#Secret Flutter Features

[rafecameronssl4t]

Actors on Actors || Drew Starkey x actress!reader

Summary: Actress!reader and Drew partaking in Variety's Actors on Actors!!

Warnings: not proofread sozz

Word count: 3,057 loooong one

A/n: damn I felt like I was in the interview room for this one

MASTERLIST

Drew couldn’t keep his eyes off you as the crew flitted around, prepping for the Actors on Actors interview with Variety. You were standing just a few feet away, laughing lightly at something one of the staff members had said, your head tilted back, eyes sparkling. To him, you looked utterly breathtaking—ethereal, even. Everyone knew Drew Starkey had the biggest crush on you.

He was never subtle about it, often caught in candid interviews or behind-the-scenes clips praising you, his admiration so obvious it became a running joke among his friends and colleagues. But right now, as he adjusted his mic and watched you from the corner of his eye, he wished he hadn’t been so vocal about it. His nerves were getting the best of him.

What if he said something dumb? What if you already thought he was just some lovesick fool? He swallowed hard, trying to calm the fluttering in his chest as you walked toward the set, your heels clicking softly against the floor. “Drew Starkey,” you greeted warmly, a radiant smile lighting up your features as you settled into the armchair opposite him.

You sat first, crossing your legs effortlessly, the picture of poise. “Y/n,” Drew smiled back, leaning forward slightly to kiss both of your cheeks. The casual intimacy of the gesture sent his pulse racing, but he played it cool as you let out a soft laugh, your perfume lingering faintly in the air.

“How’s it going?” he asked, his tone steady, though there was a barely perceptible edge to it—a nervous undertone that betrayed just how much this moment meant to him. His gaze lingered on yours, longer than what might be considered polite, but you didn’t seem to mind. “I’m good, and—” You paused mid-sentence as Drew suddenly leaned forward, his brows knitting together.

“Sorry—hold on,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, softer, as his fingers reached toward the hem of your dress. “You’ve got a little something.” Before you could respond, he gently plucked a stray piece of lint from the fabric, his fingertips brushing ever so lightly against the material.

The touch was fleeting, almost inconsequential, but it sent a quiet thrill up your spine, one you quickly masked with a polite chuckle. “Oh—thanks,” you said, your voice airy as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re welcome,” Drew replied, his lips curving into a shy grin, his usual confidence momentarily replaced by something more boyish and endearing.

For a moment, you could swear his ears turned a little pink. You leaned back, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you studied him. Of course you knew Drew Starkey had a crush on you. It wasn’t exactly a secret.

But there was something undeniably flattering about it—something that made you feel just a bit lighter, a bit more self-assured. However, you'd be lying if you said you didn't have a crush on him. It was Drew Starkey after all.

Your eyes met again, and the silence between you stretched into something that felt almost electric. Both of you wore soft, bashful smiles, the moment teetering between unspoken words and playful tension. Finally, you broke into a small laugh, breaking the spell, and Drew looked away, scratching the back of his neck, his own smile lingering despite himself.

“You know,” you began, shifting slightly in your seat, “it’s kind of funny. We’ve both been at so many of the same events, but we’ve never actually talked until now.” Drew chuckled, his posture relaxing just a little. “I know, right? It’s crazy. First time was… the Glass Onion premiere, wasn’t it?”

You nodded, humming in agreement. “Yeah, I was there supporting Madelyn," Drew spoke. "Ugh, I miss Maddie," You give a small pout as Drew chuckles. “And then Immaculate, I remember standing right behind you in the photo line.” You laughed, your cheeks warming at the memory.

“Oh my god, yes! And somehow, we still didn’t even say hi.” “And then the Queer premiere a couple weeks ago,” Drew said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Right,” you said, leaning forward slightly as your laughter softened into a chuckle. “It’s wild how we’ve been orbiting around each other this whole time.”

“Crazy, huh?” Drew murmured, his voice lower now, his eyes soft as they lingered on you. The way he looked at you was different—not just admiration, but genuine warmth, curiosity, and something else you couldn’t quite place. “How’s everything been?” Drew asks, leaning back in his chair, his voice warm but tinged with curiosity, as if he genuinely wants to know every detail.

“It’s good,” you reply with a soft smile, shifting slightly in your seat. “I’m here in LA, which is nice—” Before you can finish, he interjects, his brow arching in curiosity. “You’re from New England, right?” You click your tongue playfully, tilting your head at him. “I see someone’s done their research, Mr. Starkey,” you tease, flashing him a playful wink.

Drew’s grin widens, and he throws his head back in laughter, the sound rich and easy, like he’s completely at ease for the first time since the cameras started rolling. “I had to, didn’t I? You’re not exactly an open book. I had to dig deep.” “Oh, is that so?” you challenge, your voice lilting with mock skepticism.

“Well, since you’re so curious, tell me—what do you know about New England?” you challenge, leaning forward slightly. He grins, but it’s a little sheepish. “Not much, if I’m honest. You’ll have to fill in the blanks for me. What’s it like there?” Your eyes widen in exaggerated disbelief, your hand fluttering to your chest like you’ve been insulted.

“Wait—you’ve never been? My goodness, Drew! Come with me, and I’ll show you around properly,” you say, your tone teasing but full of warmth. His smile softens, and he leans in just a little. “I’d like that very much,” he says, his voice carrying a quiet sincerity that makes your breath hitch for a fraction of a second. “Well then,” you reply with a chuckle, regaining your composure.

“I think we can organise something. You’re from North Carolina, yeah?” Drew hums in confirmation, his grin widening. “Born and raised. But I gotta admit, New England sounds pretty tempting now.” “It should,” you quip, pointing at him playfully. Then, after a beat, you lean in slightly, an amused gleam in your eye.

“Can I just say—and I’m sure you get this a lot—I’m a huge fan of Outer Banks.” Drew raises an eyebrow, his grin turning slightly bashful as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh no, don’t tell me you’re team Pogue,” he jokes, but his eyes are fixed on you with a playful sparkle.

You snort softly, clasping your hands together in your lap. “Not quite. But I’ve gotta say, you play Rafe so convincingly. How do you approach a character like Rafe? I mean, you’re, you know… the complete opposite of him.” You chuckle, your words carrying a mix of admiration and disbelief.

Drew leans back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully before clearing his throat. “Well, Rafe is a challenge, to say the least. He’s not your typical villain. It’s easy to hate him on the surface, but if you dig deeper, he’s this broken guy with so many vulnerabilities. That’s where I try to focus—on making him human. I want people to see why he makes those awful decisions, even if they don’t agree with them. It’s all about balance.”

You nod, your expression softening as you listen. “That’s fascinating,” you say earnestly. “It’s definitely what makes him such a compelling character.” Drew smiles, but you notice something different about his gaze. He isn’t just answering your question—he’s watching you, his eyes holding a softness that makes your heart skip a beat.

Before the moment can linger too long, Drew shifts the focus back to you. “And your character in Ghosted,” he says, his voice warm and curious. “It’s so different from anything you’ve done before. How did you prepare for that role?” You smile at the question, grateful for his genuine interest.

