps rising, his rear losing grip in sector 3. still he stayed out, defying every team call to box. lap 26, rafayel’s tires began to fail. the tires wore down. rear traction faded. lap times dropped. still, he didn’t box. ignored every pit call.

“caleb, come in, we’re losing compound.”

“negative.” his voice came back hoarse. “i’ve got him.”

lap 28, rafayel’s grip was breaking—caleb could see it in the rear twitch. turn fourteen, he closed in so tight the slipstream pulled bits of rubber into his halo. he could’ve tapped the diffuser with his nose cone if he wanted. could’ve unstitched the seams of that mclaren.

“final lap,” came the call. “no funny shit, caleb.” but it was too late for that. he already knew where he’d do it. turn 13. fast. blind. unforgiving. he waited for the right moment, nudged inside, and turned in early.

the contact was immediate.

carbon fiber shredded. both cars locked up in a scream of tire smoke and screeching brakes. rafayel’s mclaren spun violently off the racing line, back end slammed against the barriers, dust pluming into the air. caleb’s red bull skidded into the gravel with a thunderous jolt.

yellow flags. double waved.

red flag. the race was over.

rafayel was out. caleb’s engine stalled in the gravel. static choked the radio. “what the fuck was that?!” screamed race control. he didn’t answer. not until he saw the red flag and the dust settle. not until he saw your face on the edge of the pit wall go white.

he didn’t attend the press conference. didn’t even unbuckle until a marshal banged on his cockpit. his PR rep trailed after him with panicked eyes and a clipboard full of damage control bullet points, but caleb walked right past him, suit still half-zipped, jaw clenched hard enough he could swear his teeth would crush with the pressure. they tried to stop him. camera caught his shoulder. reporters called his name—he didn’t even turn his head.

no interviews. no apologies. no explanations.

let them speculate. let them talk.

he didn’t give a single damn.

because rafayel wouldn’t touch you again.

not after this.

you didn’t speak the entire drive back.

he’d refused the medical tent. ignored the swarm of reporters like they weren’t even there, brushed past the PR team screaming his name with a pace so brutal you’d had to jog to keep up. he didn’t speak. didn’t even look at you. just reached back once—wrist tight, fingers wrapping around yours—and yanked you with him through the mess of the paddock and straight into the red bull private lot.

the silence was suffocating. not tense in the way people usually meant it—not awkward, not uncomfortable. it was a pressure chamber. the kind that made your ears ring and your chest hurt. you could hear every turn signal click, every swipe of the wiper across the windshield, even the way caleb’s grip on the wheel creaked under his gloves. he hadn’t taken them off. still in his fireproofs, zipper low on his chest, collarbone glistening with sweat and dust, jaw locked so tight it looked like it might snap.

the door slammed shut behind you with a vicious bang!—a sound that echoed like a gunshot off the walls—and it made your shoulders jerk involuntarily. he didn’t say a word. didn’t glance back. just stalked across the living room like the adrenaline was still burning through his blood, ripping open the fridge like something in it might anchor him, steady the fury in his bones. but even from where you stood, you could see the tremor in his hand. the way his fingers gripped the handle too hard. the tension still coiled in his shoulders like a spring wound to the point of rupture.

he wasn’t calming down. not even close.

the silence throbbed around you, thick and charged. you shifted on your feet, breath shallow, heart hammering like it wanted to crawl out of your throat.

“caleb—” you started, voice small.

“take it off.” his voice was low, sliced through the air like a whip.

you froze. your mouth parted, a breath catching in your throat. “w-what?”

he closed the fridge slowly. deliberately. then turned.

his eyes were black beneath the heavy shadow of his brow, dark and molten like they hadn’t cooled since the second his front wing clipped rafayel’s tire in that brutal turn. he took a step toward you, slow and controlled, like a predator choosing exactly how to pounce. “the fucking shirt,” he said, voice low and thick with venom. another step. “take it off before i rip it off ‘ya.”

your stomach dropped. you looked down instinctively. that stupid, traitorous mclaren tee still clung to your sweat-damp skin, streaked with grime and faint splashes of champagne from a podium that wasn’t his. that bright orange logo burned against your chest like a brand, and suddenly it felt radioactive.

you didn’t move. you hesitated.

and that was all it took.

two strides, and he was on you.

your back hit the wall so fast the impact knocked the breath from your lungs. the world narrowed—your heartbeat screamed in your ears, adrenaline flared under your skin, and caleb was there, crowding you in, body a furnace, heat rolling off him in waves. his fingers hooked the hem and yanked—not teasing, not even urgent. violent. the fabric caught against your arms, dragged over your skin so fast it left a burn, your hair tangled and pulled, nipples tightening into stiff peaks in the sudden rush of cold air.

caleb tossed the shirt onto the floor like it disgusted him.

“you wanna wear his colors?” he muttered, voice low and curling with fury. his breath hit your collarbone, his words too close, too hot. “wanna sit there in his fucking garage and giggle at his jokes while he stares at your tits through my windshield?”

tone wasn’t raised. he didn’t have to shout. it was the quietness that made it worse—quiet like a threat wrapped in velvet. quiet like a knife at your ribs.

you breath stuttered, your voice coming out weaker than you wanted it to. “c-caleb, i wasn’t—he didn’t—”

“shut it,” he snarled it, close enough for your lips to brush, and the force of it made your breath stutter. his hands came up—hard—gripping your waist, rough fingers digging into your hips like he meant to leave marks, like he wanted to brand you into him, carve out any memory of someone else’s eyes on your skin. caleb dragged you forward, chest to chest, his heart thudding against yours like war drums.

“i don’t want your pathetic excuses,” he ground out. “you don’t wear his name. you don’t smile at him.”

the silence after was suffocating.

his fingers curled tighter around your sides. his mouth hovered near your jaw, breath ragged and warm, chest heaving with every inhale like he couldn’t catch it. rage coiled off him in waves, not loud anymore—just molten, buried deep, a kind of fury that didn’t explode. it consumed. slow. controlled. and it was deadly.

and it was all aimed at the thought of him touching you.

of you letting him.

caleb’s thumb ghosted over your ribs, rough and possessive, tracing the bare skin now exposed in the absence of that damned shirt.

his mouth crushed against yours before you could speak—hot, brutal, punishing. all teeth and fury, like he wanted to bite the silence from your tongue, like tasting you was the only thing anchoring him to the present. he didn’t kiss you so much as devour you, lips bruising, jaw tense with barely-contained rage, breathing you in like you were air after drowning.

his hands were everywhere—frantic, careless. they slid down the arch of your spine, fingers pressing into every vertebra like he meant to memorize the shape of you, then sank lower, palms gripping your ass with bruising force. he hauled you against him so hard your breath fled, pelvis grinding to his through the fireproofs still clinging to his hips. he was already half-hard. already throbbing through the thin barrier between you. the press of it against your lower stomach made your knees tremble.

and then his gaze dropped.

his eyes caught on the denim. the sound that tore from his throat was less a breath and more a mocking scoff.

the low-rise shorts clung to your hips like sin, skin peeking out from under the frayed hem, teasing with that reckless kind of innocence that only made his fury burn hotter. they sat just high enough to hint at modesty but dipped scandalously low, hugging the softness of your waist like a taunt.

slowly, he reached down—deliberate, fingers flexing—and let his hand splay flat over your stomach. his palm was hot against your skin. the heel of it rested against the waistband, and then—without breaking eye contact—he slipped his thumb beneath it. just the barest intrusion. a single brush of rough skin over the delicate swell of your mound, not enough to touch you properly, but enough to make your whole body jerk with a whimper.

“these,” he sneered. “you wore these to the paddock? while he was watching?” his voice dropped into a guttural rasp. you opened your mouth to protest, but his voice cut you off—deeper now, dipped into something feral.

“he was probably fucking imagining what you looked like bent over the pit wall in ‘em,” caleb rasped, and the way he said it—like it sickened him, like it possessed him—made your stomach twist.

his eyes darkened—and in one swift, brutal motion, he popped the button on the shorts with a flick of his thumb. the metallic click echoed in the room like a shot. then his fingers gripped the zipper and yanked it down so roughly you gasped, fabric jerking against your hips before it slid down to your thighs, pooling at your feet in a useless, tangled heap.

he didn’t stop. his hand moved fast, unforgiving—already pulling your panties to the side before you had time to react. the elastic scraped the crease of your thigh, baring you to the chill of the room and the heat of him, and still, he didn’t look away. didn’t blink. just stared down at your cunt like it had betrayed him, like it belonged to him and had wandered somewhere it shouldn’t have.

“c-caleb,” you stammered, your voice catching, high and desperate, “you’re being—,” but the words dissolved on your tongue.

because his fingers were there, already brushing against slick heat, already groaning under his breath like it physically hurt him that you were wet for this—wet for him, even now, even after everything.

you could hardly breathe.

your head lolled against the wall as his fingers fucked you open—deep, firm, unrelenting. You were soaked, the wet sounds of it obscene in the charged silence, broken only by the staggered hitch of your breath and the rough rasp of his. your thighs were trembling, barely holding you upright, and caleb didn’t let up. he wouldn’t let up.

his voice curled against your ear, low and smug and absolutely feral. “you’re not even trying to stop me.” your mouth opened but nothing came out—just a soft, cracked moan. “yeah,” he hissed. “that’s what i thought.”

he drove his fingers in deeper, curling them just right—pulling a strangled sound from your throat. your hips jerked helplessly, and he groaned as your pussy clenched, dripping all over his knuckles.

“f-fuck,” you gasped, arms scrambling for purchase across his chest, clutching at the fabric of his fireproofs like he was your anchor. “c-caleb, i—nnh, please—”

you whimpered, broken and breathless, voice catching on each gasp. “i-i didn’t mean—nnh ahhh—d-didn’t mean to—”

“you wore that fucking shirt. wore his team, his number, his name. you meant it.” his teeth dragged over your neck, biting down hard enough to make your legs quake. “don’t act like you don’t like this. like you don’t love being fucked dumb right after i almost took him off the track.”

you sobbed out a noise that barely resembled his name—“p-please, i—oh, god—”

his fingers hit that spot again, and your body jolted, hips rocking into his palm like you couldn’t help it. the muscles in your stomach tensed, fluttering around the edge of your climax. he felt it, saw it, and laughed—low and delighted.

“oh, baby… gonna cum, aren’t ya’?” he mocked, breath hot against your jaw, eyes glittering. “you’re so easy. just a couple fingers and you’re already soaking me. dripping like a goddamn whore.”

“p-please—ah—please, i can’t—” your words broke apart, swallowed by the sounds of your own whimpers as your orgasm built sharp and unbearable. “i-i c-can’t hold it, caleb, i—fuck—”

“then don’t.” his hand gripped your jaw, forcing your eyes to his. “let me hear how mine you are.” and you shattered. a sobbing, shaking mess.y our body locked up, thighs clenching around his wrist as you came with a choked cry—wet and slick and pulsing so hard around his fingers you felt your knees threaten to give out. caleb held you upright through it, murmuring dark praise between your panting breaths.

“that’s it. that’s my girl.” he pressed a kiss to your temple—mockingly tender, wicked and warm. “so good when you’re ruined.” his fingers slipped free with a wet noise, glistening in the low light. he brought them to your lips, eyes still sharp and burning. “suck f’ me, will ya’?”

you blinked, dazed, mind swimming in the haze of pleasure and want. slowly, obediently, you parted your lips, tongue flicking out to wet them just before his fingers slid into your mouth. the taste was warm, messy—you, tangled with him—and the sound that escaped you was soft, shameless, utterly desperate.

caleb’s groan rumbled low in his throat, eyes darkening as he watched every motion, every subtle shift of your tongue curling around his fingers. “god, you look so pretty like this,” he rasped, dragging those soaked fingers out with a sharp pop that echoed in the quiet room. “dumb little mouth wrapped around what’s mine.”

you whimpered, the sound raw and fragile, knees trembling as they brushed his in the cramped space. your body sagged into his, burning and unsteady, craving his touch like air. then that smirk—slow, sharp, slicing through the tension like a knife dragged through silk. his voice dropped even lower, slow and deliberate, thick with dark amusement. “think we’re done?”

your breath hitched, caught in your throat as his eyes bore into yours, unblinking and heavy with promise. the room seemed to pulse around you, heat swelling in your skin, every nerve ending screaming alive. you tried to shake your head, but your voice was barely a whisper, broken and trembling: “n-no—please…”

his fingers curled in a slow, possessive grip against your jaw, tilting your face up so your lips hovered just inches from his. “behave,” he murmured, voice rough like gravel. “because i’m nowhere near finished with you.”

his mouth claimed yours again, teeth grazing your lower lip as his hands gripped your hips, holding you so tightly it was almost painful—but you didn’t care. you were already melting into him, breath shallow and fast, heart hammering against your ribs like a warning bell.

without hesitation, he ripped open his fireproofs, pulling out his thick, heavy cock, already leaking thick beads of precum, flushed red from holding back for too long. he shifted, pressing the full length of himself inside you, inch by agonizing inch, his body a hot, solid weight that filled every space. your breath hitched sharply, a stuttered moan slipping free as your walls stretched and clenched around him, tight and trembling.

your body jolted—smack!—as he bottomed out in one punishing motion. he didn’t stop to let you adjust. he just started fucking you. hard.

“is this what you needed?” he snarled, teeth at your throat again, biting down—hard. “some real fucking? not the attention of some weak little paddock rat.”

you sobbed, arms flying to his shoulders, clawing for purchase. he drove into you over and over, hips snapping up—wet noises echoing through the room. your slick ran down your thighs, onto his, then pooling onto the floor.

“fuck, you’re mine,” he growled into your hair, voice thick with need and possession. His hips slammed harder, faster, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. “say it. say it or i’ll fill you up and walk out without another word.”

“i—i’m yours!” you sobbed, legs trembling. “caleb, please—i’m yours, i’m yours! a-always yours!” another slap to your ass—sharp, loud. then his hand gripped your hair, yanked your head back, and his teeth sank into your shoulder—deep, a bite so hard it made stars dance behind your eyes.

“you wear my number. my colors. my fucking name on your back. not that mclaren shit or anything else. never fucking again.” caleb’s hips slammed harder, faster, each thrust a brutal claim that sent your body shuddering beneath him. his teeth grazed your collarbone, sinking in deeply with a savage bite that left a bruised crescent burning hot against your skin. You gasped, head thrown back, breath shattering into sharp sobs that mixed pain and pleasure so fiercely your whole body trembled uncontrollably.

“fucking feel that, yeah?” he growled against your skin, voice thick with venomous hunger. your hands ripped down his sides, nails clawing cruel lines along his ribs as caleb dragged his teeth lower—trail of sharp bites blooming bruises along the curve of your tits, marking you with brutal possessiveness. “you think that idiot could ever fuck you like this? make you cry out, beg, lose your goddamn mind? no chance.”

you whimpered, caught between sobs and desperate moans, hips jerking instinctively with every ruthless stroke. “n-no—! only you, caleb! please—fuck, please mmm—!” your voice broke, breath hitching in a ragged stutter as your muscles clenched around him tighter, convulsing in waves of scorching overstimulation that stole your ability to think straight.

“bark f’me, sweet girl,” his teeth sank deep into your hip, biting down hard enough to draw a gasp, pleasure twisting with pain in a raw knot of sensation that made you cry out and claw at his back. “say you’re mine. my filthy little wreck, mine.”

“’m yours! yours, caleb!” you sobbed, body trembling, tears stinging your eyes as relentless orgasms crashed over you, folding you in a violent, layered tangle of ecstasy. your voice came out breathless and shattered, “please, don’t stop! i—i’m gonna—f-fuck, i’m gonna—please, i’m c-cummin’!”

“tell me,” he snarled against your neck, voice low, dark, teeth grazing skin like a threat, “tell me who you’re cummin’ for. me or that pretty little fucker?”

his hips snapped up cruelly, deep and fast, dragging a sob from your lips. his hand stayed locked tight around your throat—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who owned every gasp, every tremble.

“you!” you cried out, voice cracking on the edge of desperation. your nails dug into the fireproofs still half-wrapped around his waist. “you, sir—only you, ah, fuckkk—!”

he grinned, vicious and possessive, like your surrender was his prize. “yeah?” he hissed, slamming into you again. “say it louder. make sure even that bastard hears it next race.” caleb didn’t slow. if anything, he fucked you harder, rough and relentless, like he was trying to erase any trace of rafayel from your body—if there’d ever been any. one hand gripped your hip bruisingly tight, the other still curved under your jaw, forcing your teary eyes to hold his.