“It was a lot of emotional work,” you admit, leaning back slightly. “She’s so different from me in so many ways. I spent a lot of time understanding her motivations, her fears, and what drives her. It’s a very internal role, so the process was… draining, to say the least. But also rewarding.” Drew’s lips curve into a soft smile as he leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees.

“Sounds intense,” he says, his voice quieter now. “I’ve always wondered in the film how you guys manage to keep it together when the emotions run that deep.” You shrug lightly, a thoughtful smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not easy, but that’s the beauty of the craft, isn’t it? Tapping into those emotions and channelling them into something real.”

Drew nods, his expression softening even further. There’s something unspoken in his gaze—something that lingers longer than words can express. “Yeah,” he says finally, his voice dropping just a fraction. “I get that. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re incredible. I’ve seen your work—it’s inspiring.” His words hang in the air, heavy with sincerity, and you can’t help the rush of warmth that floods your chest.

A small, genuine smile spreads across your face. “I could say the same for you,” you reply softly, your eyes meeting his. For a moment, it’s like the rest of the room fades away, leaving just the two of you, sharing something unspoken yet deeply understood. Drew shifts in his seat, leaning forward slightly, his curiosity evident. “So, let’s talk about Saltburn. You played Venetia Catton. How did you even begin to prepare for a role like that?"

You smile, the mention of Saltburn immediately bringing back memories. “Honestly, Venetia was one of the most challenging but rewarding roles I’ve ever taken on. Emerald Fennell has such a sharp, specific vision as a director, and she brought so much depth to every single character. Venetia wasn’t just the surface-level socialite that she might appear to be at first glance. She’s deeply entrenched in this world of privilege, but there’s a kind of desperation underneath it all—this need to hold it all together, to maintain this facade of control.”

Drew nods, his expression thoughtful. “I feel like Emerald has this incredible knack for creating characters who feel both larger than life and painfully real. What was it like working with her?” “Incredible,” you answer without hesitation. “Emerald is so collaborative and detail-oriented, but she also gives you the freedom to bring your own interpretation to the role. She’s this powerhouse of creativity, and you always feel like you’re in safe hands with her. She’s also hilarious—like, incredibly funny—so even on the more intense days, there was always this underlying sense of ease on set.”

Drew smiles at that, clearly invested. “And then there’s the cast. I mean, Rosamund Pike, Barry Keoghan, Jacob Elordi—they’re all such giving actors. What was it like working alongside them?” You exhale softly, recalling the dynamic energy of the cast. “It was surreal, honestly. Rosamund Pike is… well, she’s Rosamund Pike. She’s this commanding presence on set, but she’s also so warm and generous as a scene partner. Barry, on the other hand, is just a chameleon. He’s fearless in the way he approaches his craft, and watching him work was like taking a masterclass every day.”

“And Jacob?” Drew asks, his tone light but curious. “He’s been everywhere lately.” “Jacob’s amazing,” you reply with a smile. “He’s so grounded, which is kind of funny considering the larger-than-life characters he’s been playing lately. But on set, he’s just this really laid-back, thoughtful guy. We had a lot of fun with our scenes together—he brings this kind of effortless charisma that makes everything feel natural.”

Drew leans back in his chair, letting out a low whistle. “That’s a stacked team. No pressure at all, right?” You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, no pressure whatsoever. Just casually working with some of the most talented people in the industry.” “Well, you pulled it off,” Drew says sincerely. “Venetia felt so fully realised—like, even in her silences, there was so much going on beneath the surface. It was fascinating to watch.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, his compliment catching you off guard. There’s an earnestness in his voice that makes your heart skip a beat. “So,” you say, shifting into the next topic, “you’ve played a lot of interesting characters—Rafe Cameron, of course, but also roles like Zach in The Other Zoey and the projects you’ve got coming up. Do you feel like people expect you to stick to certain kinds of roles because of how iconic Rafe has become?”

Drew’s smile fades just a little, his expression turning thoughtful. He seems to appreciate the question, his blue eyes searching yours for a moment before he answers. “Yeah, there’s definitely that expectation sometimes,” he admits. “Rafe is such a big character, and I think when people see you in one role, they assume that’s all you can do. But as actors, we want to stretch ourselves, you know? Surprise people.”

He pauses, his gaze never leaving yours. “It’s kind of like you, actually,” he adds softly. “You’ve done dramas, you’ve done comedies… you’ve proven that you’re not just one thing. I think that’s what makes people really root for you—you're versatile. You don’t let them put you in a box.” The sincerity in his tone catches you off guard, and you can feel heat rise to your cheeks again. You shift slightly in your seat, trying not to let his words completely throw you off balance.

“That’s… really nice of you to say,” you murmur, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I think that’s the beauty of what we do, right? Showing people different sides of ourselves, through the characters we play.” Drew nods, his eyes softening. “Exactly. You just said it better than I could.” You smile, letting the moment hang between you for just a beat longer than it probably should.

You adjust in your seat, leaning forward slightly as you shift the focus of the interview. “Alright, let’s talk about Queer. You play Eugene, and from everything I’ve heard, it’s such an emotionally rich and complex role. What drew you to it, Drew?" You smile as he laughs. “Honestly, it was the script. You know with it being based on William S. Burroughs’ novel, and the way it explored themes of longing, identity, and self-destruction… it was just so raw. Eugene is such a fascinating character because he’s flawed, but you can’t help but empathise with him. It felt like a challenge I couldn’t pass up.”

You nod, smiling softly. “It sounds like it required you to really dig deep emotionally. Was it intimidating stepping into a story like that?” “Completely,” Drew admits with a laugh. “But it was also the kind of role that forces you to grow as an actor. I had to be vulnerable in a way I hadn’t been before, which was scary but also freeing. And having someone like Luca Guadagnino directing—it felt like a safety net, you know? He creates such a safe, collaborative environment.”

“Luca’s brilliant,” you agree, your voice filled with admiration. “And then there’s Daniel Craig. What was your experience working with him? I mean- I remember working with him on Glass Onion and being blow away by how meticulous he is." Drew grins, a flicker of boyish excitement crossing his face. “Oh, he’s incredible. Daniel is one of those actors who’s just so present in every scene. He has this intensity, but he’s also really generous as a scene partner. He listens, reacts—he makes you feel like what you’re doing really matters.”

You smile, nodding your head, "He's also got such a great sense of humour!" Drew laughs, nodding. “Exactly! Like, he can go from delivering this super heavy, emotional scene to cracking a joke that has the entire crew in stitches. It’s such a unique balance, and it keeps the energy on set really light, even during the intense moments.”

“Do you have a favourite memory with him from filming?” you ask, genuinely curious. “There’s this one scene we did that was really emotionally charged—like, full-on tears and everything,” Drew begins, his smile softening. “After we wrapped the take, I was still kind of in that headspace, and Daniel just clapped me on the shoulder and said, ‘Well, that was bloody exhausting, wasn’t it?’ It snapped me out of it, and we both just started laughing. It was one of those moments where you realise, ‘Okay, this is heavy, but it’s also what we love to do.’”