“damn right,” he growled, sweat-slick and flushed, but no less in control. “say my name. not ‘sir.’ not ‘please.’ mine.”

your whole body jerked with each thrust, barely able to keep upright, tears streaking your cheeks. “caleb—! caleb, i’m—i’m yours, i swear—”

“louder,” he barked, voice edged in a snarl. “c’mon, sweetheart. want you hoarse for me. want that voice ruined so you can’t say shit to anyone else.”

you shattered then—crying his name, choking on your moan as your body seized, shaking, breaking apart in his hands like it always did. and he didn’t let up. not when you came, not when your body tried to squirm away from the overstimulation.

“too much?” he murmured mockingly, breath hot against your temple. “too bad. i haven’t had enough yet. not till i’m sure he knows you walk funny tomorrow ‘cause of me.”

he crushed his mouth to yours, swallowing your desperate sounds with a hungry roar, his fingers digging deep into your hips as he drove you harder over the edge. your walls fluttered around him, clenching and pulsing uncontrollably as you teetered on the brink—then tipped.

your body convulsed violently, a flood of sensation so fierce it wracked every nerve ending. you cried out, a broken, trembling sound filled with pure, overwhelming need. his thrusts became more savage, relentless, “mine,” he rasped between clenched teeth, voice thick and harsh as he chased his own climax, “only mine. gonna fill you up so fucking deep you’ll be leaking my cum for days.”

the force of him stole your breath again as another orgasm ripped through you, your body arching wildly. you trembled, clinging to him, sobbing his name like a prayer. he chased you over the edge, one hand tangled possessively in your hair, the other bruising your waist as he came with a shuddering, broken groan—low, guttural, right against your skin—his teeth sinking into your neck as he spilled hot and thick inside you, every pulse of him a claim you’d never shake.

he stayed still a moment, breathing hard, chest rising and falling, panting like he’d survived a battle. then—slowly—he pulled out. you whimpered at the sudden empty ache, your slick and his own, trailing down your inner thighs.

your body was still quaking when caleb carried you, trembling and ruined, to the couch—his grip bruising, but reverent. his jaw was tight, his breath still shallow from the exertion, and the whole room still reeked of sex and heat and rage. your thighs stuck to his fireproofs, slick and smeared, and your chest rose in ragged, shallow pants as he laid you down like you were something precious—but barely.

"look at you," he muttered, his voice hoarse with raw satisfaction. "still shakin’. you don't even know your own name, do you?"

your only answer was a weak, broken sound—something between a whimper and a plea. he chucked, low and dangerous, fingers brushing your jaw as his other hand gripped your thigh, spreading you open again just to look. but then—he stilled.

his thumb stopped where it had been tracing, reverent in its own brutal way. his gaze, once burning with hunger, flickered—hesitating. you blinked through the haze clouding your vision, and there he was again: caleb, not the fire-eyed predator but the boy who used to hold your hand under the covers during thunderstorms, the boy who always laced your shoelaces when your fingers were too cold to do it yourself.

“…fuck,” he murmured, and something in his tone cracked open. he exhaled hard and let your thigh fall gently against the couch cushion, his body sinking beside yours, no longer looming—folding. a different kind of tension took its place, quieter, older. his hand cupped your cheek again, softer now, trembling faintly.

"you okay?" he asked, and his voice was lower. wrought with guilt, with fear, with love. "talk to me, love. tell me you’re okay."

you nodded, just barely, then leaned into his palm with a broken little sound. “o-okay…’m okay,” you breathed, voice ragged but true.

he closed his eyes.

for a moment, caleb didn’t say anything. just let his forehead press to yours. his thumb traced the line of your cheekbone like you might vanish if he didn’t keep anchoring you to him. then, with careful arms, he pulled you into his lap—blanketing you in the throw he’d once haphazardly tossed on the couch. your legs curled over his, trembling.

“you’re shaking,” caleb murmured again, his voice low and rough, like gravel coated in velvet. the heat radiating from his body pressed against your back was a fierce, solid warmth that somehow grounded you, but you could still feel the tremors racing through your limbs—shaky, fragile, like you were made of glass. his arms tightened around you, not crushing, but possessive, protective—as if he wanted to keep you from breaking apart entirely.

his lips brushed your skin like a feather in slow, feather-light kisses. first your bare shoulder, where the soft warmth of his mouth left a trail that sent a delicious shiver down your spine. then along the hollow of your collarbone, his breath hot and steady, carrying the faint scent of smoke and sweat from the race—intoxicating and unmistakably him. when his mouth ghosted to the corner of your lips, he paused, lingering like he was memorizing your shape, tasting the faint salt of your skin, the quickening pulse beneath.

“you scare the shit out of me sometimes,” he breathed, voice husky and trembling with emotion, the raw vulnerability undercut by the fire of his obsession. “the way i feel about you... it’s not normal. maybe it’s because… i love you more than you realize.”

his hands roamed slowly now, tracing the lines of your body with a possessive tenderness that set your nerves alight. one palm slid down the curve of your side, fingers pressing into your hip bone, grounding you in the heat between you. the other curled in your hair, thumb brushing your temple softly, coaxing the tension out of your clenched muscles.

“you don’t have to say anything,” he whispered, voice rough but gentle. “just be here with me.”

your eyelids fluttered open, meeting his gaze—dark, intense, burning with a hunger that softened only when it landed on you. the sight made your heart squeeze painfully, a sweet ache that spread through your limbs like wildfire.

your fingers twined tightly in the thick fabric of his fireproof suit, heart hammering against your ribs like it was trying to break free. you curled into him, the solid beat of his heart against your palm a grounding anchor amid the storm of emotion crashing through you. no words came—only the soft press of your lips against his jaw, the whisper of a kiss that said everything you couldn’t say aloud.

caleb’s breath hitched sharply, eyes darkening with a fierce tenderness as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. his thumb brushed away a tear that had slipped silently down your cheek, his touch so gentle it made your breath catch. his smile was fragile, barely there—but real. like he was offering you a piece of his soul wrapped in vulnerability.

“you’re everything to me,” he confessed, voice thick and laden with something bittersweet, a promise and a curse intertwined. “every lap, every breath, every fucking heartbeat. you ruined me, and i don’t ever want to be put back together.”

his arms squeezed you tighter, possessive and fierce, a silent vow to keep you safe and claim you utterly. the heat from his body seeped deep into your bones, steady and relentless, chasing away the shadows that lingered inside you.

your hand rose to cup his cheek, fingertips tracing the sharp angles of his jaw, memorizing the rough scrape of stubble beneath your touch. “l-love you..i’m yours,” you whispered, voice trembling but resolute. a soft, possessive smile curved his lips. “yeah,” he said, voice low and thick with pride, “only mine.”

when he kissed you this time, it was different—slow and tender, a deep press of lips that spoke of ownership and devotion, not just need. his mouth was warm and soft, roughened by days on the track and sleepless nights, and the taste of him—smoky, faintly metallic, and utterly intoxicating—settled deep inside your senses. his hands cradled your waist, fingers digging in just enough to remind you that you were his, that you belonged here, to him, in this moment.

“sleep,” he murmured against your lips, voice husky but gentle, a soothing promise that wrapped around you like a blanket. “i’ll be here when you wake up.”

your eyelids fluttered closed, sinking fully into the fierce, steady warmth of his arms. his heartbeat thrummed against your back, a wild, unyielding fire that burned only for you—and you let yourself be consumed by it.

caleb didn’t sleep. not for a second.

he stood bare-chested in front of the fire, the room thick with heat and shadows that flickered like ghosts on the walls. the dry crackle of the flames filled the silence, but inside him, a storm still raged—cold, sharp, relentless—but not for you, no, never.

his knuckles bore the faintest traces of dried blood where he'd gripped the wall to steady you, but the ache there was nothing compared to the sharp edge of his hatred for rafayel. the mclaren tee lay crumpled at his feet—a stubborn reminder that wouldn’t fade.

he bent down and picked it up slowly, fingers tightening around the fabric, a silent vow burning hotter than the fire before him. with slow, deliberate movements, his fingers curled around the fabric, pulling it close. he traced the soft cotton absently, the smell faint but familiar, and it stabbed at him like a fresh wound. the color—too bright, too loud—reminded him of everything he hated to admit. he fed the shirt to the flames, watching the orange cotton curl, blacken, and twist in on itself. the smell of scorched cloth filled the room, but it couldn’t burn away the rancor that still coiled tight inside.

he didn’t blink until the last ember faded to ash, eyes cold and unyielding, mind still racing with bitter thoughts.

rafayel had crossed a line.

and caleb’s fire wasn’t ready to die down—not yet, not ever.

# do not repost, translate, or upload my work to any other platforms. tumblr reblogs are welcome and appreciated, but reposting outside of this blog is not permitted !

— ✦ © @ x1asirene, tumblr 2025 ✧

#f1!caleb #f1!lads #caleb x reader #caleb smut #l&ds caleb #lnds caleb #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x you #love and deepspace #lnds imagines #caleb x y/n

570 notes · View notes

sh4nksslvt · 1 month ago

Note

hii may i request fem!strawhat!reader ate a fog devil fruit and when law sees them again he simply looses his shit thinking reader died while he was away with his crew?

could be established relationship or not and you can decide pretty much everything, i just want to see law breaking a little

here u go, ts not that accurate but hope u like it <3

Lost in the Fog

When the Strawhats’ fog-wielding reader reunites with Law, a misunderstanding leads to chaos, heartfelt confessions, and plenty of crew shenanigans.

law x fem! reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, ooc(?), light angst, established relationship, sanji flirting a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe n akward word count: 2k

masterlist | ko-fi

The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting a warm glow across the sea as the Thousand Sunny rocked gently on the waves. The Strawhat crew was in high spirits, despite their recent misadventure on a foggy island where your Mist-Mist Fruit powers had both saved the day and caused a fair share of chaos. You, stood at the center of it all, your ability to conjure and manipulate fog proving both a blessing and a headache.

“Y/N-swaaan!” Sanji’s voice sang out from the kitchen, his eyes practically sparkling with hearts as he leaned out the door, a tray of delicate pastries balanced in one hand. “My darling, I’ve crafted these mille-feuille just for you, infused with the essence of your radiant beauty! Please, grace me with your divine presence and taste them!”

You blinked, caught off guard by the chef’s fervor. “Uh, thanks, Sanji, but I’m good for now—”

“Nonsense!” he swooned, twirling toward you with a flourish, nearly tripping over a rope in his excitement. “A goddess like you deserves only the finest treats! Allow me to serve you, my misty muse!”

Zoro, sprawled nearby with a sake bottle, snorted. “Oi, curly-brow, tone it down. You’re gonna scare her off with all that simping.”

“Scare her?!” Sanji gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “My love for Y/N-san is pure and eternal! Unlike you, mosshead, who wouldn’t know romance if it hit you with a sword!”

“Keep talking, and I’ll hit you with a sword,” Zoro muttered, taking a swig.

You laughed, leaning against the railing, your hands swirling with faint tendrils of mist. “Sanji, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but maybe save some of those pastries for the rest of the crew?”

“For you, my angel, I’d bake the entire ocean!” Sanji declared, dropping to one knee and offering the tray like a knight presenting a sword. “Please, just one bite to bless this humble chef’s heart!”

“Okay, okay,” you said, grabbing a pastry to appease him. “It’s delicious, Sanji. Thanks.”

His face lit up like a supernova, and he spun in a circle, hearts practically trailing in his wake. “She ate my pastry! My life is complete!”

Nami rolled her eyes from her spot at the helm. “Sanji, you’re embarrassing yourself. Y/N’s got a boyfriend, remember?”

Sanji froze, then recovered with a dreamy sigh. “...Ah, but even if Y/N-san’s heart belongs to another, I shall forever be her devoted servant!”

You shook your head, amused, and turned your attention to the sea. Your thoughts drifted to Trafalgar Law, your boyfriend and the captain of the Heart Pirates. It had been weeks since you’d seen him, and the quiet ache of missing him gnawed at you. His dry humor, his rare smiles, the way he’d scowl when you teased him but still pull you close—it all felt so far away. Your fingers toyed with the mist curling around them, a nervous habit you’d picked up since eating the Mist-Mist Fruit.

“Oi, Y/N, your fog’s creeping up again,” Usopp called, waving away the haze around his feet. “What’s got you so distracted?"

“Nothing,” you admitted, dispersing the mist with a flick of your wrist. “...Just thinking”

“About your brooding doctor boyfriend?” Nami teased, smirking. “You’ve got that lovesick look again.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, cheeks flushing. “I’m just wondering how he’s doing, that’s all.”

“He’s probably dissecting something gross,” Franky said, tinkering with a gadget nearby. “Or glaring at his crew for breathing too loud.”

You laughed despite yourself. “Yeah, that sounds like Law.”

Before anyone could tease you further, Chopper’s voice rang out from the crow’s nest. “Ship approaching! It’s… it’s the Polar Tang!”

Your heart leaped. The Polar Tang meant Law. You rushed to the railing, squinting through the fading light. Sure enough, the sleek yellow submarine was surfacing nearby, its Heart Pirates emblem glinting in the sunset.

“Luffy!” you called, already halfway to the edge of the ship. “Permission to—”

“Go see your boyfriend, yeah, yeah,” Luffy waved you off, grinning. “But tell him he owes me meat for last time! SHISHISHI”

You didn’t bother responding, already conjuring a thick fog to obscure your descent as you leaped over the side, landing lightly on a platform of solidified mist. With a wave of your hand, you propelled yourself toward the Polar Tang, your excitement bubbling over.

On the deck of the Polar Tang, Law was barking orders at his crew, his usual scowl firmly in place. “Bepo, get those supplies stowed before they get wet. Penguin, Shachi, stop messing around with the rigging!”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” Penguin saluted, though he was clearly stifling a laugh as Shachi tripped over a rope.

Law pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath about incompetent crews. He hadn’t slept properly in days, his mind consumed with strategies and contingencies. The absence of you, his anchor in the chaos, had only made his mood worse. He’d been counting the days until he could see you again, though he’d never admit it out loud.

“Captain!” Bepo’s voice broke through his thoughts. “There’s a weird fog coming from the Strawhats’ ship!”

Law’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. A thick, unnatural fog was rolling across the water, obscuring the Sunny’s outline. His heart stuttered. That fog—it was your fog. But something felt off. The mist was too dense, too chaotic, almost as if…

“No,” he whispered, his grip tightening on Kikoku’s hilt. “Not possible.”

“Captain?” Bepo tilted his head, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

Law didn’t answer. His mind raced, piecing together fragments of information. The Strawhats had been on that foggy island. The Marines had been chasing them. Your Devil Fruit powers were unpredictable, and you were reckless—too reckless. What if you’d overexerted yourself? What if the fog was a sign of something worse? What if—

“Captain, look!” Shachi pointed, his voice tinged with alarm.

The fog parted, and there you were, standing on a platform of mist, grinning like an idiot as you waved. “Law! Miss me?”

Law’s breath caught, his eyes widening. For a split second, relief flooded him—until his brain caught up. The fog. The island. The reports of a Strawhat casualty that had reached him through a garbled Den Den Mushi transmission. He’d assumed… he’d feared…

“You idiot!” he roared, his voice carrying over the water. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

You blinked, startled by his outburst. “...Uh, what? I was thinking I’d come say hi to my boyfriend, but—”

“Don’t play dumb!” Law snapped, his Room already forming around him. In a flash, he Shambled himself onto your mist platform, grabbing your shoulders. “Do you have any idea what I thought? The fog, the island, the reports—I thought you were dead, Y/N-ya!”

Your jaw dropped. “Dead? Law, I’m right here! I’m fine!”

“Don’t give me that!” he growled, his hands shaking slightly as he gripped you tighter. “You disappeared into that fog, and I didn’t hear a damn thing from you for weeks! Do you know what that does to a person?”

The Heart Pirates and Strawhats, now watching from their respective ships, exchanged glances. Penguin leaned over to Shachi. “Is Captain… freaking out?”

“Yup,” Shachi said, popping the ‘p.’ “Never seen him this unhinged.”

On the Sunny, Nami smirked. “Ten thousand berries says Y/N makes him blush before this is over.”

“Deal,” Zoro said, smirking back.

You, meanwhile, were trying to process Law’s outburst. His gray eyes were wild with a mix of relief and lingering panic, his usual composure nowhere to be found. You softened, reaching up to cup his face. “Law, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were worried. The fog was just… me doing my thing. You know, Mist-Mist Fruit stuff.”

“Your ‘thing’ almost gave me a heart attack,” he muttered, but his grip on you loosened slightly. “...I thought I lost you.”

Your heart melted at the raw honesty in his voice. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Trafalgar,” you teased, poking his chest. “I’m a Strawhat. We’re basically indestructible.”

He glared, though it lacked its usual bite. “...Don’t test that theory.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll be more careful,” you promised, leaning closer. “But you have to admit, you’re kinda cute when you’re all worked up.”

Law’s face flushed, and he sputtered, “I am not cute!”

The Heart Pirates erupted into laughter, Bepo clapping his paws. “Captain’s blushing!”

“Shut up, Bepo!” Law barked, but his cheeks were undeniably red.

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Come on, admit it. You missed me.”

He sighed, his expression softening as he rested his forehead against yours. “More than you know, Y/N-ya.”

The moment was almost sweet—until Luffy’s voice boomed across the water. “Oi, Law! Stop hogging Y/N! We’re having a party! Bring your crew!”

Law groaned, pulling back slightly. “Your captain is insufferable.”

“Yeah, but you love him,” you said with a wink.

“Don’t push it.”

The two crews ended up merging for an impromptu party on the Sunny, the deck alive with music, food, and chaos. Sanji was in his element, serving dishes with a flourish, while Luffy and Usopp competed to see who could eat the most meat. Franky was showing off his latest invention—a fog-dispelling fan, which he insisted was “SUPER necessary” after your recent antics. Robin and Bepo were deep in conversation about ancient texts, while Zoro and Penguin had started a drinking contest that was clearly going to end badly.

You and Law sat slightly apart from the chaos, tucked against the railing with a bottle of sake between you. The fog you’d conjured earlier had dissipated, leaving the stars visible above.

“So,” you said, nudging him. “You really thought I was dead?”

Law took a sip of sake, avoiding your gaze. “The reports were vague. Said a Strawhat went down in a fog. Your powers are… distinctive.”

You leaned closer, resting your chin on your hand. “And here I thought you were the logical one. Jumping to conclusions like that.”

He shot you a look. “You’re one to talk. You turned an entire island into a fog maze.”

“It was strategic!” you protested. “The Marines couldn’t find us, and I got to practice my powers.”

“Strategic,” he repeated dryly. “...You gave your own crew heart attacks.”

“Okay, maybe a little,” you admitted, laughing. “But it worked out, didn’t it? We’re all here, safe and sound.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on the horizon. After a moment, he spoke, his voice quieter. “When I heard about the fog… I couldn’t stop thinking about the last time we saw each other. You were laughing, running off with your crew, and I didn’t get to say—”

You cut him off with a soft kiss, catching him by surprise. His eyes widened, but he melted into it, his hand finding the back of your neck. When you pulled back, you grinned. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”

He huffed, but there was a warmth in his eyes that made your chest flutter. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” you said, stealing his sake bottle and taking a swig.

“Careful,” he warned, smirking. “Keep stealing my sake, and I’ll throw you into the ocean.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you challenged, conjuring a tiny puff of fog to obscure his view.

He waved it away with an exasperated sigh. “You’re going to be the death of me, Y/N-ya.”

“Nah,” you said, leaning against him. “I’m keeping you on your toes.”

The party stretched into the night, with the crews trading stories and laughter. At one point, Shachi and Usopp started a prank war, which ended with both of them covered in flour courtesy of Sanji’s wrath. Chopper and Bepo were inseparable, the bear insisting on giving the reindeer a tour of the Polar Tang. Nami, true to her bet, collected her winnings from Zoro when you made Law blush again by whispering something in his ear.

As the night wound down, you and Law found a quiet corner of the Sunny’s deck. The others were still laughing and singing, but for the moment, it was just the two of you, the sea stretching out endlessly before you.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Law said softly, his hand brushing against yours.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you replied, intertwining your fingers with his. “Next time, I’ll call you on the Den Den Mushi. No more fog-induced panic attacks, okay?”

He chuckled, a rare, genuine sound. “Deal.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, letting the gentle sway of the ship lull you into a comfortable silence. The fog might have caused chaos, but it had brought you back to him. And that, you decided, was worth all the misunderstandings in the world.

338 notes · View notes

mixingandmelting · 6 months ago

Text

HE Asked for No Pickles:

Summary: He asked for no pickles. You made sure the message was delivered.

A/N: Part 2 of "Asked for No Pickles" post but smaller blurb and AU to if roles were reversed. Part 1 can be read here!

Dick:

On the outside, he’s “trying his best” to placate you. On the inside, he’s completely swooned. Saying “babe” as if he was given the best thing ever (technically he did right now with you being his knight to fight for his honor) with both hands covering his mouth. Unfortunately, abiding to societal laws is a must, so he does end up actually persuading you to stop and gets you to go eat out someplace else with him. Of course after letting you get a good, final jab in.

Jason:

He’s so smug and makes the other know by smirking behind you. Doesn’t even bother to stop you - rather, he’s instigating it further by spilling all the tea from A to Z. It’s not every day he gets to be “princess” and he sure isn’t going to let that opportunity simply slide either. Especially when he gets first row seats watching the very essence of the cashier getting crushed into powder, face pale as a ghost. Does shed a tear of pride if you use one of Jason’s comebacks, whispering how he taught you well.

Tim:

Acts all nonchalant, which would’ve been believable if not for him recording with the phone in his hand. Hell, he doesn’t even make it obvious. His head hung low, his thumbs moving as if he’s texting others about the situation to sell the image of how “hurt” he is (he’s really zooming in and out to capture the whole event better). Not to worry, he does have a timer set for fifteen more minutes and plans to step in once it’s up. Though after he does, TikTok and Meta explode at the video he uploads with comments of everyone trolling the cashier.

Duke:

Torn between stopping you and just letting you rip into him though he ends up stepping once things were about to get real messy (roasting is getting burnt not messy in his opinion). He does make a couple of mental notes, one of them he tells you later on, that he approves and gives an A+ to how you roast him. May even give a few pointers here and there. The other is him being glad he’s not on the receiving end because he genuinely thinks he won't recover like that guy if he has to deal with that from you.

Damian:

Arms crossed and nods to every word you say because he agrees with it. Does pause and glares at you for a moment when you casually bring up how fancy his taste buds can be, but goes back to being satisfied once you proceed on going at the poor guy. Considering that both of you are still fourteen years old, he joins the battle to defend yours and his honor once the guy gets mad and calls you brat. It leads to the arrival of the Bat family to pull both of you a way while the guy trembles at how he was one step closer to death.

#dick grayson #nightwing #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd #red hood #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin dc #red robin x reader #tim drake #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #duke thomas #duke thomas x reader #dc signal #signal x reader #dc imagine

629 notes · View notes

sectumsempraaa · 1 year ago

Text

Flames on Thin Ice

Pairing: jealous!Theo Nott x fem!Ravenclaw!reader

Word count: 2.9k

TW: cursing, jealousy, ridiculous amounts of yearning and fluff

Based on this request! Thank you :)

Summary: You and Theo Nott are something much more than friends, but just less than lovers. He would very much like to change that, as he’s no longer able to control his rapidly intensifying feelings for you. But when Slughorn’s exclusive Christmas party approaches and Draco Malfoy asks you to be his date, the limits of Theo’s jealousy are tested like never before.

“Come here, bella,” Theo smiles and gestures towards you as he strides over to where you stand, surrounded by holiday decor. He approaches you from the side, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you gently. A blush spreads across your cheeks as you hook an arm around his shoulders, placing the star on top of the Slytherin common room holiday tree.

Decorating the common room tree is one of your favorite parts of winter at Hogwarts. This year, the Slytherins asked for your help after hearing how amazing you did with the Ravenclaw tree for your own house.

Theo can’t say the same, but he’d do just about anything at this point to spend time with you. His crush on you has blossomed the last couple of months, your pull on him amplifying each day. Any opportunity he sees to touch you, help you, or make you laugh, he takes. No question.

“Grazie, cara mio.” You respond, looking down into his heavy, perfect blue eyes. You always try to speak to him in Italian whenever you can, picking up on his more common phrases. You’re the only one that goes to that kind of effort for him and he notices it. God, does it notice it.

He spins you around, earning a series of giggles from you before he lets you back down on your feet. Your hand lingers on his for a few seconds, which feels like an eternity to him. If only he could kiss you right here, right now. But the graze of your fingertips on his palm is enough for him, for now. He’ll take what he can get.

You step back, turning towards the fully decorated tree, ready to show off your hard work. He wants to watch with you but he can’t bear to when you’re looking this beautiful, this stunning. His eyes obsess over your every perfect feature, his eyes drinking in your essence.

This might be my favorite outfit of hers. The plaid skirt, the knee-high socks, the cream colored sweater. No- the one from my birthday, when she wore my necklace…

Oblivious to his longing stare, you take out your wand, tucked into the waistline of your skirt.

“Lumos,” you say, a look of wonder and awe blossoming on your face as the tree lights up. The warm glow makes you gasp, the sudden joy jolting through you.

Your hands quickly grab his bicep, pulling yourself towards him. A squeal of happiness escapes you, prompting a laugh from Theo. His smile, your favorite smile, triggers your heart to flutter. The way you’re looking at him sends his mind spiraling.

Gods, she is perfect.

It takes him a second to recover from the profound effect your touch has on him. His skin burns like fire, his heart aching for you.

I’ll win her. I’ll win her so she can spin around in my arms again next year.

Your soft voice brings him out of his thoughts. “What do you think? Is it good enough?” you ask, your eyes contemplating your creation.

He reluctantly removes his arm from your hands, wrapping it around your shoulders and pulling you close to his side, your head resting gently on his shoulder. In a moment of risk, he drops it to your waist, his fingers fiddling with your sweater. Your face quickly turns to his in surprise.

His pulse stops, his breath with it as your hand slowly makes its way to his chest, resting above his heart. Your head tilts up to meet his dark stare, your eyes locking in on each other.

“It is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” He says, his voice barely above a whisper. It is glaringly apparent he isn’t talking about the tree anymore.

You swore his head leaned down, his lips parted slightly, his hand pressed your whole chest against his, before-

“Y/L/N! Where is that pretty little Ravenclaw?” You hear a familiar, yet obnoxious, distant voice crawling its way into the common room from the dungeon corridor. A disgruntled Theo shuts his eyes in defeat.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

He notices the look of disappointment etched in your features, it’s enough to send a pang of longing and frustration slamming into him. His heart drops as your body detaches from his, putting a space between you. His side feels colder without your warmth against it.

I had her.

Draco rounds the corner, a skip in his step as he confidently strides over to you. His eyes light up with glee as Theo’s darken, seeing red. Draco takes your hands in his, kissing each one before speaking.

“My lovely little Y/L/N, just the girl I was looking for. I’ve got something to ask you,” he starts, your eyes widen as he gets down on one knee, keeping your hands clasped with his. A quick glance at Theo shows you the tension in his jaw, the dagger-like stare he casts on Draco.

Why’s she looking at him like that? That look was for me not even a minute ago.

“I have been personally invited to Slughorn’s holiday party and I couldn’t think of a more perfect date to bring. Will you be my plus one?”

The look of hesitancy on your face prompts him to continue. “Consider it the best Christmas present you could give me.”

Normally, Draco wouldn’t even entertain the idea of taking anyone outside his own house. But the Slytherin crew has a soft spot for you, so much so that the common room door doesn’t argue when you say their password anymore.

You giggle, taking a step closer to Draco. “Well, I do love a Christmas party.”

His bright, smug smile draws you in as he stands up and pulls you in for a hug, resting his head on top of yours. “I know you do.” He smirks.

He shares the time and dress code details with you before heading off to meet up with Blaise for dinner. You look around, only to find you’re alone in the common room. Theo left, admittedly, before he blew a fuse.

—

The next couple of weeks are interesting to say the least. Theo has been pining for your attention, trying to distract you from the other boys as much as he can. But mostly, he’s been keeping an eye on Malfoy.

In one instance, Draco came to Theo’s dorm, where he knew you were hanging out, to ask what you were going to wear to the party. “Hmm, we should match, I think.” He suggested.

Nope. Not today, mate. And certainly not in my fucking bedroom.

Theo suddenly picked you up off his bed bridal style, physically removing you from Draco’s presence before either of you could agree on an accent color.

“Theo!” You yelp, wrapping your arms around his neck and peeking back at Draco. “Where are we going?”

“Anywhere that prat isn’t.” He responds with haste.

In another instance, Draco sat across from you in the Great Hall during breakfast and gifted you a pair of earrings for the event. “They sparkle almost as much as you, love.”

The gesture brought a heat to your cheeks that had Theo making fists under the table. He can’t stand to see you flustered over Draco’s pathetic attempts to buy your affection.

Thin ice, Malfoy. Thin. Fucking. Ice.

Draco continues. “My mother picked them out special. She was beside herself when I told her I was taking you.”

At this, Theo happened to “accidently” spill his tea directly into Draco’s lap, earning him a public scolding. But the words go through one ear and out the other. He remains unscathed, because Draco left, and you’re all his again. And really, that’s all he cares about.

—

The day of the party arrives, one Theo has been absolutely dreading. No amount of self-soothing could keep his mind from imagining the shit Malfoy would pull without him there to interfere.

In your dorm, Theo watches as you fix your hair and apply your makeup. He observes your every move, trying to etch each one into his memory, noting all the things you do that drive him crazy.

The way she bites her lip while putting on mascara.

How she hums Christmas carols while pinning up her hair.

When she asks me what shade of eyeshadow she should wear.

When you finish dolling yourself up, you change into your dress in the bathroom. A pout of frustration escapes you as you realize your hands can’t reach the zipper. You decide to ask for Theo’s assistance.

When you walk back into your dorm, you’re met with a completely awe-struck Theo, his tired eyes grow wider than you thought they could even go. The boy is seemingly paralyzed by you.

Holy bloody hell.

His trance-like gaze runs over the lace neckline, down the curves of your bodice, and over the shimmering gown. He’s never seen you dressed up before, and you have him wondering why it took so long to.

“Spin.” He demands, begs. “Please.”

You slowly turn for him, a small smile adorning your face. The gown flows like water, splaying out as it twirls around you. You have to admit, both the dress and his reaction are feeding your confidence.

Nothing matters in the whole world except for her.

He stands, having noticed the undone zipper in the back. He saunters towards you, jumping at the opportunity, his eyes unwavering from your body. He places his hands on your hips, turning your back towards him.

Can I just marry her now? Can she wear this to our wedding?

You feel his soft breath grace your neck, a whisper of affection envelopes you. “Mia bella ragazza,” he says, each word dripping with pure adoration. He zips you up with the utmost delicacy and care.

He wraps his left arm around you, pulling your back to his chest. He sways you both back and forth, imitating a slow dance.

“Y/N.” Theo says, ready to pour his heart out for you. Right here, right now. As your eyes meet his, you share a moment of yearning, his lips dead set on meeting yours…

Until an abrasive knock that could only belong to Draco breaks your stare from his.

Please don’t take her away from me now.

He, of course, opens the door without being granted entry. You slide away from Theo’s embrace, slipping on your heels and grabbing your cover-up. Draco beckons you to him, grabbing a hand and twirling you around.

The sound of your laughter plagues Theo. You link an arm with Draco, tucking into his side. Theo’s mind silently explodes with jealousy, trying to identify everything wrong with the sight in front of him.

He looks like dirt compared to her.

Draco reaches to fix one of the earrings he gave you, setting it just right. Heat begins to course through Theo’s very being.

I’d rather eat slugs than see my Y/N on his arm.

Draco leads them out, nodding a silent goodbye to Theo on the way towards the door. “I think we look rather dashing together, don’t you agree?” he asks, his ego caking each word.

Theo takes a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure as he’s left in silence. He vowed to himself that he would behave for you, for this one night. For your sake.

But just before you leave his line of sight, you steal one last, desperate glance at Theo. And that’s enough to break his vow.

—

I can’t believe she makes me this stupid.

Theo thinks as he peers into Slughorn’s party from a tiny window. His feet perched on the ledge, several feet above the ground. His knuckles go white as his fingers grip the wall tightly.

He spots you next to Draco at the table, noticing his hand covering yours. The students engage in lively conversation, mostly Malfoy telling boring stories about his father.

Though Theo tries hard to keep his focus on Malfoy, he can’t help but obsess over your breathtaking beauty.

His ears recognize the first few notes of the song you were humming earlier coming over the speakers.

You gasp and whip your head towards Draco, your eyes lit up with excitement, your hands tugging his suit jacket. “This is my favorite song!! Can we dance?” You ask him.

He stands and offers you his hand, which you take immediately. “All night, if you’d like, love.”

He doesn’t deserve this. He can barely carry a tune, let alone dance.

Theo hops down from the window, using the moving picture frames as leverage. Once he lands, he finds the back entrance to the party, peering through the sheer curtains.

Good luck pulling this off, Malfoy. I hope she laughs in your face.

But that’s not what happens. In fact, it is hard to deny how absolutely gorgeous you two look together, each step perfectly placed, each twirl calculated. Everyone watches you both sweep across the dance floor with ease, like you’ve rehearsed this a thousand times.