You laugh at the image of Daniel’s bluntness, shaking your head. “That’s so him. He has a way of grounding you, doesn’t he?” “Completely,” Drew agrees. “And honestly, having him on set made me feel like I had to step up my game. He’s such a pro, and you can’t help but want to match that level of commitment.”

You tilt your head, studying him for a moment. “It sounds like Queer really pushed you as an actor, in the best way.” “It did,” Drew says earnestly. “And, you know, hearing you talk about working with Daniel—what was it like for you? I mean, I imagine Glass Onion had a very different vibe, but I’m sure he brought that same energy.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you reply. “Daniel has this way of making everyone feel like they’re part of something special. And with Glass Onion, there was this playful energy because the story is so twisty and fun, but Daniel was always so focused and intentional with every scene.” Drew leans in slightly, clearly fascinated. “Did you ever have one of those moments with him where you just stopped and thought, ‘Wow, I’m working with James Bond’?”

You laugh, nodding. “More than once! It’s impossible not to. But then you get to know him, and he’s just… Daniel. Down-to-earth, funny, and incredibly kind. It makes you forget about the whole ‘James Bond’ thing—at least for a little while.” Drew grins. “That’s good to know. I feel like we’ve both been lucky to work with him, even if I’m still a little starstruck.”

“That’s what Daniel Craig does to you, ladies and gentlemen,” you teased, your laughter light as you pointed at the camera, winking playfully. Drew’s amused chuckle followed, a soft sound that matched the warmth in your tone. The atmosphere of the interview had shifted, the playful banter between the two of you creating an easy camaraderie as the conversation drew to a close.

“Well, I think we’ve discovered we have a lot in common after all,” Drew said, his smile widening as he turned toward you. His eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and genuine appreciation. “This has been a great pairing, truly.”

Your smile softened as you met his gaze, the connection between the two of you almost palpable. “I think so too,” you responded, your voice light and sincere, a soft chuckle escaping you as your gaze lingered on him. “Very great pairing,” you added, your words more than just agreement—there was an unspoken understanding, a mutual respect that hung in the air.

Drew’s smile widened slightly at your reply, the chemistry between the two of you becoming more evident as the final moments of the interview came into focus. Despite the cameras and the public personas, there was something undeniably real in the exchange, something that hinted at more than just a professional connection.

[rowdydevs]

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕨𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕃𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕤

𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: older!rafe, age gap (college senior with rafe in his 30s), secret dating, angst, fighting, suspected cheating, name-calling, swearing, pet names, rafe grabs the reader’s face, spanking, spanking with a belt, bdsm, wet and messy, squirting, edging, multiple orgasms, threats, unprotected p in v, orgasm denial and control, rough sex, fingering, manhandling, soft!rafe at the end, praise, dirty talk, brat taming, teasing

📖 All of my asks got deleted 💕😭 so I'm not sure who requested this, but thank you! This was not a kinkmas ask, but I made it one 😋 The premise is that Professor!Rafe has been distant and now after cancelled plans you want to know what the hell is going on.

Reader’s POV:

The brisk December air bit your cheeks as you stepped out of your apartment and headed downtown. Christmas lights glowed warm along the street, but your mood was anything but light. You stuffed your hands into your pockets; your arm looped in your friend’s, head tilted on her shoulder as you suffered in silence.

All your finals were done, a long, relaxing break to look forward to, but all you could do was think about him…

For months, you had been navigating your whirlwind romance, secretly dating your Professor—sexy, intelligent, successful… And you had fallen hard against your better judgment. It was wrong… It was risky as hell… But it was real. Or, at least, you thought it was.

Lately, though, Rafe has been pulling away—canceled plans, vague apologies— his lingered gaze that you had gotten so used to fizzling away. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration. A night away, just the two of you, celebrating your completion of the semester and a week of rest and relaxation for the both of you.

He hadn’t even brought up winter break… Rafe wasn’t looking toward the future anymore. He was completely checked out.

But tonight was different… He canceled, and unlike before, you didn’t ask for an explanation. And to your disappointment, he didn’t give one either.

“Forget him,” you grumble, momentarily wallowing in self-pity.

“Forget who?” Your friend asks with a laugh as she squeezes your arm a little tighter.

You bite your lips, taking a shallow breath as you let those two words slip your lips. “This guy from my econ class,” you lie. “He blamed our B on me…” Another lie.

”Who complains about a B in college?” Your friend scoffs and laughs, tipping her head on yours. “Forget him? Fuck him…”

“Agreed,” you smile, the wavering in your tone making her raise an eyebrow, pressing again.

“Is that why you didn’t want to come out?” She asks as she softens her voice. You flutter your lashes, feeling the emotion you’ve been pushing down bubble up in your chest.

It’s not like anything has happened… Nothing has happened, as a matter of fact. He was giving you nothing, yet you felt his silence was speaking louder than any words could. And who could you talk to about it? No one.

“Babe?” She tries again as your friends walk across the bustling street, heading into the flooded downtown area.

“Just not feeling like myself lately…” Your voice floats away with the winter wind as you see Rafe open the door, holding it open for a woman to pass through.

He looks handsome in his fitted suit and black wool overcoat, his hair brushed back, giving you a glimpse of his perfect face and chiseled features.

Your friend coaxes you forward, but your body freezes in the middle of the sidewalk. You watch as Rafe and a beautiful woman in a powder pink dress fall out of sight, disappearing behind the doors of The Flora Room.

“Seriously, what’s going on with you?” She asks, shaking you playfully to get you out of your daze.

“Where do you guys wanna go?” One of the girls in your party calls out. You look around the little town square, seeing bar after bar, knowing it would be a tough sell to get your friends to sit down even for a single drink in there when they could buy three shitty drinks for the fee of one overpriced martini.

You watch your friends drift to one of the downtown sports bars, but you keep your feet grounded. Your friend reads the room, hanging back with you, following where you lead, her curiosity piqued.

“You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?” She mumbles from the corner of her lips as the two of you pass through the doors.

There’s no bouncer at the door; your shoes don’t stick to the ground with each step. Screaming, laughing, and a deep bass rumbling from the speakers are exchanged for light conversation and piano music. It’s rich and elegant, the polar opposite of what the two of you are used to on a typical night out.

“We’re just gonna sit at the bar,” you smile at the hostess, who extends a hand, ushering you back. Your eyes dance around the space, looking for Rafe and the women as you feel your anger and unease fester.

So busy you couldn’t see me, huh? You seethe as you position yourself just far enough away from him.

The situation is hard to read—a party? You look at the group he’s with; the lot of them dressed to the nines. Watching with your breath held as she laughs, his head tilting slightly as if the woman said something clever.

She looks sophisticated and expensive, her curves hugged in a dress that seems to have been made for her. She reaches out, squeezing Rafe's bicep as she chuckles again, making your stomach churn.