And even worse, it looks like you’re enjoying it. Theo’s hand drags down his face in agony.

Fuck… he’s killing it.

Theo’s inner fire intensifies as Draco’s hand moves to rest on your lower back. Too low for his liking. And the way you’re eating it up drives him mad. Draco leans in near your ear, sharing smirks and whispers with you.

The bloody fool is talking during her favorite song instead of letting her sing.

An idea sparks in Theo’s head, one that would probably disappoint you. But he doesn’t care anymore. Especially as he watches Draco cross the final line by dipping you backwards, his eyes obviously lingering on your chest. When he lifts you back up to him, you hear a faint, boyish voice call from behind you.

“Confundus.”

Suddenly, Draco stumbles over, tripping over his own feet and falling on the floor, bringing you down with him. Slughorn swiftly strides over and accuses Draco of drinking too much champagne, despite your efforts to defend him. When he’s asked to leave, you follow him.

“Are you okay?” You ask, patting down the front of his suit jacket and fixing his hair. He rolls his eyes, shrugging you off and mumbling something to himself about how “Slughorn will pay for this.”

As he sulks away, you find yourself alone in the corridor, sighing and stepping out of your heels. A humming sound emanates from behind you, the familiar tone easily identifiable to your ears. You can’t help but smile as the pieces fall into place.

“Really? Confundus?” You joke, turning your head to the side with a smirk. Theo’s arm wraps itself around your front once again, swaying you in his slow-dance way. What you didn’t expect was the feeling of his lips on your cheek, kissing you ever so softly.

“Si, bella.” He responds, switching to kiss your other cheek. “With the way he drooled on you all night, he’s lucky it wasn’t a Crucio.”

You remove his hand, letting yourself turn to face him. He kicks your heels to the side, allowing you to step closer. Your hand reaches up to caress his cheek, your finger tracing the edge of his jaw.

“Mio bel ragazzo,” you say, lifting yourself up on your tippy toes. He pulls away, catching you off guard, grounding yourself to the floor again.

“I’ve waited forever to kiss you, Y/N. Dreamed of it, even.” He pauses for a moment, gathering his words, his finger twirling around one of your stray curls. “Let me.”

The blush on your face hits a crimson peak, nodding a silent grant of permission. Your heart races as both his hands firmly cup your face, pulling you gently until you feel his lips join yours, melding into each other.

The kiss is long and earned, his lips moving against yours with intention. When he finally breaks for a breath, you tug on his collar, quickly crashing your lips back onto his. A low moan travels its way from his mouth to yours, his hands now wrapped securely around your waist. Good luck getting this boy to let go.

You pull away, letting Theo rest his forehead on yours, a stupid smile adorning his face as he processes the moment.

“For what it’s worth, I told Narcissa I wanted those earrings. I think she almost felt bad that I had to go with him.” You laughed, playing with the jewelry on your ears.

“He’s not allowed near you- no, he’s not even allowed in the same room as you from now on,” Theo says, a shadow of the tension in his jaw lingers. “Or it’s lights out for him.”

You both break into a fit of laughter at the threat, leaning on each other for balance.

You pause for a second, his eyes brimming with unspeakable joy. Your hand finds the back of his neck, grazing it with your fingertips, feeling the resulting chills it sparks on his skin.

“There’s only one room I want to be in right now, and I’d like you to take me to it.” You whisper, Theo’s expression becoming eager as he immediately lifts you up, swiftly carrying out your order. You could tell him to burn down a city and he’d do it for you.

“Am I dreaming this, bella? Am I really taking the most extraordinary person who’s ever lived back to my dorm?” He asks, relishing the feel of your arms around his neck and the scent of your vanilla perfume encompassing him.

“Wow, the most extraordinary person? Ever?!” You giggle, your voice coated with exaggeration. “What does that make you?” You ask him.

“The luckiest.”

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

#slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #draco malfoy #theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #slytherin fanfiction #slytherin boys fic #slytherin

2K notes · View notes

mahalachives · 5 months ago

Text

Part 3: Goodbye, Shadowsinger

🕊️ TW: This chapter contains mentions of suicidal ideation and an attempted act of suicide. Please read with care and prioritize your well-being.

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Genre: angst, romcom, humor, fish out of water reader, canon (ish)

Summary: Murdered after a late-night study session in the modern world, you awaken in Prythian—still yourself, but with Fae features and the infamous title of Beron’s cold-hearted and ruthless daughter.

Then, fate snaps the mating bond into place between you and the shadowsinger, Azriel—who rejects it so fiercely, even the magic recoils.

You died a healer. You woke up a villain. Now fate’s mated you to who wants nothing to do with either—you’ll prove them all wrong, one heartbeat at a time.

Between Two Fires - Masterlist

You woke up feeling surprisingly refreshed, as if the essence of autumn itself had infused your borrowed bones.

Sunlight streamed through amber-stained glass, painting warm patterns across the silk sheets that felt too soft, too decadent against your skin.

After two days of recovery from the arrow wound, your strength had fully returned—one benefit of this immortal body with its remarkable healing abilities.

A sharp knock on your door preceded Eris's entrance.

He swept in with predatory grace, amber eyes assessing you with that calculating precision that never softened. His auburn hair caught the morning light, gleaming like freshly minted copper.

"Ah, you're finally up," he remarked, leaning against the bedpost with deceptive casualness. "Good. I was beginning to think you might sleep through the century."

"Would that have been so terrible?" you asked with a small smile. "One less pyromaniac in the family to worry about."

A flicker of surprise crossed his features—so swift you might have imagined it. "Your brush with death has certainly improved your sense of humor. Though I'm not entirely convinced that's a good thing."

You sat up straighter, noting how he tracked the movement, ever watchful for weakness. "Are you here to check if I'm still alive or just to criticize my newfound optimism?"

"Both," he admitted with a small smirk. "And to inform you that I'm leaving for the Dawn Court within the hour. Diplomatic matters that Father insists can't wait."

"How thrilling for you," you replied. "A whole court of morning people. Your worst nightmare."

Eris actually chuckled, the sound rusty as if rarely used. "Indeed. Try not to burn down the castle while I'm gone. And please—" his expression grew serious, shadows haunting his eyes, "—don't do anything... reckless. Yesterday's incident with the Night Court has everyone on edge."

Your heart skipped. Eris gone. The perfect opportunity.

"I'll be on my absolute best behavior," you promised, unable to keep a grin from spreading across your face.

Eris's eyes narrowed slightly. "That expression doesn't inspire confidence."

"What expression?" You arranged your features into a mask of innocence that felt foreign on this face. "This is just my face."

"No, your face typically looks like you're contemplating which servant to set on fire next. This—" he gestured vaguely at your smile, "—is new and concerning."

You laughed, the sound startling both of you with its genuine mirth. "Go to your dawn gathering, brother. I promise the castle will still be standing when you return."

Eris studied you for another long moment, his amber eyes seeming to peer directly into your soul. Then he nodded once, a dismissive gesture belied by the faint concern lingering in his gaze. "Rest. Recover. Try to remember that you're the Lady of Autumn, not whatever you were babbling about during your fever."

"Of course," you agreed easily.

Too easily, apparently, because Eris's frown deepened.

"Goodbye, sister," he said finally. "Try not to cause an incident for at least a week."

After he left, you burst from the bed with boundless energy, startling poor Briar as she entered with your breakfast tray.

"My lady!" she gasped as several pastries tumbled to the floor, scattering flaky crumbs across the priceless carpet. "You shouldn't be up yet!"

"Nonsense!" you declared, spinning in a circle that sent your nightgown billowing around your legs. "I feel magnificent! Like I could fly! Or swim! Or—or—something equally improbable!"

Briar stared at you as if you'd grown a second head. "Swim? You once threatened to disembowel a gardener for suggesting we install a reflection pool."

"Did I?" You laughed. "Well, people change! Today, I want to embrace new experiences."

"While you're... recovering from a nearly fatal arrow wound?" Briar asked skeptically, nervously tucking a strand of copper-brown hair behind her ear.

"Exactly!" You clapped your hands together. "Nothing like almost dying to make you appreciate life's possibilities. Now, help me dress. Something practical."

Briar reluctantly assisted you into a simple outfit of fitted leathers and a flowing tunic in deep burgundy. As she worked, you couldn't stop grinning, planning your escape in your mind.

Eris was gone. The perfect time to execute your plan.

"My lady, you're..." Briar hesitated, her fingers stilling on the laces of your boots.

"Yes?" you prompted, twirling to face her.

"Humming," she finished, looking utterly bewildered. "And bouncing. Like a... like a..."

"Like a perfectly normal person enjoying a perfectly beautiful day?" you suggested brightly.

"Like someone who's either lost their mind or been replaced by an imposter," Briar muttered under her breath.

You winked at her. "Maybe both!"

Briar's eyes widened in alarm, and you laughed again, heading for the door. "I'm joking, Briar! Mostly. See you later! Or not. Who knows?"

You practically skipped through the castle corridors, drawing astonished stares from servants and guards alike.

The Lady of Autumn, known for her casual cruelty and perpetual sneer, bouncing through the halls with a smile that threatened to split her face in two.

By the time you reached the gardens, a small crowd of servants had found excuses to work nearby, stealing fascinated glances as you paced back and forth, muttering to yourself.

"I need to get home," you whispered, tapping your fingers against your thigh. "But how?"

You contemplated your options, oblivious to your growing audience.

"I could jump from the castle tower," you mused aloud, "but what if it just breaks every bone in this body without sending me back? Too risky."

A gardener nearly fell from his ladder, clutching a branch to stay upright.

"Poison?" you considered, shaking your head. "No, too slow. And knowing my luck, some healer would find an antidote before it worked."

Two maids exchanged alarmed glances.

"Fire?" You laughed softly. "Ironic, but too painful. Besides, someone would definitely notice if I set myself ablaze in the middle of the Autumn Court."

A guard coughed so violently that he had to remove his helmet.

"A blade?" You frowned, considering. "Quick, but messy. And I'd probably just end up wounded again with more hovering healers."

The head gardener was quietly ushering younger staff away from your vicinity.

"What I need," you declared to the rosebush in front of you, "is something guaranteed fatal but relatively peaceful. Something no one can interrupt."

Your eyes lit up suddenly.

"Water! Drowning!" The idea settled in your bones with perfect certainty. "Quick, effective, minimal pain... relatively speaking. And these fire-loving Fae would never think to look for me near water."

You spun around suddenly, catching at least seven servants pretending not to watch you. They all immediately became intensely interested in their tasks—polishing perfectly clean statues, pruning already immaculate hedges, and in one case, vigorously sweeping a patch of grass.

"You!" You pointed at a young female servant who had the misfortune of making eye contact. "Come here."

She approached cautiously, as one might approach a beautiful but notoriously bad-tempered wildcat. Her freckled face was pale with apprehension, hands twisting nervously in her apron. "Y-yes, my lady?"

"Is there a lake nearby? Preferably beyond Autumn Court borders, secluded, not frequently visited?"

The servant blinked rapidly. "A... lake, my lady?"

"Yes, a lake. Big hole in the ground filled with water?"

"Of course, my lady," she stammered. "There's the Azure Pool, about five miles beyond the western border. It's quite isolated. The water is said to have unusual properties—healing for some, visions for others."

Perfect. A magical lake. That had to increase your chances of successful inter-world transportation.

"Excellent!" you exclaimed, causing the servant to jump. "How would one get there?"

"Well..." the servant hesitated, clearly trying to determine if this was some sort of test. "You could winnow, my lady, or have one of the guards escort you—"

"Winnow!" you repeated excitedly. "Yes! Brilliant! How exactly does one do that?"

The servant's jaw dropped. "You... don't know how to winnow, my lady?"

"Of course I know," you scoffed, then leaned closer. "But explain it anyway. For clarity."

"It's... it's like folding space around yourself," the servant said slowly, still looking utterly confused. "You visualize where you want to go, gather your power, and sort of... push through reality?"

"Push through reality," you repeated thoughtfully. "Simple enough. Just visualize and... push."

"My lady, perhaps a guard escort would be—"

"Nonsense!" you declared. "I'm a High Fae of the Autumn Court! Winnowing is in my blood. Probably. How hard can it be?"

The servant's expression suggested she thought it could be very hard indeed, especially for someone who didn't even know the basics.

"Thank you for your assistance," you said, already turning away. "You've been most helpful."

"My lady," the servant called hesitantly, "may I ask why you need to find this lake?"

You turned back with a brilliant smile. "Swimming lessons!"

"But... you hate water," she said, then immediately looked like she regretted speaking.

"Do I?" you asked cheerfully. "Well, time for a change! Growth! Personal development! All that nonsense."

Behind you, several servants exchanged alarmed glances. One quietly made the sign to ward off madness.

"What a wonderful day to be alive," you announced to no one in particular. "For now, anyway!"

With that enigmatic statement, you strode purposefully toward the castle gates, leaving a wake of bewildered servants behind you. One elderly gardener crossed himself and muttered something about the end times.

Standing at the edge of the Autumn Court's formal boundaries, marked by a line of trees with leaves that burned perpetual gold, you gathered your courage.

Winnowing. How hard could it be, really?

You closed your eyes, picturing the Azure Pool as the servant had described it—clear blue-green water, isolated, beyond the western border. You gathered what you assumed was magic, feeling it rise within you like liquid fire coursing through your veins.

"Azure Pool," you whispered. "Take me to the Azure Pool. Please?"

Nothing happened.

You frowned, concentrating harder. "Azure Pool! Western border! Big magical lake! Come on!"

Still nothing.

"Fine," you muttered. "Be that way."

You tried a different approach, extending your awareness outward, feeling for the boundary between here and... somewhere else. There—a thin spot in reality, a place where the world seemed to fold in on itself. You pushed toward it with your mind, imagining yourself slipping through.

The world dissolved around you with a nauseating lurch.

Darkness engulfed you, a crushing pressure from all sides. For one terrifying moment, you were nowhere and everywhere, stretched impossibly thin across reality itself.

Then, with a jolt that knocked the air from your lungs, you rematerialized—tumbling forward onto soft grass. You lay there for a moment, gasping, the world spinning around you.

"That," you announced to the empty air, "was horrible. Zero out of ten. Would not recommend."

When your head finally stopped spinning, you pushed yourself up and looked around.

The Azure Pool lived up to its name.

Nestled in a clearing surrounded by ancient trees, the water glowed with an impossible blue-green luminescence that pulsed gently like a heartbeat. The surface was mirror-smooth, reflecting the cloud-dappled sky above. It seemed to call to you, welcoming you home.

Not this home. Your real home.

"Perfect," you whispered, approaching the edge.

No one in sight. No witnesses.

Just you and a magical lake that would hopefully send you back to your world.

You shrugged off your outer tunic, leaving only the fitted leathers underneath. Less to drag you down. The crisp autumn air raised goosebumps across your exposed skin, but you barely registered the chill. Your focus narrowed to the glowing water before you, its ethereal light casting strange patterns across your face.

Standing at the edge, you hesitated.

The mating bond, that golden thread connecting you to Azriel, pulled taut in your chest like a physical restraint. It seemed to know your intentions, throbbing with an almost sentient awareness that made your breath catch.

"Okay," you muttered, steeling yourself. "Just walk in, breathe in the water, and wake up in a hospital bed. Simple."

But was it simple? This world, for all its dangers and complications, had an undeniable beauty. Magic thrummed in the very air you breathed, in the trees that whispered secrets to the wind, in the blood that coursed through this borrowed body. A part of you recognized the wonder of it all, the chance to experience something humans only dreamed about.

The bond tugged sharply, as if in agreement, sending a lance of pain through your chest. Your hand flew up, pressing against your sternum.

"Stop it," you whispered to the invisible tether. "I don't belong here."

But did you? The mating bond wouldn't have formed unless there was... something.

Some connection, some compatibility between your soul and Azriel's. The thought was as terrifying as it was exhilarating.

You took one step toward the water—then froze as an image flashed in your mind. Hazel eyes flecked with gold. Shadows that reached for you despite their master's will.

Azriel.

The mating bond thrummed more intensely, responding to even the thought of him. You felt his rejection anew, the cold dismissal, the formality that cut deeper than open hostility could have. But beneath that, you'd glimpsed something else—a flicker of recognition when your tears fell, a moment of genuine pain in those beautiful, ancient eyes.

The bond demanded closure. Even if he hated you. Even if he'd rejected you in front of everyone. You couldn't just disappear without saying goodbye.

"Fine," you sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. "One quick, awkward goodbye to the shadowsinger who despises me, then back here for drowning. Great plan."

You closed your eyes again, but instead of visualizing a place, you focused on the golden thread of the mating bond. It pulled steadily northward, toward the Night Court, toward Azriel. You gathered your power again (more carefully this time, having learned from your first disastrous attempt) and let the bond guide you.

The world dissolved once more.

This time, the darkness felt less crushing, as if the bond was protecting you from the worst of the between-space.

You rematerialized with a softer landing, though still less than graceful. Your knees hit packed earth, and you pitched forward onto your hands. The ground beneath your palms was hard-packed and cold, the scent of pine and steel and male sweat filling your nostrils.

"Halt!" a deep voice commanded.

You looked up to find yourself surrounded by winged warriors, all with weapons drawn.

Illyrians, their massive battle-wings flared in threatening displays. The sound of those wings cutting through air raised the hair on your arms—a prehistoric, predatory sound that spoke to the most primitive parts of your brain. At their center stood Cassian, the commander you'd met during yesterday's disastrous dinner.

"Oh, hello again," you said brightly, pushing yourself up and dusting off your leathers. "Lovely day, isn't it? So sunny. Really brings out the threatening scowls on all your faces."

Cassian stared at you in disbelief. "You just winnowed to the edge of an Illyrian war-camp. Alone. Without warning or permission."

"Did I?" You glanced around. "Huh. I was aiming for 'wherever Azriel is.' The mating bond was supposed to guide me. Magical GPS and all that."

"Magical... what?" Cassian's brow furrowed.

"Never mind," you said, waving dismissively. "Is Azriel here? I need to speak with him."

Cassian's expression hardened. "He has no interest in speaking with you."

"I know," you sighed. "He hates me. But this is important."

"Important enough to risk starting another war?" Cassian asked coldly.

The bond tightened in your chest, a physical pain that radiated outward, stealing your breath. Your hand pressed against it instinctively, and something in your expression must have changed, because Cassian's eyes narrowed in recognition.

"I'm not here for war," you protested, your voice softening, all pretense falling away. "I just need to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?" Cassian's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Going somewhere?"

"Far, far away," you confirmed quietly. "Never to return. Which should make everyone happy, especially Azriel. So really, letting me see him is a win-win."

Cassian crossed his arms. "And I should trust you because...?"

"Please," you said softly, all bravado evaporating like morning mist. Your voice cracked on the word, betraying the desperation beneath your carefully constructed facade. "Five minutes. That's all I ask. Then I'll leave and never bother any of you again."

Your eyes, suddenly bright with unshed tears, met his. "I know I don't deserve it. I know what she—what I did to him was unforgivable. But I can't leave without saying goodbye. The bond won't let me."

You placed your hand over your heart, where the golden thread pulsed painfully with each heartbeat. "It hurts," you added, the simple admission costing you more than you cared to admit.

Something in your face—the naked vulnerability, perhaps, or the quiet desperation—made Cassian's expression soften fractionally. The scent of him shifted slightly, the aggressive edge giving way to cautious curiosity.

"You really are different," he said finally.

"So I've been told," you replied, trying for a smile that wobbled at the edges. "Is that a yes?"

Cassian sighed deeply, running a hand through his dark hair. "If you so much as flicker a flame in his direction, I'll drop you from a height that even High Fae can't survive. Clear?"

"Crystal," you agreed, relief flooding through you. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Cassian grumbled, gesturing for the other Illyrians to stand down. "Az is going to kill me for this."

He led you through the camp, winged warriors stopping their training to stare as you passed. The ground was hard-packed beneath your boots, worn smooth by centuries of Illyrian feet.

The air was crisp and cold, carrying the metallic scent of weapons and the earthy musk of male sweat. Fires burned in stone pits, the smoke carrying scents of cooking meat and pine. Everything about this place was wild, primal—the same way the warriors themselves were, with their predatory grace and ancient eyes.

The mating bond pulled more insistently with each step, the golden thread glowing brighter in your mind's eye, leading you unerringly toward Azriel. It thrummed between your ribs, a vibrating tension that grew tighter, more urgent as you approached.

"So," you said nervously as you walked, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your tunic, "how's life in the Night Court? Pleasant? Regular happiness meetings?"

Cassian shot you a sideways glance. "Are you always this chatty now, or is it just nerves?"

"Definitely nerves," you admitted quietly. "I'm not exactly good at goodbyes."

Your voice caught on the word, and the bond spasmed painfully in response. You suppressed a wince, but Cassian's sharp eyes missed nothing.

"Where exactly are you going that necessitates dramatic border-crossing farewells?" Cassian asked carefully.

"Home," you said simply. "Where I belong."

"And where is that?" he pressed.

"Would you believe... another world entirely?" Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Cassian studied your face for a long moment. "Actually, after yesterday's display, I might." He frowned slightly. "Does Az know about this... plan of yours?"

"No," you admitted. "And I'd prefer to keep it that way."

"Hmm," was all Cassian said as you entered a large clearing.

The training field opened up before you, a vast area of packed earth surrounded by training equipment and weapons racks. Illyrian warriors moved through drills in small groups, their wings creating gusts of wind with each powerful stroke. The sound was like distant thunder, a rhythmic percussion that vibrated in your chest.

And there, at the far end, stood Azriel.

Even from this distance, the sight of him made your heart stutter painfully in your chest. The shadowsinger moved with lethal grace as he demonstrated a complex blade maneuver to a group of young warriors. Shadows danced around him like living extensions of his body, coiling and stretching in hypnotic patterns. His power was a tangible thing, a cold pressure against your skin that raised goosebumps along your arms.

Beside him stood a slender female with golden-brown hair. She wore a simple dress the color of spring leaves, and smiled up at Azriel as he spoke. There was an easy comfort between them, a gentle familiarity that made your chest ache strangely. The scent of wildflowers surrounded her even at this distance, delicate and sweet amidst the harsher smells of the camp.

"That's Elain," Cassian murmured, noticing your gaze. "Feyre's sister."

"They look... close," you managed, hating the hint of jealousy that colored your voice. The mating bond twisted sharply in protest, as if insulted by the mere suggestion of a connection between Azriel and another female.

"They are," Cassian confirmed bluntly. "Az has been half in love with her for years."

The bond twisted again, the pain so intense it nearly doubled you over. You bit your lip hard to keep from crying out, the taste of copper flooding your mouth. Which was ridiculous—you had no claim on Azriel, no right to feel possessive. You didn't even belong in this world.

Before Cassian could say anything else, Azriel's head snapped up.

His shadows stilled completely, then surged forward like a tide, stretching toward you before he reined them back with visible effort. His eyes—those beautiful hazel eyes with flecks of gold—locked with yours across the training field, and the mating bond between you hummed to life, pulling taut and vibrant.

The pain vanished instantly, replaced by an awareness so intense it made you gasp. Every sense heightened, every nerve ending suddenly, painfully alive. His scent reached you even across the distance—night-chilled stone and cedar and male musk. The world narrowed to him alone, everything else fading into insignificance.

"He knows I'm here," you murmured, suddenly feeling small and uncertain.

Azriel said something to the warriors, then to Elain, who glanced curiously in your direction. He began walking toward you with measured steps, his face a mask of careful neutrality. His wings were folded tightly against his back, but shadows swirled around him in agitated patterns, betraying the emotion he refused to show.

Your palms grew damp with nervous sweat. Your heart raced in your chest, partly from the bond's insistent pull, partly from the fear of facing him after everything that had happened. Your mouth went dry, and you swallowed convulsively, trying to prepare yourself for his rejection.

When he reached you, he stopped at a careful distance, shadows swirling restlessly around him. He inclined his head slightly—a gesture of formal acknowledgment, nothing more. The scent of him was stronger now, wrapping around you like an invisible embrace that his body refused to give.

"My Lady," he said, his deep voice coolly professional. "This is unexpected."

Up close, you could see faint scars on his face, subtle markers of a life lived in violence. His wings were even more impressive than you remembered, powerful spans of membranous darkness that shifted slightly as he moved.

And on his chest—visible above the neckline of his training clothes—the edge of a scar that must have come from the burning your body's previous inhabitant had inflicted. The sight of it made your stomach clench with guilt and shame, though logically you knew you weren't responsible.

"I came to say goodbye," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers twisted nervously in front of you, a gesture of vulnerability that felt utterly foreign to this body accustomed to displays of power.

For a fraction of a second, something flickered in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or disbelief—before it was hidden again behind walls of ice. His shadows, however, betrayed him, reaching toward you before he pulled them back with visible effort. The temperature around you dropped several degrees, as if his shadows absorbed the very heat from the air.

"I see," he said neutrally. "Is there a reason the Lady of the Autumn Court felt it necessary to cross territories for such a purpose?"

The formal way he referred to you—not by name, but by title—stung worse than outright hostility might have. It was as if you were a stranger, a political entity rather than a person. The bond between you spasmed painfully, and you had to fight to keep your expression neutral.

"The mating bond," you explained, your voice trembling slightly as you forced yourself to meet his gaze. "I couldn't... I couldn't leave without seeing you one last time."

His shadows coiled tighter, writhing with what looked almost like agitation. Several of them formed sharp, jagged shapes before smoothing out again, as if reflecting some inner conflict he refused to acknowledge.

"The bond is irrelevant," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "As I made clear yesterday. Is there anything else?"

The dismissal was so complete, so utterly final, that tears welled in your eyes unbidden. You blinked rapidly, but it was too late—they spilled over, tracking silently down your cheeks. The salt of them burned against your cold skin, their warmth a stark contrast to the ice in his eyes.

Something flashed in Azriel's eyes—not the cold indifference from before, but something almost like pain. A muscle in his jaw ticked, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. His shadows reached for you again, stretching toward your tears as if to wipe them away before he harshly yanked them back.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, hastily wiping at your face. "I didn't mean to cry. I just... I wanted to apologize. For everything—"

"I have duties to attend to," he said abruptly, gesturing toward the training field where Elain waited, watching your interaction with open curiosity. "Cassian will escort you back to the border."

As if summoned by his name, Cassian stepped forward. "Time to go." he said.

You nodded, throat too tight for words. With one last look at Azriel—standing remote and unreachable despite being only feet away—you turned to follow Cassian.

You had taken only a few steps when Azriel's voice stopped you.

"Wait."

You glanced back, hope fluttering traitorously in your chest. The bond between you pulled painfully tight, as if trying to physically draw you back to him.

His face remained expressionless, but his shadows reached toward you, stretching across the distance between you. "May the Cauldron guide your path," he said formally, the traditional Fae farewell for travelers.

Not a declaration of feeling. Not even an acknowledgment of the bond. Just empty words, proper protocol. And yet... his eyes held yours a moment longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering in their hazel depths.

"Thank you," you whispered, a fresh tear slipping down your cheek. "Goodbye, Azriel."

This time, he didn't watch you leave. He turned and walked back to the training field without another glance, rejoining Elain as if the encounter had never happened. Only his shadows lingered, stretching toward you until distance finally severed the connection.

As soon as you were out of Azriel's sight, something inside you shattered. A sob tore from your throat, raw and unfiltered. Then another. And another, until you were gasping for breath, tears streaming unchecked down your face.

You stumbled, nearly falling as your legs threatened to give out beneath the weight of your grief. The mating bond ached like an open wound in your chest, every heartbeat sending fresh pain radiating through your body. It was a physical agony, as if someone had reached into your ribcage and was slowly, methodically shredding your heart.

"Whoa, whoa," Cassian said, catching your elbow to steady you. His hand was warm, solid, an anchor in the storm of your emotions. "Breathe, just breathe."

But you couldn't stop. The sobs came harder, your shoulders shaking with their force. You covered your face with your hands, but it did nothing to stem the flow of tears that slipped between your fingers and dripped onto the forest floor. Each breath was a struggle, catching painfully in your throat.

"I'm s-sorry," you choked out between sobs. "I can't—I can't stop."

Cassian looked utterly bewildered, his wings shifting uncomfortably behind him. The sound of them rustling was like agitated whispers. His expression was almost comical—the mighty Illyrian warrior, commander of the Night Court armies, completely undone by one sobbing female.

"It's... um... it's okay?" he tried, awkwardly patting your back. "Just... let it out?"

Your breath hitched as you tried to control yourself. "I'm sorry—this is so embarrassing—"

"Don't apologize," Cassian said gruffly. "The bond rejection... it's brutal. I've seen it before."

You wiped your eyes with your sleeve, which did absolutely nothing as fresh tears immediately took their place. Your chest heaving with each ragged breath, your entire body trembling. "It's not just that," you said, your voice breaking. "It's everything. This world, this body, this life that isn't mine. And now him—the one person who could have maybe..." You couldn't finish the thought as another sob overtook you.

Cassian sighed deeply, then did something unexpected. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket—surprisingly delicate for a battle-hardened warrior—and offered it to you.

"Here," he said. "Nesta makes me carry these. Says it's civilized."

The unexpected kindness only made you cry harder. You took the handkerchief with trembling fingers, trying and failing to dry your eyes. The delicate fabric was soft against your skin, smelling faintly of cedar and something distinctly female—Nesta's scent, you presumed.

"I'm getting tears all over your nice handkerchief," you said miserably.

To your surprise, Cassian chuckled. "I've had worse things on me. Much worse."

The mental image that conjured made you laugh through your tears—a wet, hiccuping sound that somehow made Cassian's shoulders relax. The scent of his relief was palpable, a subtle shift in his usual male musk.

"There we go," he said, relief evident in his voice. "Laughing and crying at the same time. Very efficient."

You hiccuped again, your breath coming in shuddering gasps as you tried to regain control. "I'm a m-mess."

"Yeah," Cassian agreed bluntly, but his eyes were kind. "But it's actually kind of... cute."

"Cute?" you repeated incredulously, knowing your face must be blotchy and swollen, your eyes red-rimmed. You could taste salt on your lips, feel the sticky tracks of tears drying on your cheeks.

"In a pathetic, helpless animal sort of way," he clarified with a grin. "Like a half-drowned kitten."

Despite everything, you found yourself laughing again—a watery, broken sound, but genuine. "You're terrible at comforting people."

"So I've been told," Cassian admitted cheerfully. "Repeatedly. By everyone I know."

You wiped your eyes again, breathing deeply to try to calm yourself. But the tears kept coming,

You wiped your eyes again, breathing deeply to try to calm yourself. But the tears kept coming, slower now but steady, as if your body was determined to purge every drop of grief it contained.

"Sorry," you murmured. "I can't seem to stop."

"It's the bond," Cassian explained, his voice softening. "When it's rejected... your body literally grieves."

"It hurts," you whispered, pressing a hand to your chest where the golden thread seemed to pulse with every beat of your breaking heart. The pain had a texture to it—jagged edges that tore at your insides with each breath, each heartbeat. "Like something's being torn out of me."

Cassian nodded, understanding in his eyes. "That's why most Fae don't reject the bond, even when they'd rather not accept it right away. The cost is... significant."

You hadn't realized Azriel would be feeling this too—this tearing, ripping sensation in his chest. The thought made fresh tears spill down your cheeks.

"Does he feel it too?" you asked, your voice small.

Cassian hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. Though he has centuries of practice hiding pain."

The two of you walked in silence for a while, your ragged breathing and occasional hiccuping sobs the only sounds. The forest around you deepened, tree limbs creating patterns of dappled shadow across the path. The scent of pine and earth surrounded you, grounding you in this moment, this world, even as you planned your escape from it.

You were vaguely aware of how absurd this must look—the Lady of Autumn Court, sobbing like a child while being escorted by the Night Court's general.

When you reached the border, marked by sentinel stones carved with runes, Cassian stopped. The stones hummed with ancient magic, the boundary between territories tangible as a change in pressure against your skin. The air itself felt different here—caught between autumn's golden warmth and night's cool embrace.

"This is as far as I go," he said. "Can you winnow back safely?"

"I'll manage," you assured him, though in truth you felt exhausted. The emotional toll of the encounter with Azriel had drained you as much as the winnowing itself. Your body felt hollow, wrung out, as if you'd run for miles.

You tried to hand back the handkerchief, now thoroughly soaked with tears.

"Keep it," Cassian said, grimacing slightly. "Consider it a souvenir of your visit to the Night Court."

"How thoughtful," you replied, managing a wobbly smile.

Cassian's expression grew serious. "Whatever you're planning... be careful."

"I will," you lied.

He studied your tear-stained face for a moment longer. "For what it's worth, I think he's making a mistake."

The unexpected words made your breath catch. "Why?"

"Because you're not who you were," Cassian said simply. "And bonds don't make mistakes. The Cauldron knows something he doesn't."

Fresh tears welled in your eyes. "Thank you, Cassian."

He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the emotion of the moment. "Don't mention it. Seriously, don't. I have a reputation to maintain."

With one final, awkward pat on your shoulder, Cassian turned and walked back toward the camp, his wings shifting restlessly against his back. The sound of them faded gradually, until only the whisper of the forest remained.