The bartender rests your martinis in front of you. You keep your eyes locked ahead; the tears in your eyes sparkle in the bar lighting. It's impossible to see without blinking, but you know the second you do, they’ll fall.

Your friend's hand rests on your thigh, and with that little bit of physical contact, your eyes shut. Tears roll down your cheeks and fall off your chin. She looks ahead, following where your attention was paid before looking back at you and back at him again. “Oh…” she breathes, before her eyes widen.

“Yeah,” you whimper, knowing she put two and two together. ”Just don’t-”

”I won’t say anything,” she assures before you can even finish, reaching over, blotting the tears off your cheeks with a bar napkin.

You reach in your purse, hands tightening around your phone, and without thinking, you open the text thread… The one where Rafe left you on read.

You: We’re done.

You watch as Rafe’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He adjusts slightly, looks at the lock screen, and sees the notification with your name on the front before stuffing it back in his pocket, not giving it any more attention.

Missed call after missed call; text after text… It only took a few blocks before Rafe finally pulled his phone out of his pocket and gave you the time of day.

You couldn’t help but give him a similar treatment, watching as all his attempts rolled in, you not making any effort at all. You look over your shoulder as you walk into your apartment; there are so many texts from Rafe that you know he can’t be far behind.

You pace your apartment, just waiting for the inevitable. Regardless of what that was or what that wasn’t, he’s been ignoring you. How simple would it have been to let you know where he was going and the real reason why he canceled?

That woman—who the fuck was that? A friend, I’m sure… But you couldn’t even fathom Rafe watching that all go down. He would feel the same fucking way, especially if you were giving him reasons to worry before.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

You hear Rafe’s heavy footsteps on the other side of the door, making your stomach sink, jarring you out of your thoughts.

“Baby,” Rafe’s familiar voice called from the other side. “What the hell is going on, huh? Open the door.”

Your fingers curl into fists by your sides, annoyed at how easily Rafe could demand your time. How he only seemed to care when you sent those three words. “Go away!” You shout, feeling goosebumps spread across your body.

“Not fucking happening,” his tone was firm—the frustration bled through his words. “Open the door.”

“No.”

“You kiddin’ me?” BANG. He bangs his fist against the door in frustration. You hear his voice soften as he gets closer to the door's seam. “What the fuck is going on?” He hisses.

“Why don’t you tell me,” you step a little closer as well.

“If I knew, I would apologize. Alright? I got nothin’ to hide from you-”

”Bullshit,” you cut him off. “Who was she, Rafe?”

“What?” He cries out as he jiggles the door handle rapidly, testing it and then testing it again. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“The women from the bar, Rafe. I was there.”

“Princess… What the hell?” He breathes. “You don’t understand, baby. C’mon.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly, Rafe,” you snap as you bang against the door yourself. “You’ve been ignoring me for days, you barely look at me anymore, you're canceling our plans, not telling me where the hell you’re going, and then I find you on the night we were supposed to actually spend some goddamn time together flirting with someone else. Yeah, Rafe. I understand. You’re a liar.”

Silence falls heavily outside the door. You furrow your eyebrows, looking through the peephole straight at your neighbor's door, your heart breaking when you don’t see him on the other side.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, making your heart leap.

Rafe: Have a great night, sweetheart.

“You’re joking me,” you huff as you push out into the hall, gasping as Rafe pushes you back in.

“I love you. But you’re being a fuckin’ brat,” he grunts as he lets the door clap shut behind him before dragging you a few steps to your room, slamming that door as well.

“You have five minutes to explain, Rafe,” you shout, “then I’m kicking you out.”

“Five minutes, sweetheart? After all this time? That’s generous of you.”

“Talk or leave,” you snarl before Rafe shoves you down on the bed, making you gasp again as he mounts you fast, his hand slapping against your mouth, holding it shut.

“Stop fucking testing me and listen. Alright?” You mumble underneath his trembling palm. “If I lift my hand, you’re gonna listen to me, do you understand?”

Your eyes narrow on his, and he cocks an eyebrow at you. “I’ll tape your mouth shut if you won’t listen to me. You know that, right?” He asks in a gentler tone, contrasting his dark words.

You roll your eyes, finding yourself getting more annoyed by the second. “The fuck has gotten into you, huh?” He asks as he looks down at you below him, wearing a new defiance you’ve never shown before.

He lifts his hand, and you huff out a breath, scowling as you look up at him. The older man looks back at you with the same disgusted look.

“What, Rafe?”

“There’s been a rumor circulating around the campus that a professor has been sleeping with a student… I’ve been dealing with that—I have not been avoiding you for any reason other than that. And that woman… That woman who could never be you, princess, is not who you think. Okay?”

“So, who is she, then?” Your glare softens slightly, the bite of your tongue still there. “Because you sure seemed like you were enjoying her company, Rafe.”

Rafe sighs deeply, dragging his hand through his hair as he steps off the bed. “She’s the new University President… That was the faculty Christmas party. I forgot to tell you because I was too caught up in all this shit.”

”You forgot?” You ask. Rafe is taken aback by your attitude, even after telling you everything.

“Yes. I forgot,” he answers, his tone sharp. “Because I’ve been trying to figure out how to protect us,” he chides as he gestures between you. “The scandal, the risks… You kept sayin’ everything was fine, so I wasn’t worried. I have never worried about you.”

You feel a slight guilt creep in, seeing him so vulnerable. You would be lying if you said you didn’t assure him everything was okay and that the two of you were fine. “Well, maybe if you’d told me, I wouldn’t have assumed the worst.”

“Assumed the worst?” Rafe’s scoffs, his frustration crystal clear. “You mean accusing me of cheating and ending things over a text? A text? Because that’s a rational response right there, sweetheart. Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?”

”You don’t get to turn this shit around on me, Rafe. You’ve been distant. When I told you I was “okay,” I wasn’t… Didn’t you notice a change between you and me? Couldn't you hear it in my voice that I clearly was not okay? You’re so distant. It’s like we’re not even together-”

“I’ve been distant because I’m dealing with this—this shit has real consequences, princess. This isn’t a fuckin’ game. If anyone finds out about us-”

“Then talk to me!” You yell over him as you step closer. “You’re acting like I’m irrational. I would have understood. All you had to do was tell me what’s going on!”

“And all you had to do was ask instead of throwing a fuckin’ tantrum,” he shoots back.

Your jaw drops, temper flaring even more. “A tantrum?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, his gaze unwavering. “A tantrum. You’re acting like a spoiled brat-”

”Fuck you,” you hiss. “Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

“What the hell?” He laughs at you weakly, looking back at you like you’ve gone completely mad. “Where’s my girl? What the fuck is happening?”

“Do you need help finding the door or what?”

His eyes widen; the man struck utterly silent. “Please tell me you haven't been feelin’ this way the whole time we’ve been together,” he asks, the exhaustion of the fight wearing on him as he looks back at you, shoulder slumped, breathing heavy.

“The last few weeks, yeah-”

“But not the whole time, right?” He asks, the tone of his voice letting you know you both know the answer.

“No… Not the whole time,” you mumble.