You stood at the border for a long moment, looking back at the Night Court territory—at the space where Azriel had stood, cold and remote and unreachable. The mating bond tugged painfully in your chest, urging you to return, to try again, to make him understand. Each pull was a physical sensation, like a hook embedded in your heart, drawing you back toward him.

But there was nothing more to say. He had made his feelings perfectly clear.

"Goodbye," you whispered one last time, though there was no one to hear it. The word tasted like ash on your tongue, final and irrevocable.

Then, gathering what remained of your strength, you focused on your destination—the Azure Pool.

The image was clearer now that you'd seen it, and the bond's pull had faded to a dull, persistent ache, making it easier to concentrate. You closed your eyes, visualizing the glowing water, the ancient trees, the isolation that would allow you to complete your journey home undisturbed.

You pushed through the fabric of reality, and the world dissolved around you once more. The darkness enveloped you, but this time it felt almost comforting, a temporary oblivion that numbed the pain in your chest. For one blissful moment, you were nowhere, nothing—just consciousness suspended between worlds.

Then, with a jolt that sent you to your knees, you rematerialized at the edge of the glowing pool.

You stumbled forward, the last of your strength draining away with the effort of winnowing. Fresh tears immediately welled, spilling down your already salt-stained cheeks. Your eyes burned, swollen and red-rimmed from crying. Your face felt hot and puffy, your breath still coming in those little hiccuping gasps that remained after a long bout of sobbing.

Looking down at your reflection in the still water, you barely recognized yourself. Your face was flushed and blotchy, eyes so puffy they appeared half their normal size, nose reddened, lips trembling with each unsteady breath.

The heartbreak was a physical pain now, radiating from your chest through your entire body.

Each breath hurt.

Each heartbeat sent fresh agony through the bond that stretched impossibly thin between you and Azriel. You pressed your hand to your sternum, as if you could somehow soothe the golden thread that seemed to be tearing itself apart inside you.

The water before you glowed with an ethereal blue-green light that pulsed like a heartbeat. It was uncannily alive, responding to your presence with subtle shifts in its luminescence. A gentle mist rose from its surface, carrying a scent that was both alien and strangely familiar—like the antiseptic of a hospital mixed with the mineral tang of magic.

"It's time," you whispered to yourself, your voice hoarse from crying. "Time to go home."

But even as you thought the words, doubt crept in.

You took a deep breath and stepped forward, the cool water lapping around your ankles. The sensation was strange—warmer than it should be, almost sentient in the way it curled around your skin. Another step, and it reached your knees, soaking through your leathers to caress your thighs with uncanny gentleness.

As you waded deeper, memories flashed through your mind—your childhood home, your first day of nursing school, the smell of antiseptic and sound of heart monitors.

Real memories, from your real life. The life you were returning to.

But other memories came too—Briar's surprised laughter, Eris's reluctant amusement, Cassian's awkward comfort. Connections formed in this strange world that somehow felt significant, as if they had always been a part of you, waiting to be discovered.

And Azriel.

His face when you cried—that brief moment when his mask had slipped, revealing something almost like pain. The way his shadows had reached for you, as if they recognized something in you that he refused to acknowledge. The flash of vulnerability in his eyes that contradicted every cold word from his lips.

The bond between you spasmed violently, as if sensing your intentions. The pain doubled you over, forcing a gasp from your lungs. It was fighting you, this golden thread, with everything it had.

"Please," you whispered, tears mingling with the glowing water. "Please just let me go."

The water reached your chest now, each breath slightly more difficult than the last. Just a few more steps, and you'd be fully submerged. One final breath, and then—home.

But was it that simple?

The pain in your chest suggested otherwise. The bond wasn't just stretching anymore—it was actively resisting, pulling back with a strength that surprised you. It didn't want to be severed. It was fighting for its survival, for your survival, with everything it had.

You closed your eyes, preparing for the plunge.

The memory of Azriel's face when you cried flashed in your mind—that brief moment when his mask had slipped, revealing something almost like pain. The way his shadows had reached for you when he thought you wouldn't notice. The flicker of recognition in his eyes when he admitted he knew you were different.

Strangely, that made it both harder and easier. Harder to leave what might have been. Easier to escape the pain of rejection.

"I'm sorry," you whispered to no one in particular. "But I have to go home."

With one final, deep breath, you plunged beneath the surface, letting the glowing waters close over your head.

The cold shocked your system, but you forced yourself to remain under, to release that precious breath and let the water in. The moment the water entered your mouth, time seemed to slow. You could feel each individual droplet as it passed your lips, slid down your throat, entered your lungs. It burned—not with the fire you expected, but with a cold so intense it might as well have been flame.

Pain blossomed in your chest, sharp and insistent, as your lungs fought against your mind's determination. Your body rebelled, instinct overriding intention as your limbs thrashed involuntarily. Your lungs spasmed, trying desperately to expel the foreign liquid. White spots danced across your vision as oxygen deprivation set in.

The mating bond flared to life with sudden, desperate intensity.

The golden thread burned like a live wire in your chest, pulsing with frantic energy. It was fighting harder now, clinging to your soul with everything it had.

Don't go, it seemed to whisper, though you knew it couldn't really speak. Stay. Belong. Live.

Darkness crept in from the edges of your vision, the glowing blue waters fading to gray, then black. Your body's struggles weakened, your limbs growing heavy, unresponsive. Your mind began to drift, consciousness slipping away like sand through fingers.

The last thing you felt was the mating bond, stretching painfully thin as consciousness slipped away. It was the final thread connecting you to that world, to that life, to him.

As it began to snap, one precious strand at a time, you felt an unexpected grief.

Not just for what was, but for what might have been.

Then nothing.

Author’s Note:

Thank you for diving headfirst into the angst ocean with me. I promise, there's a lifeboat coming... eventually. Until then: hold onto your feels, hydrate, and maybe scream into a pillow. You're doing amazing. 💔✨

Taglist: @circe143 @lunarxcity @willowpains @messageforthesmallestman @lreadsstuff @evye47 @lovely-susie @moonfawnx @tele86 @moonlitlavenders @darkbloodsly @ees-chaotic-brain @smol-grandpa

If you want to be added to the taglist, please comment down below ❤️

#acotar #azriel #azriel x oc #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #rhysand #cassian #nesta acotar #feyre acotar #eris vanserra

482 notes · View notes

starmocha · 1 month ago

Text

from midnight to sunrise

[Zayne/Reader ★ 1K words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] Relaxing together with Zayne. A/N: I blame one (1) troublemaker anon + one (1) troublemaker @deepspacenova + one (1) birthday girl @vesearlee for this… thing. I AM GOING TO SLEEP. GOOD NIGHT. tag list: beneath cut 【 request to be added 】

It turns out Zayne has been drinking coffee and eating healthy, saving his energy so he could stay up all night to fuck you until daylight.

Away in the living room, the distant sounds of a forgotten film continue to play, while within the four walls of your shared bedroom with Zayne, you lay on the edge of the bed with legs thrown over his broad shoulders as he kneels on the floor devouring you with an insatiable appetite.

“Don’t stop… Zaynie… don’t stop—” Your body quiver, hands grasping at the bedsheet with a vicelike grip, and legs wrapping around his head, your hips bucking when his tongue dives into your folds.

Cumming once isn’t enough, Zayne thinks, lapping greedily at your essence. There is so much he wants to do with you, and he knows you want to please him as well.

He licks his lips, savoring the sweet taste of you. His eyes gleam, drinking in the gorgeous sight of you on his bed, chest heaving as you recover from your climax.

Once isn’t enough, he thinks again, as he climbs on top of you, the bed heavier with his weight. He doesn’t leave you any time to react, his knees on either side of you, keeping you trapped under him as he guides his cock into your mouth. Instinctively, you suck the hard member, distantly hearing his hiss of pleasure.

You lean back, propped up only by your forearms resting on the plush mattress. Zayne’s hand steadies the back of your head before he starts thrusting in and out, in and out, the steady movements making you throb with renewed needs as you allow him to use you.

He is groaning at the feeling of your warm mouth around his cock, his soft praises not registered by you in the slightest as you are choking on him, nearly squirming. You are pulsing around nothing, needing to be stuffed full to satisfy this growing ache in your core.

Zayne could see the desperation in your eyes. He knows what you want. He wants this, too.

In all due time, he thinks to himself, his movements quickening to your surprise, the suddenness having you gagging and choking on him. First thing first, he needs to finish inside your mouth, wants you to taste him the same way he had tasted you earlier.

Zayne never quits half-way. You both know that.

You are his good girl. You both know that.

So, when he shoots his load into your mouth, you are swallowing eagerly, body responding excitedly to his plentiful praises. You squirm again, the ache worsening when he pulls away.

Still not enough, Zayne thinks once more, his hunger for you not fully satisfied. He kisses you hard, ravaging your mouth as he tastes himself on your swollen lips. He keeps you flushed to him, your soft flesh against his well-toned body. You lay on top of him, kissing him all over, feeling his hands wander, mapping out your body knowingly before you feel him squeezing your ass firmly.

“Zayne—"

He swallows your cries, his groans slipping out in between kisses as he feels you grinding down against him. He squeezes your ass harder, calloused fingers pressing deeply into the soft flesh.

“You are not tired, are you?” he questions softly, though it seems he doesn’t want to wait for your response. He presses his nose against your neck before he plants featherlight kisses along your collarbone, his mind is already racing with thoughts of what he could do to you next.

Even when you are a dribbling mess, he doesn’t give you a moment of respite, his cock painfully hard again, needing to bury himself in your sweet, sweet pussy. He effortlessly flips you both over, his heavy weight pressing you into the mattress. When you instinctively part your legs for him, Zayne smirks, his hand wrapped around his cock, his strokes leisurely slow.

You breathe in sharply, eyes darting down to his glorious length.

“Don’t tease me,” you whine, pouting and squirming beneath him. Your belly tightens at the sight of his cock, heavy in his hand, knowing it should be buried inside your pussy instead. You are throbbing, aching in anticipation of him penetrating you, filling you with pleasure beyond what you had felt so far this night.

He laughs at your words. “I have not been teasing you,” Zayne protests, guiding himself to your entrance. So fucking wet and ready for him, he slides into you with a pleased groan. Your own moans answered his, eyes rolling back at the always unbelievable stretch.

He takes his time enjoying you, smirking as the harder he thrusts, the more you unravel, becoming so helplessly compliant for him. His hands grab at you, groping brazenly all over, his kisses branding you as his.

The night carries on and he keeps you submissive to him, your body in the same constant state of arousal as his. He is so, so deep inside you, and you can’t stop moaning and babbling, words slurred with lust and pleasure. Lost in a state of complete ecstasy, you are at his mercy as he fucks you raw.

You both cum again, and again, and again, losing count of how many times you had experienced this euphoric high together. Your voice grows hoarse from screaming his name, all of your holes lewdly leaking with his seed, and still you are panting and moaning, whimpering and whining, still begging for him to fuck you deeply with his massive cock.

You are just getting started. Zayne’s stamina remains unmatched, his appetite still voracious.

Quitting halfway is not something Zayne is keen of, and since he will be off work for a few days, the generous thing you could do is help him relax in the meantime.

And you are certainly a very, very generous person.

Hour and hours pass, the obscene noises filling the room of flesh against flesh, your moans and his in tandem as you both lose yourselves in each other, drifting together deeper and deeper into this thick haze of pleasure.

Moonlight gives way to sunlight, and when dawn breaks, Zayne keeps you tangled in his warm embrace, his deceptively sweet and soft voice reassuring you, praising you, as he insists you should take a few days off work as well, and rest in bed with him.

Sleepy kisses meet his lips.

Who are you to object with his expert advice?

You mumble in agreement, laughing together with him.

Doctor’s order, of course.

Tag list: @alfredosaws @nezuswritingdesk @valkyyriia @yourlocalcatscammer @qyuin @starshinedusk @madamecorbie @lamogliedizayne @solifloris @natimiles @callilypso @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @littleapplle @animegamerfox @deepspacenova @lavlynyan @rainbowsnowflake @jasmines-greentea @notisekais @li-zayne-wife 【 request to be added 】

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace x reader #zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne x mc #zayne smut #love and deepspace fanfiction #lnds fanfics #x — fanfics #i had a very weird day yesterday 🙂#this was supposed to be based on 34+35 yes 🙂#it was not supposed to be this long no 🙂#i am tired 🙂

298 notes · View notes

scorpioriesling · 7 months ago

Note

Your Ridoc smut is so good ughhhh— Will you maybe write more with prompt 69 plsplsplsplsss

Loving You Out Loud

･ﾟ: *��･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Ridoc x reader

Warning(s): 18+, mdni, nsfw, p in v, oral, fingering

Summary: Keeping your relationship with Ridoc quiet for so long has had its pros, but once your friends catch onto your antics, you realize the two of you might not like being so quiet anymore.

SR’s Note: This uses prompt #69 from my request masterlist, so naturally... LMAO. Thank you for your request, and I hope you enjoy (; I did more porn WITH plot this time, lol -- it actually turned out kinda cute. <3

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

"Yeah! Then Violet went all crazy, I swear she was pulling moves I'd never seen before, and..."

You nod along as your friend Rhiannon continues, recapping how the night full of challenges had gone as your mind begins to wander. She was only filling you in because you'd been sick... and by sick, you meant "sick". At least, that's what you told the others.

"...and then, Sawyer challenged him for saying such a thing!"

Her voice fades in an out, the memory of last night threatening to cloud your thoughts once more.

"Fuck, baby -- so sweet," Ridoc had said, the low rumble of his voice sending a fresh wave of heat to your core. You squirmed atop him, adjusting to take him into your mouth once more.

You moaned loudly as he slicked between your folds, making a sloppy mess between your thighs as you straddled his face, lying flat atop him to take his length down your throat.

He sucked in a harsh breath as the tip of his cock hit the back o fyour throat, and you pulled your lips away slowly, smirking as you released him with a loud pop.

"Mmm, you like that?" You teased, continuing the slow strokes of your hand as your fingers stayed wrapped around his length. He chuckled, his lips wrapping around your swollen clit as he sucked harshly. You squirmed, the sensation perfectly pleasureable and all too much at the same time.

"No more teasing," he warned, lifting you off his face to lie on the bed next to him. He moved atop you, staring into your eyes with all the love in the world.

"I need you," he said quietly, his fist pumping his hard cock a few more times as he aligned himself with you, your essence still glistening on his chin.

Rhiannon pauses, and you refocus on the world before you.

"Y/N? Are you alright?"

You meet her gaze, faking a cough before pinching your eyebrows.

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry," you stutter out. She places a comforting hand on your back.

"Still not feeling well?" She offers, and you give a small nod.

"Just recovering." Your cheeks heat. You hated lying, but... there's no way in Hell you'd let the truth out.

You round the corner into the mess hall for lunch, and Rhi waves excitedly as she spots your usual table full of squadmates. Your eyes search for his brown ones, all to familiar yet all too ... absent, it seemed.

Taking the seat next to Maren, you perch near the end of the table, your chatty friend and squad leader sitting across from you.

"Fuck Ridoc -- yes, yes, yes!" You chanted, every word puncutated with his hips snapping against yours. He stared down at you, the hungry look in his eyes making the situation all the more delicious.

"So fuckin' tight," he breathed out, a few short strands of hair falling into his eyes as he focused on the point where his dick rammed into you. You meweled and clawed at the bedsheets, trying your best to keep quiet.

He adjusted his position, moving to hover over you more as he pushed his huge cock in at full-force. You cried out in pleasure, and he slipped a hand over your mouth.

"Such a good girl, so... loud, I love it," he cooed, his eyes meeting yours once more. "You can take it all, hm?"

Your eyes rolled back as you felt the red-hot coil snap inside your lower belly, every wave of pleasure flooding through you in an instant. Your eyes widened, staring up at the love of your life as he panted above you.

"Fuck -- fuck, feel so good baby, squeezin' my fuckin' dick like that... oh Gods.." he trusted in, his movements becoming slower and slower as you clenched around him. He let out a short groan, pausing to grab his cock in his hand and pump himself inside you.

"Mmmm... cum in me, please," you begged, still riding on the orgasmic high your boyfriend had given you. He breathed deep, his seed spurting inside of you and coating your inner walls.

It was a feeling that couldn't compare -- not that you were ready to divulge the relationship you shared to your friends quite yet.

"Feeling better today?" Sawyer asks from a few seats down, and you only offer a short nod before glancing down at the table before you. Everyone continues talking, but Imogene's voice is heard clear over the rest of the group.

"Funny, Ridoc said he wasn't feeling well last night either," she muses, and your eyes lift to meet hers. She toys with a piece of broccoli on her plate, the light catching on the silver of her fork. "How... strange."

Her eyes only spare you a glance, and thank the Gods -- your face is reddening again.

"W-what's that supposed to mean?" You stutter, and Imogene shrugs.

"Maybe you both got food poisoning," Sloane suggests with a shrug. "Did you eat any of the same things last night-"

Imogene cuts her off with a loud sigh, glancing back your way.

"I just mean it is rather... convenient, you're both sick at the same time." She huffs a laugh, a devilish smirk crossing her features. "Kind of like last time when you were injured, and who volunteered to stay with you for those three days while you healed?"

You chew the inside of your cheek, trying to find some way to diverge this unfolding situation.

"In... private, too." Imogene muses, lifting her fork and slowly chewing on the veggie. More pairs of eyes have turned to look to you, their curiosity piqued.

You let out a shaky laugh as images from the previous rendezvous flood your mind. Surely you're as red as a tomato by now-

"Ridoc... oh Gods, I-"

"You, what, sweetheart?" He laughed, offerring you a sly smile as his long fingers continued pumping in and out of your throbbing core. You squirmed, sucking in a sharp breath when pain once again bloomed in your side. Your boyfriend noticed, placing a gentle but halting hand on your absomen.

"Healers said you're not supposed to move," he said, his voice gruff. The heat beneath your skin, just under his hand... Gods, it was hotter than any other time.

"I... oh Gods, yes," you squeak, watching as his fingers plunge into you at an increasing speed. He curls them inside of you, rubbing on your most sensitive spot where the heat continued to build.

"Oh Gods -- Ridoc, I'm-!"

Your release gushed out of you, splattering across the linen sheets of the hospital bed as Ridoc continued fingering you, his bottom lip drawn between his teeth. You moaned loudly, tossing your head back against the pillows as his minstrations slowed.

Glancing down, you noticed the huge wet spot below you, and your cheeks pinkened. Ridoc's eyes looked over your body, pure lust clouding his vision.

"That was the hottest thing I think I've ever fucking seen," he growled, leaning in and pressing a quick, starving kiss to your lips. "If you weren't injured, I'd have you ass-up for me right now."

"What are we talkin' about?"

You breathe a sigh of relief as Ridoc slides along the bench beside you, his thigh pressing against yours as he tosses his rucksack onto the table carelessly. Everyone turns this time, staring at the overly unaware male as he greets the team with a grin.

Sloane coughs once, and Imogene shrugs.

"We were just... making the connection, that the two of you were both um," Rhiannon pauses, her gaze finding yours. "Sick, last night."

Ridoc flinches, a look of surprise crossing his face.

"Oh wow, really?" He muses, and you suck in a breath as his large hand finds the top of your thigh. "I had no idea you were out last night," his gaze locks onto yours, and you have to fight to keep your grin at bay.

"Y-yeah," Sloane continues on, her interest in the situation rising. "Did you guys... um." She twists her mouth to the side, deciding how to finish the question.

Ridoc's eyes widen in surprise. "What, skip the challenges together last night?" He glances at you again, laughing overabundantly. "No, no -- I didn't even realize she was sick, to be honest. Wonder how that happened."

He shrugs, and you chew on your lower lip. His fingers drift higher on your leg, inching closer and closer to your core. You mentally battle removing his hand, or leaning into the touch.

“Maybe it was food poisoning.” He suggests, and Cat snorts a laugh.

“Sounds about as believable as when that one suggested it the first time.” She gestures to Sloane, earning an eyeroll in return. Thankfully, the conversation stops there, everyone returning back to their previous talks.

Once everyone’s eyes are off of the two of you, you shoot Ridoc a withering side eye.

“What the Hell are you doing?” You whisper angrily, and he only grins.

“What, I can’t get turned on by my girlfriend mid-day?” He chuckles, and you smack his hand away.

“Ridoc, I thought we were still keeping things… quiet,” your gaze falls to the table, and his hand finds the small of your back instead.

“Sweetheart, I’m ready to tell everyone the second you are.” He gives you a reassuring nod, and you sneak a glance at his lips before meeting his gaze again.

“I just… maybe I like the quiet moments we share. Don’t you?” You ask, and his face inches closer to yours.

“I do… but I also like the loud ones.” He winks, and your face flushes. He brushes a thumb over your cheek, and you hear a few whispers from the other end of the table.

“Guys,” he announces, his gaze not straying from yours. “We have something to come clean about…”

The table is nearly quiet before Sawyer snorts.

“You’re not really telling us anything we didn’t already suspect,” he chuckles, and Imogene shrugs in an I-told-ya-so way.

The flush on cheeks doesn’t falter as Ridoc scootches you as close as possible, finally looking at the table of your friends.

“We’ve… we’re… uh,” you stutter, and Ridoc places a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“She’s mine,” he says confidently, and you try to stifle a smile as many raised eyebrows and looks of approval come your way. “Has been, actually, for a while.” His hand still rests on your back, rubbing up and down as your squadmates revel in the new information.

Rhiannon, however, is unamused.

“That’s… great, that you’ve finally let the cat we all knew was in the bag, out.” She says, giving you a raised eyebrow. “But please — don’t ever skip challenges again so the two of you can fuck-“

“WHAT? No, oh Gods, no no,” you scramble, hiding your face in your hands. “We both truly were-“

"That's not what you said last night," your boyfriend muses, and you glare at him. Rhiannon only waves a hand.

“I’ll let you off the hook this time, just… don’t make it a habit.” Her eyes find yours as she chuckles. “You don’t have to plead your case to me, Y/N.”

With that, the clocktower chimes signaling the end of lunch and the resume of classes for the day. Everyone stands at once, and Ridoc tosses his pack over his shoulders as he follows you out of the hall. As the two of you proceed to your next class, you feel his fingers lace through yours.

“This, is the type of loud I like.” He says, kissing the top of your head as you walk hand in hand. “Moments where I can show everyone, without restraint, just how much I love you.”

You giggle, looking up at him before pulling him closer to snuggle against his arm.

“I think I’ll enjoy loving you out loud, too.”

✧･ﾟ: *

#ridoc smut #ridoc x reader #ridoc fourth wing #ridoc gamlyn #onyx storm #fourth wing imagine #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing #fourth wing smut #iron flame #iron flame imagine #the empyrean #read more

440 notes · View notes

wife-of-all-dilfs · 2 years ago

Text

flower therapy | f. odair

masterlist

summary: after being rescued from the capitol’s torturous clutches, your boyfriend, finnick odair, assists you with recovering from haunting memories and ptsd.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: finnick being major boyfriend material, soft reader, mentions of torture, ptsd, panic attack, hurt/comfort, fluff

notes: the way i lowkey triggered myself into a panic attack while writing this?? i’m okay now though 😀

word count: 1.3k

Post-traumatic stress mental rehabilitation. That is what the psychiatric doctors of District Thirteen suggested after you were rescued from being captured and tortured in the Capitol. Their methods sounded daunting and all too familiar—sterile white rooms, memory flash cards, persistent strangers who would force you to relive your trauma so you could 'work through it'.

Finnick did not like the sound of that one bit. So, he offered an alternative.

Post-traumatic stress mental rehabilitation. The label was a mouthful. Finnick preferred to call it "flower therapy". Twice a week, you and Finnick were authorised to spend two hours above ground where you would sit in a nearby meadow, make daisy chains, and occasionally open up about what happened in the Capitol.

You liked to call it "the power of flowers". Stupid, but saying it always formed a little smile on your face and there was no harm in simple joy considering the cruelties you had endured. Most of the time, you were silent and would lie in Finnick's arms while making flower crowns. He was always patient; he understood you needed time. Day after day, he proved his unconditional love, and you thanked the universe for blessing you with such an incredible man.

"Oh no," you whispered.

"What is it?"

You dangled your broken daisy chain in front of you and Finnick.

"Oh no," he echoed.

Your back rested against his chest and his arms enveloped your body as he held his own effortlessly crafted yellow chain in your lap. Apparently, years of weaving fishing nets creates a master of making daisy chains.

"Here," he said, positioning his own flower crown on your head. "Beautiful."

Smiling, you turned your head to face him. "I'm going to tell everyone I made it."

The flowers sat like a golden halo atop your head, beaming just as bright as the smile Finnick had bloomed at the sight of you. Beauty was everything that you were; not just outwardly, but within the confines of your mind too. Flowers and sunlight were interwoven with your soul, making up the essence of who you were—loving and warm-hearted. One of the many reasons Finnick had fallen in love with you.

He would forever want to remain in your garden, tending to and protecting every petal that blossomed.

His thumb swiped affectionately across your cheek. "Of course you are, you thief," he murmured, grinning. "You owe me."

Your stomach flooded with butterflies and you leaned in, tenderly kissing him with soft pink lips. Finnick cupped your cheek, stroking the baby hairs of your hairline with his fingers as he smiled against your mouth. Even your lips tasted like sweet nectar to him.

After you pulled away, you settled back into his embrace, sinking into those arms that shielded you from any and all harm.

"Okay, I suppose you're forgiven," Finnick said, the smile present in his voice.

You toyed with his fingers while wearing a glowing smile of your own, his arms lovingly wrapped around your body. Oh, you loved him so endlessly.

As the sun began to lower, a mixture of orange and pink clouds blanketed the sky. The trees surrounding the meadow cast large shadows throughout the area, making it appear much darker than it really was. A subtle shift in the once tranquil atmosphere rippled through the meadow, happiness now becoming a distant and unreachable feeling.

The broken daisy chain crumpled in your hands no longer shined in the sun like a beautiful mess. It instead looked tangled. Chaotic. Darkened by the dimming light and transformed into something sinister that resurfaced haunting memories of the Capitol—twisted IV tubes filled with unknown substances, chains that removed layers of skin, decaying white roses that covered the floor of your cell.

Heaviness clutched at your heart, suffocating you from within.

Finnick sensed the sudden shift, loosening his hold around you as he whispered, "What's wrong?"

"I—I don't know," you stammered, the air thinning around you.

The wilting daisies started to taint your hands with darkness, creeping slowly up your arms and causing them to tremble. Finnick, who noticed your fixation on the daisy chain, gently took the flowers from your grasp and set them aside.

It was too late; the panic had already set in.

He turned your body to the side in his lap, forcing you to face him. Your eyes flickered with worry. No amount of pain could compare to the heartbreak he felt seeing you like this.

"Hey. Hey, look at me," he urged, his tone soothing. "Breathe with me, alright? In..." He inhaled deeply through his nose. "And out."

But it was no use. Air was caged within your lungs, burning like fiery hot whirlwinds inside your chest. It was all you could do to force rapid shallow breaths out of your mouth.

"No, no!" A tear fell from your eye as you fervently shook your head. "Finn, I ca—I can't."

"Yes, you can, baby," he said, pushing aside the hair that obscured your vision. His eyes searched the area, looking for anything that could help distract your frantic mind. That is when he spotted a small flock of birds perched on one of the tree branches, instantly recognising their black feathers and sharp beaks. "Look. See those birds? They're mockingjays."

Finnick pointed up at the tree, gaining your attention which then shifted to the birds that were gawking down at you with curious tilting heads. Mockingjays. Katniss. Rebellion. Hope. You focused all your attention on the little black birds and listened to Finnick's reassuring voice.

"They'll repeat any tune you make," he continued, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Can you do that for me? Try and whistle something for them?"

Attempting to control your ragged breathing, you jerkily nodded. Songs from the world before the war overtook your mind. At first, it was overwhelming as your mind scrambled for a suitable melody, fuelling your panicked state. But then you heard something familiar and focused on the familiar tune, one that was from your childhood.

Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,

Go to sleep, my little baby,

When you wake you shall have,

All the pretty little horses.

It was a lullaby your mother sang whenever you were upset. Seemed fitting considering the situation. You managed to whistle the first few notes, albeit a little wobbly of course, hardly noticing the air that was starting to flow more freely into your lungs.

"That's it, sweet girl."

Once the mockingjays began echoing the song throughout the forest—far more beautifully than your broken whistles—you continued the melody until the end. When you finished, the birds continued to repeat the tune, singing your mother's lullaby over and over in the trees of District Thirteen.

Whilst sat cradled in Finnick's embrace, you quietly hummed along as he stroked soft patterns on your arm. Darkness and pain were long forgotten now. Your body no longer trembled with fear nor did your breathing. Memories of the Capitol's brutality were locked away and hidden in the back of your mind, diligently guarded by the man whose arms you lay in.

Golden beams filtered through the tree trunks; the sun was now lowered enough to let the warm light in, illuminating both you and Finnick. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, wrapping you up even tighter in his arms now that he was certain the worst had passed.

You clutched onto his arm and blew out a final stabilising breath, finding comfort in the strength and protection he held. The side of your head rested against his chest, the beats of his heart harmonising like a drum with the mockingjays' song.

You wanted to apologise but knew his response would be dismissive. You wanted to tell him how deeply you loved and appreciated him but knew your words would fail you.

So, you remained silent.

"You're safe," Finnick whispered into your hair. "Right here, right now. I promise."

Right here, right now, you repeated in your mind. In Finnick's arms, you were safe. You were loved.

tags: @tayrae515

#wife-of-all-dilfs ✍️#finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x you #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #sam claflin #odesta #finnick x reader

5K notes · View notes

moniquill · 4 months ago

Text

So there's a post going around that I'm not going to engage with because my point is entirely different than what the discussion is covering there...

It's this thread: https://www.tumblr.com/galileosballs/783607164314976256/some-of-the-responses-to-this-have-been-in

(I will not be weighing in on that thread)

Here's the thing about schooling and Kids These Days from the elementary to the college level using generative AI (which is Bad for many reasons; I am not defending it):

School (for the purposes of this discussion, public school in the US because that's the only kind of schooling I personally have extensive experience with) is not designed to promote learning.

Lamentations about the ethics of the students who do this, about how this is devaluating education, about how it's frightening that future doctors etc are cheesing their way through medical school with AI all have their eyes on a particular symptom of a much, much bigger and deeper problem. That problem is ULTIMATELY capitalism, but on the way there it's about pedagogy.

I, from the perspective of not having been beholden to school for many years, can confidently say that I did not learn a single fucking thing in school between fourth grade (age 9; I learned how to do long division) and college (age 18, learned a lot of different things, absolutely none of them particularly relevant to any paid work I've ever had). School was a six to eight hour time sink (plus however long homework took) in my day that actively got in the way of me learning things WHILE piling a bunch of stress and trauma onto me that I had to spend years recovering from.

School, in the US, is designed from the ground up to train children into compliant workers. It's about showing up on time, being willing to follow arbitrary and often unfair rules, doing as one is told by figures of authority, and giving the desired answers to direct questions (while asking as few clarifying questions as possible). Curiosity and creativity are actively punished by public school.

youtube

"Does saying things that are true and that you know are true only matter when someone is giving you a little prize for it?" Literally yes, that his how the system is built. Under capitalism, there is no motivation to say true things that are true that you know are true. It is likely, in fact, to get you punished! If you want to change that behavior, YOU HAVE TO CHANGE THE SYSTEM THAT PRODUCES IT.

This quote, in particular, seems to miss the point hugely:

"Some of the responses to this have been, in essence, "well, it's not our fault for being raised in a bad educational system that prioritizes grades over comprehension". And you're right, it's not your fault.

But you freely admit the system is bad. That it values the wrong things.

So why do you limit yourself to only achieving what it values? Do you not aspire to be better than a system you know is wrong? Don't you want to change the world?" with a post script of "the system is bad and that fact absolves me of moral responsibility to be a good person” is CEO rhetoric frankly"

It should be noted that absolutely no one in the thread has espoused a belief that 'hat fact absolves me of moral responsibility' - they are all talking about ways that the system is rotten from the ground up and needs to be dismantled and rebuilt. Many, many people reblogging the chain are ascribing malice/excuse-making to people who are merely correctly identifying the problem. Explanations are not excuses; sorry that someone taught you that at some point.

No one in that thread has said "I use AI, and think that it's a good and laudable thing to do!" - that is not a position that anyone seems to be holding.

There are a lot of people in that thread who are indignant that anyone is going to college who isn't deeply invested in learning, as if that's the goal that sends people to academia.

We do not live in a world that rewards learning. We live in a world that awards the possession of credentials.

We do not live in a world where people pursue careers because they are inherently important and meaningful to them - they pursue them because they want to survive under capitalism. Most people are not going into healthcare, for example, because they genuinely want to help heal people who are sick or injured; they're doing it because it's a stable career that generated a livable income. I say this as a person who works in healthcare and deals with others working in the field.

"If you're using AI to get through your education you've not fucking earned your qualifications. That AI did."

No one has ever 'earned their qualifications' re: possession of a college degree. They have merely shown a capacity and willingness to jump through the required hoops.

Do you think that you can shame people into not using shortcuts?