“Couldn’t have given me the benefit of the doubt, princess? I mean hell, sweetheart. You could have looked around the goddamn bar. What the hell would I be doin’ hanging out with your Econ teacher if I could be spendin’ the night with you? Why would I be rubbin’ shoulders with Dean Richardson— your Dean, by the way, unless I had to, huh? Don't you think I’d rather spend my night with you?”

You look back into his piercing blue eyes, your cheeks burning with a mix of shame and anger. You open your mouth to speak, but he steps toward you fast, standing above you as you sit on the edge of the bed. You squeak as he grips your cheeks in his big ringed hand, forcing your gaze.

“I love you, princess… But you need to grow up. Use your words. Stop jumpin’ to conclusions and start cuttin’ me some fuckin’ slack.” You mumble, but he pinches your cheeks even more. “Stop cuttin’ off before I can explain myself.” Rafe slots himself between your thighs, loosening his hold slightly.

“I…” You hesitate, taking a little breath as you look at him. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“No.” Rafe silences you as he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss on your lips. “Apologies are fine, but you need to listen. This isn’t some fling. This is real. And if we’re gonna make this shit work, you have to trust me. Even when it’s hard,” Rafe whispers, letting his lips graze against yours.

Your heart pounds in your chest, thighs drawing in slightly. “I trust you, baby,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe pulls away, his gaze softening more than before, but his frustration hasn’t completely faded from his beautiful blue eyes. “Then show me… Stop playin’ these games.”

“I wasn’t playing games,” you protest, but he cuts you off with a look that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand straight.

“You sent me a breakup text, then ignored me when I came here to fix it,” he chides. “I’m not some frat boy—not some college kid you can pull that shit with. Aight? And if you don’t think that little stunt you pulled is a game, I don’t know what is. Do you know how many times I called you?”

“I texted you too, and you ignored it,” you mumble as you look away, feeling the weight of his gaze as your face heats up.

“N’why do you think I had to do that, huh?” He adds condescendingly.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Knowing that answering a text from you, a mid-faculty party in the light of a scandal, probably wouldn’t have been Rafe’s best move.

“We’re done with this little back-and-forth bullshit. If you have a problem, tell me. And if I screw up, I’ll do the same.” You nod, looking at Rafe again as he cups your face, his rough thumb tracing your bottom lip.

“Rafe…” You pout.

“Yes, baby,” he responds gentler than before.

“Why aren’t you talkin’ about the future anymore? I know you wanted to take the heat off us but didn’t even ask what I’m doing for break. You didn’t even make plans with me-”

“Shh…” He shushes you as he looks down at you tiredly, about ready to lose his mind that you’re still challenging him in some way. “Take out my phone,” he mumbles. You lower your gaze slightly, reach into the pocket of his dress slacks, and pull out the device. “Your birthday, baby,” he hums his passcode. You unlock the phone, looking up at him again. “Open my email…”

You pull up Rafe’s Gmail and see the confirmation for the Four Seasons Resort and Residences in Vail, with your name attached to the reservation made a week ago.

“You drive me insane, you know that?” He murmurs as he grabs the phone off your hands, tossing it to the side.

“I’m sorry-”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“I mean it, Rafe. I-”

“You think you can sass me, throw a tantrum, and walk away without consequences?” He mumbles. “I think it’s time someone teaches you a lesson about being a brat, princess,” he whispers as his lips find your neck, licking and sucking your hot skin, making your pulse race.

Rafe’s loosened tie hangs from his neck, sweeping against your thighs as his teeth graze along your ear. You grab it, pulling him toward your lips, making him chuckle against yours.

“Got some shit you wanna say, sweetheart?” He laughs darkly.

“Maybe I like being a brat, Rafe,” you whisper, feeling him smile against your lips.

Rafe kisses you deeply, sucking off your bottom lip, taking it between his teeth, nipping with enough pinch to make you whimper into his open mouth. “Then I guess this is going to be a long night for you, princess,” he rasps as he grabs your tights between his fingers, ripping them open. You inhale sharply as he cups your pussy in his big hand, rubbing your sex over your wet panties.

“Fuck,” you whimper as he slaps your cunt, making your thighs draw in just for him to force them apart. He continues to tease you over your panties as he gathers your hair with his other hand, tugging it back.

“These last few weeks… Fuck, they’ve been frustrating, huh?” He asks as he pushes his big fingers into your entrance, the threshold of the wet cotton blocking him from going any deeper than a knuckle deep. “And you’re gonna misbehave? Make it harder on me? You know I could have just taken my frustration out on this pretty little pussy, baby,” he mumbles as he hooks his finger around your panties, pulling the fabric tight, making you whimper.

“Rafe, please-”

“We’re at the finish line. Two days away from a vacation that I’ve been plannin’ for weeks. That I was gonna surprise you with… and you’re actin’ like a fuckin’ brat? What’s that about, huh?” He asks as he paws off his tie, tosses it on the bed, and pops open the buttons of his shirt one by one.

You take in his gorgeous body as he exposes more skin—his broad chest and his cut abs, the deep ridges of his v-lines kissing the top of his pants. You bite your lip, stripping yourself of your tattered tights and clothes as he undoes his leather belt, releasing it with a crack before tossing it on the bed.

“Stand up,” he orders, and you do as your tummy flutters. “Turn around. Hands behind your back.” Rafe reaches for his tie, running it through his big fingers as he takes in your body. “Wrists, baby,” he mumbles against your neck as he stands close, his rock-hard cock pressing against your ass.

Rafe binds your wrists and grabs your hips, sitting down on the bed, guiding you to lay over his big thighs, your ass in the air. Rafe’s rough fingers drift up the back of your legs, making you tremble, your wetness already weeping from your aching hole.

He chuckles as he runs two thick fingers right through it, taking it between his lips, moaning around his digits. “Fuck, princess… You’re a problem aren't you? Gettin’ wet off this shit, huh? Like gettin’ yelled at and punished.”

“Yes,” you whimper.

“Yes, what, princess?” He groans as his hand comes down on your ass, making you cry out.

“Yes, sir,” you sniffle. “I like getting yelled at and punished.”

“Atta girl… Look at you. Already turnin’ that little attitude of yours around, huh?” He asks as he thrusts his fingers in your pussy, making you wail. He fucks them into you fast and hard, your warmth squelching lewdly.

You crane your neck, eyes widening as he goes for his leather belt. You struggle slightly, your natural reaction to move away, but his big arm wraps around you, holding you in place. “Think you’re gettin’ away from me?” He chuckles. “Not a fuckin’ chance.”

CRACK.

Rafe delivers a loud smack on your supple flesh. You let out a loud cry, feeling the sting and tears welling on your waterline.

“You had a lot to say before, baby,” he mocks as he drags the leather up the back of your thighs. “Where did my bratty little bitch go, huh?” He mumbles as he lands another hit, making the tears spill over.

Rafe tosses the belt to the ground, plunging his fingers into your slickness again, only to find that you’re even wetter than before. “Stop enjoyin’ this shit so much, pretty,” he breathes, his smug smile heard in your tone as he curls his fingers inside you.

“Yes, baby,” you moan as your head falls forward, feeling yourself about to cum around his big fingers. “Oh, Rafe.”

“Mmm… I should stop, shouldn’t I?” He asks as he continues his brutal pace.

“No… No, please,” you sniffle as you feel your body tighten around him, your peak approaching fast. You lift your ass in the air, following his fingers as he pulls them away gradually, yanking them out right before your body gives way. You gasp, breathing heavily as Rafe robs you of your orgasm, your heart banging in your chest.

“How do you think it felt gettin’ that text tonight, hmm?” He asks as he lifts you off his lap, shoving you on the bed—your chest on the mattress, and your feet on the floor. “The love of my life… The only thing-” CRACK. He spanks you yet again, making you scream. Rafe laughs mockingly into his next couple of words, “The only thing that has ever truly mattered to me,” he mumbles as he lowers himself to his knees. The warmth of his breathing hits your throbbing cunt. “Broke up with me… through a text message. Fuckin’ insane, right?”

His tongue plunges into your drooling hole, fingers swirling on top of your throbbing clit making your thighs tremble. Rafe sucks and tongue-fucks you like a god, taking you right to the edge of ecstasy again. Your muscles clench, fists balled up, rising on your tippy toes reeling, and right when you're about to break, he pulls away again.

“Rafe, please!” You sob.

He steps forward, the front of his muscular thighs flush with the back of yours. You whimper as he draws away just enough; his swollen head rubs through your drenched folds, teasing your clit, toying with your glossy hole ‘til you’re burying your face in your comforter.

"Beg for it, princess. C’mon…” He whispers as he taunts you with his tip.

“Please…” You beg, lips quivering with every breath. “Please… I’m begging you, daddy. M’sorry. I’m so fucking sorry,” you whimper. “I love you… I love you so—oh, fuck,” you cry as he sheathes his cock into your swollen cunt.

Rafe grabs the edge of his tie, knotted around your wrist, using it as a hold to fuck into you deeper, gliding into your greedy hole, your body quickly cumming around him, pussy flutter wildly, but he just keeps on going.

He yanks the tie, pulling it loose. He flips you to your back, looping your legs over his shoulder before plunging in again. Rafe brings his big body closer to yours, folding you in half, toned hips clapping against your body with each rough stroke.

“Didn’t ask for permission, princess. Creamin’ around my dick when I should be usin’ you like my personal fuck toy...” You follow his gaze, looking down at the place where you context the creamy ring of your arousal glistening around his thick base, the picture alone leaving you feeling like you could cum on sight. “You better ask… I know you're about to cum again. And if you do-”

“Rafe, I-” You grit your teeth, fighting back another orgasm you know he’ll deny.

“I’m not done talkin’. Fuck, have you learned nothing?” Hot tears roll down your cheeks, wetting the bed below as your body shakes. “If you cum without askin’, I'm gonna tape those pretty little lips of yours shut, grab that vibrator from your nightstand, and have you cummin’ ‘til you pass out.”

“Please. Please. Please,” you sob.

“Might do it anyways, princess. It’ll be good for you…”

“Rafe!”

“Cum for me, baby.”

You grab the edge of the bed, holding on tight as Rafe makes good on his words, taking his frustrations out on your tight cunt as you squirt around his length.

"There you go, fuckk. There's my girl,” he murmurs, smiling smugly, tilting in and kissing your forehead sweetly, his punishing strokes telling a different story entirely as he chases his climax, emptying himself in your fluttering cunt with one final thrust.

Rafe lowers your trembling legs, dragging back, but you grab his hips, pouting your lips and shaking your head ‘no.’ He smiles down at you, lowering himself to your lips, kissing you deeply.

“I’m sorry…” You whisper.

“Don’t be, baby. I never want you to think I don't care. Okay? I'm sorry… Should have let you know what was goin’ on. I should always be takin’ care of my girl,” he mumbles between gentle kisses. “You were right. Alright?” He whispers before kissing your forehead.

“I thought you didn't want to be with me anymore…”

“That’s crazy, baby. ‘Course I do. I was serious; you're the only thing that truly matters to me…”

You bite your lip, smiling into your kiss. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, princess.”

tags: @rafesthroatbaby @littlelamy @kisses4angels @watchmerora @buckybarnessweetheart @anamiad00msday @namelesslosers @cades-outsider @romaescapes @starkeysprincess @oxpogues4lifexo @unrealmirrorball @sleepiibunniiii @gri959 @rafesgiirl @daryldixon83 @akobx @hyperfixationgirl @lhhlver @rrafeswhore @slut-4-gojo @blair-bears-blog @loveesiren @cameronwillow @rafegf-real @alphabetically-deranged @ariana2saucyy

[ohproserpine]

i. deer dolly

part i | part ii | more | ao3 tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, human! possibly ooc! alastor so he's a bit more "tame" here, allusions to murder and such, unsettling & obsessive behavior, written before episode 7; may become inaccurate, gorey-ish descriptions of love

"So what?" Angel Dust hummed, drumming his nails on the counter. "You and Alastor are like... friends?"

"Oh, well, that ain't the word I would’ve used, but it's something like that!" Mimzy chirped, reaching for her drink and downing it in one go. "He used to frequent the club I had! In fact, that’s where he met his wife—"

“Wife?!” Angel Dust cut her off, jaw dropping. “Freaky face is married?”

“Oh yeah,” Mimzy hummed, waving her hand around. “Under all that murder and cannibalism, he’s a total sap! Can't blame him, I mean—his wife is a doll! Me an' her used to perform together!”

"An’ how come I never heard of this? People ain't told me shit!" Angel Dust grumbled, turning to Husk behind the counter. "You knew 'bout this, whiskers?"

"Yeah. They were together back in the living. But don't even think of bringing it up in front of Alastor. He gets all heated," Husk grumbled, grabbing a towel to wipe down Mimzy’s now-empty glass. The cat then turned to grab another bottle off the shelf, a grimace on his lips. "I would know."

Angel Dust leaned forward, resting his face on his folded hands. "Well, ain't that something. Never knew he even had one of those."

Mimzy cackled, her voice a raspy melody that echoed through the smoky air of the bar as she snatched the bottle of liquor away from Husk’s paws. "Oh, honey, you wouldn’t even know how deep it goes. They go way back."

"Spill," Angel Dust grinned, curiosity getting the better of him. 

Mimzy leaned in, looking both ways to make sure Alastor or his shadows weren't around before lowering her voice. "It was back in the day, at my joint. Alastor dropped by for the bootlegs, you know? But then he caught sight of her. She was singin’ and dancin’ on stage, a real heartbreaker. He couldn't resist the charm, and boom, he was struck on! Ever since then, he came around as frequently as he could. Made me so much money~" 

Angel Dust raised an eyebrow, his long lashes fluttering as he squished his cheek against his palm, a coy smirk playing on his lips. "And you were part of this love saga?"