I want readers to look at this thread:

which has a much more coherent idea of what the problem is and what can be done about it. I want readers to look into pedagogy; check out these old-ass videos:

youtube

And just... just go watch every Ted Talk by Sugata Mitra.

I think we as a society need to be far more honest in what the goals we have are and how they're best achieved. Most of the jobs that people end up spending their lives doing should not be asking for college degrees. Most people do not want or need to go to college. Most people in college, in school at all, are there under duress and the threat of destitution.

I really want people to reblog and reply to this with thier own thoughts - I know that's no longer vogue on tumblr, but I am trying really hard to bring it back. No, the replies will NOT be opened. Fucking reblog it.

#Education #Gen AI #Pedagogy #Capitalism #Focusing on the symtoms instead of the causes #Youtube

305 notes · View notes

drabbles-mc · 1 year ago

Text

I'm Not Sorry

Bob Floyd x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, language, dry humping, semi-public hookup

Inspired by This Text Post: i should be riding some nerd's thigh while he gropes all over my body & tells me i'm the girl of his dreams

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: i've been struggling to finish fics lately but i saw that text post a couple days ago, knew i wanted to write about it for Bob, and then BAM this all fell outta me tonight. unbeta'd to the max but Bob Floyd deserves to fuck so time was of the essence 😌

Top Gun Maverick Taglist: @garbinge @proceduralpassion @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

If you wanted to be dramatic, you could say that you and Bob had been playing a very coy game of cat and mouse for months. It was a bit of an exaggeration, but not by much. A majority of the time that you spent with each other was work-related. It was usually work related, and there was almost always other people around. The closest the two of you got to having time alone was when all of you went out together and everyone else got distracted with pool or darts or each other. So while it might’ve been months according to the calendar, it wasn’t really quite that drastic.

Still, though, you tried to make the most out of the time that the two of you got to have.

It was easy, especially at first, to get a rise out of him, to get his cheeks to flush pink, to get him tripping over his words. A seemingly accidental touch, a well-timed innuendo or wink—that’s all it really took. You didn’t say anything about it but you noticed each time his gaze would break, eyes flickering down from yours to your mouth anytime your teeth dragged along your bottom lip. It never took much with him and for a while you just chalked it up to the fact that he was sweet and shy and a little awkward, that anyone flirting with him like that would get that reaction out of him. It wasn’t until you saw him perfectly unfazed at The Hard Deck one night when a girl at the bar was all but falling into his lap that you realized it wasn’t a Bob thing. It was a you thing. Once you realized that, it was all bets off.

There had been more than one occasion when thanks to your subtly wandering hands Bob nearly spat his drink out across the bar or dropped the bottle from his hand completely. You were able to keep a straight face and play it off, and every now and then Bob was able to recover with some grace, but there had been a time or two when he’d caught a few odd looks from the rest of the crew. It was easy enough to wave them off and they’d let it drop, but the second his focus was back on you, you could tell that he was working overtime to stay on the right side of self-control. All you could do was smile and try to carry on like nothing had happened.

Truthfully, it had gotten to a point where you had almost just resigned yourself to this being what it was going to be like with you and Bob. You were trying to accept that this limbo, this knowing that you wanted him and he wanted you but neither of you really found the time to do much of anything about it, was as good as it was going to get. A never-ending chase, a game with no winners.

“Alright,” you said as you hopped off your barstool, “I gotta head out.”

“Why?” Rooster asked, sounding as though he couldn’t fathom why anyone would want or need to be anywhere else on a Friday night.

You laughed as you dug your wallet out, taking out a few bills to close out your tab and then some. “Some of us have shit to do in the morning, Bradshaw.”

He laughed and gave you a mock disbelieving look. “I don’t think so.”

Raising your eyebrows, you turned your head to face him. “You wanna close out my tab, then? Sounds like you might wanna close out my tab.”

He threw his hands up in surrender. “Forget it—see you Monday.”

You laughed a little harder at that. “That’s what I thought.”

It didn’t seem like your departure disturbed the flow too much, everyone falling back into their previous conversations as you made your way to the bar to square up your tab. You didn’t even bother looking back as you made your way to the door of the bar. By the time your feet hit the blacktop of the parking lot, you were already fishing your keys out of your bag.

Once you were a few strides away from the bar and the clamor of noise coming from inside died down, all you heard was the sound of your own footsteps, and the ocean not too far off. It was peaceful until you heard someone else’s footsteps behind you. The sound alone wouldn’t usually have been strange. Someone else deciding to leave the bar at the same time as you wasn’t a weird occurrence. What made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, however, was the fact that the footsteps were getting quicker and closer. You felt your jaw clenching, positioning your keys between your fingers the way you’d always been taught. You were only a few steps away from your car now but you still found yourself taking a deep breath, getting ready to turn around and see whoever it was that was behind you. You were about to turn and brace for impact when you heard Bob’s voice calling out your name, a little breathless, and very rushed.

Turning around and seeing him, some of the tension disappeared. You huffed, shoulders dropping. “Jesus, Bob.”

There was an apologetic smile on his face as he realized what had just happened. “Sorry.”

Shaking your head, you slipped your keys so that you were holding them in your hand normally again. You managed to laugh at the potential worst case scenario versus the reality of the situation. “Another step without saying my name and I think we both would’ve been sorry.”

He stepped in a little closer to you as he nodded towards your car. “Just wanted to walk you to your car.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled as you turned and started the last few steps across the lot with him. “You know, walking me out to my car is much more chivalrous and much less creepy when you tell me you’re going to do it.”

There was a smirk on his face as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Guess I’ll have to remember that next time.”

Silence took over the space between you, and while it was comfortable enough, you couldn’t help but to feel like there was more to it, something in the air. Hitting the unlock button on your keys, the lights of your car flashed once. You looked at Bob, then at your car, and then back to Bob. “Well,” you chuckled, “thank you for the company on this long, treacherous journey.” You reached for the handle on the driver’s door. “Hope we can do it aga—”

Bob cut your sentence short when he placed one hand on top of yours on the door handle, keeping you from opening it. Before you could jump to another sentence and ask him what he was doing, his other hand was pressing against the small of your back and pulling you into him so that he could press his lips to yours in a kiss that was intense and nervous all at once.

It lasted just long enough for you to realize what was happening and how good it felt and then he pulled away. Going off the way his eyes were wider than you’d ever seen them, he was just as surprised at himself as you were. Despite the shock all over his face, he didn’t take his hand off your back, although the one that was covering yours on the door dropped back to his side.

“Sor—I’m sorry,” he finally forced out. “I’m…” he trailed off as he looked at you, tongue darting out over his bottom lip.

Another second passed in heavy silence, and when you didn’t try to break free of him, didn’t try to push him away, he let the rest of his sentence die on the tip of his tongue as he kissed you again. You could feel the way that he was more confident this time, the warmth of his palm bleeding through the thin fabric of your tank top as he pressed you against him.

You brought your hands up so that they were resting in the crook of where his neck met his shoulder. One slid up, thumb beneath his jaw as he deepened the kiss. It was all you could do to not ball up the cotton of his t-shirt in your fist, put it in a vice grip so that he couldn’t try to get away. However once you felt the way his tongue pushed into your mouth, and the way he used his body to pin you between him and the side of the car, it became clear that he wasn’t planning on going anywhere.

He had one hand still on your back, one hand braced against the side of your car. It was the first time it ever seemed like he was crowding you, like he was trying to make you seem small. You didn’t mind it. With the way he was kissing you, you were fairly certain you wouldn’t mind anything.

The next time the two of you came up for air, he didn’t pull far enough away for you to really see him. You were just far enough apart for your lips not to be touching, but you could still feel the side of his nose pressed against yours. You could still feel his breath against your skin. The two of you were pressed so tight against each other that you could’ve sworn you could feel the way his heart was about to beat clean out of his chest.

“Shit,” the word fell from his lips in a whisper, followed by an equally soft laugh. His lips brushed against yours as he spoke. “I’m…I’m not sorry.”

You laughed at that, couldn’t help yourself do to anything but. “Good.” Your hand slid from his jaw to the back of his head. “You shouldn’t be.” Kissing him again, you let your teeth pull lightly at his bottom lip as you pulled away. “Only thing you need to be sorry for is taking so long.”

He smiled and shook his head. If the lighting had been better you were sure that you would see a blush all across his cheeks and down his neck. You’d have to settle for the mental image of it. “Didn’t see you chasing me down across any parking lots for a kiss before this either,” he rebutted with a chuckle.

“Touché.”

The humor died down out of his voice as he said, “You know how long I’ve been wanting to do that?”

You nodded, noses brushing against each other. The bridge of his glasses bumped against your forehead for a split second in the process. “I’ve got a pretty good idea, yeah.”

Your bodies were pressed together so tightly that you felt it when he sucked in a quick breath. There were a million things that he wanted to say to you and he couldn’t make himself say any of them in that moment. He had his hand on your back and the taste of your kiss on his lips and yet none of the things he’d been thinking over the passing months were making it out.

The feeling of your fingers toying with the longer strands of his hair centered him enough for him to smile as he said, “At least you know that. I—oh—” He fumbled his way out of the sentence when he felt your lips on his neck.

“Bob?” you said, lips brushing against the column of his throat as you spoke.

“Y-yeah?” he stammered out, and you could feel the vibrations against your lips as he talked.

Taking one hand off of him, you reached and pulled on the handle to the back door of your car. You kissed him again, pushing both of you off the side of the car in the process. “Get in the car.”

He was far enough away that you could see the shocked look on his face. “What?”

You placed your hands on his sides, switching your positions so that he was closer to the car than you. “Car.” You kissed him. “Back seat.” Another kiss. “Now.”

“Now?” He looked around the parking lot. Full of cars but completely devoid of people. “Here?”

You laughed as you pushed him farther back, causing him to duck slightly as he went backwards into the car. “Preferably, yeah.”

“I don’t—whoa,” he fell back across your back seat, managing to brace himself on his forearms.

You shimmied in after him. Pulling the door shut behind you, you climbed on top of him, one leg between his, the other pinned between the outside of his leg and the back seat. It was close quarters, but you weren’t exactly looking to put any distance between the two of you.

Your hands landed on his shoulders, fingers curling over the curve of them as you leaned in and kissed him on the lips. Whatever reservations he’d had about your current location disappeared almost immediately once your lips caught his. His hands were on your hips for a moment. You could feel the way he tightened his grip even through the denim of your shorts. Your lips and his met over and over, each reconnection making him a little bolder.

He managed to get his thoughts together just enough to pry one hand from your hip so that he could reach up and take his glasses off. He all but tossed them up and onto the center console between the driver and passenger seats. You were smiling and about to make a comment about the action but you didn’t get the chance. He brought his hand back to you, starting off on the soft, exposed skin of your thigh. His touch was soft at first, but quickly started to change. His fingers dragged up your leg before slipping past the bottom hem of your shorts.

Your pleased gasp of surprise when you felt the pads of his fingertips over the lace of your panties was quickly smothered as he pulled your lips back to his again. His grip on your ass tightened, pushing you down harder onto his thigh and causing you to moan into his mouth.

For a split second you couldn’t believe it. All this time and Bob hadn’t been able to make a move, couldn’t believe that you wanted to fool around in the back seat of your car—that same man was now grinding you down against his thigh in a way that had you wet and clenching around nothing.

You broke the kiss to catch your breath, muttering out a quiet, needy, “Fuck,” as you continued to move along the top of his leg.

When you pulled back enough to see him, you saw the way that he was watching the movement of your hips. He didn’t take his eyes off of you, felt like he physically couldn’t tear himself away from the sight. His hold on you loosened as you found your own rhythm. A tiny whimper slipped past your lips, the sound involuntary as you savored the friction. The sound made his gaze snap back up to your face, and when he saw the want and desperation etched into your expression he thought that he was going to melt into a puddle right there on your back seat. What a way to go.

He pulled you back down into another kiss, your bodies flush practically from head to toe. Even as you continued to move against his thigh, you could feel the way he was shifting slightly, trying to get in the most comfortable position as he felt himself growing more and more aroused with each passing second. He didn’t let you pull away, though, didn’t let you put any distance between you. With you pinning his leg to the seat, Bob let his hands wander up underneath he fabric of your shirt. Suddenly it was like you felt his hands everywhere—your back, your sides, your chest. He slipped them down past the waistband of your shorts and underwear, fingers kneading the flesh of your ass in a way that with everything else had your legs starting to shake.

Bob could feel it, too. He could feel the increased sense of urgency in your movements, the way you were chasing after something and you almost had it. He was half-expecting to be woken up and find out that this was all just a dream. But not even his dreams had been this good, felt this good.

He dragged his lips off of yours, trailing them along your jaw instead. He left a string of sloppy, desperate kisses in his wake until his lips were beside your ear. One of his hands crept up your back, palm and fingertips scorching your skin in the best way.

“I meant it, you know,” his whisper came out lower than you’d ever heard, a tiny hint of a tremor to it, “when I said I’ve been wanting this—you.” He kissed below your ear, feeling the shaky breath you let out at that, at his words. “But even when I thought about it,” he kissed your jaw, “or dreamed about you,” he kissed your neck, “it wasn’t—shit—it wasn’t anything compared to this.”

Fighting the urge to bury yourself into the crook of his neck at his words, you pulled your head back. You cupped his jaw roughly in one hand and crashed your lips against his. His arms slithered around you and wrapped you tightly against him. He could still feel the slight shake in your legs.

“Bob—”

He stole another quick kiss. “I’d wait all over again for this.”

You could hear it in his voice how genuine he was being. You tried not to let yourself get distracted by his still-wandering hands, or his erection that you could still feel through his jeans. You tried to start your sentence again. “Bob, I—”

“Let me—”

“Come home with me,” you cut him off right back this time, deciding to just get to the point of what you were trying to say.

Confusion flashed across his face for a quick moment. “What?”

“Come back to my place.”

“I thought—”

“I wanna do this.” You sat up enough so that you could drag your fingertips down over his chest and stomach, even doing it over the fabric of his shirt had him starting to squirm with want. “But I’d rather do it somewhere where I don’t have to worry about smacking my head off the ceiling if I sit up all the way.”

The statement got both of you to laugh. “That’s fair.” He paused, a smirk on his face as he said, “Car was your idea, though.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m feeling a little impatient. Sue me.”

He pulled you into another kiss, one that every time you thought it was over he’d pull you back in all over again. As much as you wanted to get him back to your apartment and laid out on your bed, you also knew that you’d spend as much time as he wanted to doing exactly what you were doing right now. Anything to keep him this close now that you had him there.

When he released you from the kiss, he looked up at you with that same smile, that same slightly dazed look to in his eyes. Like he couldn’t believe this was happening. You couldn’t really believe it either. You couldn’t believe that any of it was happening at all, but you were also having a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that Bob Floyd, the same man who could barely make eye contact with you at the bar the first time you all went out together, was the same man who looked like he was about to try and strategize how to best make use of your back seat so he wouldn’t have to wait to get back to your apartment.

“I live less than ten minutes from here,” you said, already knowing what he was going to say.

His hands moved around to the front of you, fingers just barely curled over into the front of your waistband. You pretended not to notice the way he was toying with the button of your shorts. “Thought you had things to do tomorrow?”

You laughed, leaning in and kissing him. “I still do. Now they’re just,” you ran your hand lightly over the crotch of his jeans, enough pressure to get him to buck into you, “different things.” You giggled quietly at the purposeful breath he sucked in. Reaching over, you grabbed his glasses for him. “C’mon. You can ride shotgun.”

He propped himself up by his forearms again as you untangled yourself from him. “What if—”

You couldn’t help but to laugh as you stopped his sentence short. “Little late to get shy now.”

He smiled, face starting to turn red. “Right.”

The only thing that passed between the two of you were knowing looks and soft laughter as you scrambled out and into the front seats of the car. It wasn’t until you were pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road that you spoke up again, trying not to be too distracted by Bob’s hand creeping higher and higher up on your thigh.

“So,” you looked over at him for a second before returning your attention to the road, “you dreamt about me?”

His head dropped back against the headrest and you couldn’t help but to laugh at his faux exasperation. He gave your thigh a squeeze. You were expecting a joke, one of the witty little comebacks that he had a way of finding in the right moments, but instead he let himself be serious as he said, “Yeah, I did.”

The three words hung in the air between you, and you felt the butterflies that you’d been too busy to feel before in the heat and the rush of everything else. You could feel the way that Bob was looking at you while you looked at the road.

“How much longer?” he asked.

You laughed, sparing him a glance. “Six minutes, tops.”

He nodded, fingertips grazing up and down your thigh, goosebumps breaking out over your skin despite how warm your car was with its still-fogged-up windows. “Six minutes.”

#top gun #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #bob floyd #robert floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd x you #x reader #x reader fic #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc #bob floyd fanfiction

1K notes · View notes