Mimzy shook her head, a wicked glint dancing in her eyes before she lifted the bottle to her lips and downed its contents in one swift motion, her throat working as she swallowed. "Oh, sugar, just a witness to the drama. Those two lovebirds had their own dance going on. I just spiced things up."

Angel Dust chuckled, shaking his head. "Never thought smiles had it in him."

"Again. He likes to keep his shit private. So, don't go running your mouth unless you wanna be on the receiving end of one of his… episodes," Husk interrupted, his gruff voice breaking through the conversation as he leaned over the counter and reclaimed the bottle from Mimzy with a low growl.

Angel hummed dismissively, his golden tooth catching the glimmer of the bar lights as he spoke. “Anyone could've guessed that. Where is she, anyways? I haven't seen or heard of her since day one."

"Busy," Mimzy snorted, her finger lazily tracing the rim of her glass. She leaned back in her seat, the dim glow of the bar lights casting shadows across her features. "That's where."

“Really?" Angel's brow lifted in skepticism, his boot lightly kicking against the base of Mimzy's chair. "Busy? That’s it?”

Mimzy shrugged, her lips curling into a sly smile. "Can't tell ya much. Y'know Alastor doesn't like sharin'. Secrets and shadows, that's his game."

“Aww c'mon, tits,” Angel grinned, his golden tooth glinting beneath the bar lights with each word. “You gotta know more than you let on. It'll be our secret.”

"Well," Mimzy drawled, savoring the suspense as she tapped a gloved finger against her cheek. "I guess I can tell you a lil’ something about how they met…”

.

Alastor found himself standing in the heart of a secluded corner of town. 

A desolate, dimly lit street stretched out before him, raindrops rhythmically tapping on the worn concrete beneath his feet.

It was something he had never imagined—searching for a speakeasy in this far-off locale. Rarely did he have time for himself. Most of his days were dedicated to caring for his mother, his job as a radio host, and any free time he had was reserved for his… hobbies. But he supposed a change of scenery wouldn't hurt.

Adjusting his glasses, he gazed up at the timeworn, ragged sign of a barbershop that read, "Chum’s Clippers." 

Charming. 

With a roll of his eyes, the radio host stepped into the worn-down establishment, visibly grimacing at the shop's decrepit condition. His eyes surveyed the room, settling on a young blonde woman. 

Perched on the edge of the registrar counter, a cigar dangled between her cherry-red lips, the tendrils of smoke curling upwards in lazy spirals. Her legs crossed provocatively, causing the fabric of her dress to ride up her thighs, revealing more skin than what civil society would allow. 

As soon as she caught sight of Alastor's silhouette, a spark of excitement lit up her features, and she greeted him with an animated wave.

"Hey there, mistah! Names Mimzy!" she chirped with a friendly lilt. Her crimson-painted nails plucked the cigarette from her lips, trailing a wisp of smoke as she gestured toward Alastor. "Whatcha here for?"

"Pleasure to meet you," Alastor smiled back and stepped closer, offering her a bow of his head, “Quite a pleasure. You see, I was just strolling through these darling streets, and wouldn't you know it? The whispers in the wind pointed me straight to you, the gal in the know when it comes to bootlegs. Care to confirm?"

‘A potential client?" Mimzy thought, her smirk hidden behind her hand as she took one last puff, the cherry of her cigar glowing brightly before she flicked it into an ashtray. 'Straight to the point.'

"Well, well, mistah," she drawled with a playful twirl of her finger through her blonde curls. "You've got a nose for sniffin' out the good stuff, huh? Well, we might have a few things tucked away for the right kind of folk. But, sugar, we don't just give 'em to anyone.”

Alastor's smile widened as he smoothly fished out his wallet, giving it a theatrical wave. "I do have a penchant for fine libations, my dear. And I assure you, I'm just looking for a little taste of the local flavor, nothing more."

Mimzy's eyes sparkled with mischief as she perked up, eagerly hopping off the counter. The click of her heels echoed against the worn floor as she approached the tall man.

"You're in luck, then! Follow me, and we'll talk business in the back," she said, gesturing toward a concealed door at the back of the barbershop.

Alastor followed her through a narrow passage, which unveiled another door leading to the very speakeasy he’d heard talk of. The atmosphere changed instantly, lively jazz music filled the air, and the dimly lit space was alive with laughter and clinking glasses.

Mimzy guided Alastor to a private booth tucked away in a corner, where a polished bottle of bootleg whiskey awaited their arrival.

"Here's to unexpected encounters, mistah," she beamed, the words dripping with charm as she poured a generous measure into his glass. Alastor raised his glass in acknowledgment, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"To unexpected encounters," he echoed before taking a deep sip.

The whiskey was bitter and strong, yet there was a subtle sweetness that danced on his tongue, leaving behind a tantalizing warmth. It had been increasingly difficult to find such fine brews ever since the prohibition hit, making each sip all the more precious.

Seating himself comfortably, Alastor swirled the glass in his hand, mesmerized by the way the golden liquid caught the flickering candlelight. Beside him, Mimzy continued her lively chatter, her words accompanied by the persistent clinking of ice in their glasses as she refilled his drink, hoping to stack his bill higher with each pour.

As the room hummed with the soft, easy notes of a piano and the clinking of glasses, a sudden hush fell over the crowd as an announcer's voice sliced through the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for the enchanting Dolly!"

Mimzy's excitement bubbled up even more, and she leaned in toward Alastor. "That's my sister! Well— not by blood, but you know, me and her are real, real close. One of my best performers here at the bar!"

"Is that so?" Alastor hummed, his eyes now alight with curiosity as he shifted his focus toward the stage.

In that moment, you stepped onto the platform, grabbing a hold of the standing microphone. With a subtle flick of your wrist, you directed attention to the dark-haired pianist, his fingers poised above the keys. A nod from you and the jazz ensemble sprung to life, setting the stage for your performance. As the spotlight enveloped you in a warm glow, a hushed silence fell over the speakeasy.

Folks, here's a story 'bout Minnie the Moocher She was a red hot hoochie-coocher She was the roughest, toughest frail But Minnie had a heart as big as a whale

The lyrics flowed easily through Alastor's mind, carried by the smooth, buttery tones of your voice that filled the air. The radio host found himself utterly hypnotized, his gaze never tearing from your form.

He could stare for hours, unabashed by any sense of shame—though, truth be told, he didn't possess much of that quality to begin with.

She messed around with a bloke named Smokey She loved him though he was kokey He took her down to Chinatown And he showed her how to kick the gong around

As Mimzy began clapping excitedly and waving her arms to beckon you over, Alastor's attention shifted. The final notes of the song echoed in the room, snapping him back to reality. In the haze of your performance, he hadn't even realized that the song had come to an end.

“What a gal!” Mimzy cackled, joyously wrapping her arms around you as you approached.

Alastor took a moment to study you with keen interest.

The dim lighting of the speakeasy lent a soft, ethereal glow to your figure as you moved, casting long shadows across the floor. A slender dress, shimmering with golden sequins, hugged your figure, shimmers and glitters catching the light. The dress boasted a daring low neckline, while its swaying boxed skirt gracefully fell just above your knees, accentuating your every movement. Complementing the ensemble were black kitten heels, their clicks and clacks adding a subtle rhythm to every step you took. Your hair, styled into a sleek bob, framed your demure features perfectly. Adorning your head was a headpiece adorned with golden yellow feathers and dark lace.

"Dollface, I want ya to meet Alastor!" Mimzy exclaimed, pulling you along and positioning you in front of him. “He’s new!”

With a wave of your hands and a warm smile, you tilted your head up to meet Alastor's gaze. The man standing before you was tall and slim, boasting broad shoulders. His white button-up clung perfectly to his frame, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing toned forearms adorned with scars, cuts, and prominent veins.

‘Must be a hunter or a butcher,’ you noted heatedly.

Short, side-swept brunette hair framed his face, adding a touch of rugged charm to his appearance, while rectangular glasses perched on the bridge of his nose lent him an air of intelligence. As he smiled, a chill crept down your spine, and an odd sinking sensation settled in your stomach.

There was an unsettling nature to him, a subtle aura that left you uncertain of whether your reaction stemmed from the eerie quality of his smile or if it was simply a flustered response to his strikingly handsome features. 

“Pleasure to meet you, cher,” Alastor purred, turning on the charm. He delicately took your hand, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. In a subtle move, the radio host let his fingers linger over your skin, subtly checking for any sign of a ring. Noticing the absence, he filed the information away with a sly smile. 

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well, sir,” you smiled, tucking your face behind your hand. Alastor observed with delight as a subtle blush painted your cheeks, a tacit acknowledgment that his presence had left an impression.

"Al here knows his way around a glass of whiskey like nobody else in these parts! Ain't that right, Al?" Mimzy chattered, her voice bubbling with familiarity as if she had known him for years and hadn't just met him one song and ten drinks ago.

Alastor chuckled, a low, melodic sound that sent your stomach doing flips. "

"Well, I do have a certain fondness for…" The radio host paused, his sharp, gaze raking up and down your form, his words trailing off. "…finer things in life."

A silence lingered in the air, and Mimzy, always attuned to the mood of a room, shot a knowing look between the two of you.

"Well, don't cha?" Mimzy exclaimed, her hands clapping with excitement. "If that's the case, then I'm sure Dolly would love to show you around here!"

"Is that so?" Alastor, maintaining that devilish smile, turned his attention back to you. "Well, what do you say, cher?" he questioned.

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you met his gaze with a coy smile. "I'd be delighted to show you around. There's a lot more to this place than meets the eye."

Mimzy clapped her hands together. "Perfect! Now, why don't you two enjoy the rest of the night? I'll be right here waiting."

“Shall we?” Alastor offered his hand, gesturing to the dance floor.

With a small nod, you graciously accepted Alastor's outstretched hand, leading the way to the lively dance floor where the band played an upbeat tune. Around you, couples twirled in a dizzying dance, with heels tapping, shoes stomping, and skirts gracefully gliding and twirling. Alastor wasted no time, pulling you in and molding your form against his.

Looks were indeed deceiving, as despite his lean appearance, Alastor had no issue effortlessly tossing and spinning you round and round, lifting you as if you were as weightless as a feather. Each spin and dip was executed with skill, his footwork was a blur and soon enough, you found yourself willingly surrendering to the rhythm of his lead. 

This man could fucking dance.

As the music gradually slowed, Alastor guided you to the side, providing a moment to catch your breath after the energetic routine.

"Thank you for the dance, cher! You are quite quick on your feet," Alastor chuckled, his voice low, blending with the fading echoes of the music.

"You're not too bad yourself," you managed between breaths, a raspy laugh escaping your lips. "Nobody's ever been able to keep up with me," you continued, running a hand through your tousled hair and adjusting your dress. "I think I was the one who had to keep up with you."

After ensuring you were presentable, you lifted a hand to fix Alastor's slightly damp locks, adjusting his glasses and tie. Alastor froze, a foreign sensation enveloping him. Despite his typical aversion to physical contact, there was an absence of the usual recoil in disdain this time.

"Looks like we're both a bit of a mess, aren't we?" you chuckled, a wry smile playing on your lips as you gracefully brushed away a speck of dust from his shirt.

Alastor blinked and eventually relaxed, allowing you to proceed without any resistance. "Quite."

While you continued to fix him up, Alastor couldn't help but feel a sense of bewilderment. He felt as though coils had entwined themselves around his heart. Slowly constricting, they didn't just tighten but twisted, sharp edges digging into muscle, squeezing his emotions into a thick syrup that spilled beyond the confines of his ribs, seeping out in a haunting shade of crimson through the cracks in his chest.

As the seconds passed, he paid no mind to your touch, shifting his focus to instead dissect you with his eyes. He scrutinized the subtle reactions playing across your face—the delicate twitches of your brows, the soft pout of your blood-red lips, and the scrunches of your nose. 

What were you doing to him?

"There you go!" you announced, a note of satisfaction in your voice as you finished your task, your hand coming to rest briefly on his chest before retreating. "Ready to head back?"

Snapping out of his obsessive trance, Alastor emitted a soft hum, offering his arm to you. You gracefully accepted, intertwining your arm with his. The energetic atmosphere from the dance gradually subsided as you and Alastor made your way back to the private booth. Mimzy's mischievous grin awaited you as she rejoined your company.

"Looks like you two had quite the time!" she exclaimed, a twinkle in her eye.

Alastor quickly composed himself, nodding with a grin. "Indeed! It was quite a delightful dance."

Just as Alastor turned toward you, the insistent dings of a nearby clock echoed through the room. His expression shifted, a fleeting shadow of disappointment and ire crossing his face. The hours had danced away quicker than he had anticipated.

Undoubtedly, the night was still young for you, given that speakeasies often extended their festivities until the early hours of the morning.

However, as much as Alastor would adore the idea of continuing to enjoy your company, the weight of responsibilities at home tugged at him. He had his elderly mother waiting, relying on his care for her well-being, as well as an upcoming morning shift at the radio station.

"It's later than I realized, my dear," he admitted, his voice carrying a touch of regret. "I'm afraid I can't stay any longer. Duty calls, and the dawn awaits for my return."

Something twisted and snapped in Alastor's gut as he observed the unmistakable disappointment etched across your features, evident in the downturn of your blood-red lips. His fingers itched with an impulse to claw your mouth back into a smile, to dig his nails into your skin and carve your lips into a grotesque display of happiness, all in a desperate attempt to restore the radiance of your joy.

Meanwhile, Mimzy sighed in disappointment, yet Alastor discerned that beneath the theatrics, she was indifferent to it all, evident in her thinly veiled disinterest.

"Aww… That's too bad, sugar! The night's just gettin' started!" Mimzy exclaimed, shaking her head with a pout. 

"But I get it! Some folks got places to be," Mimzy waved it off. There was a sudden twinkle in her eye as she pulled out a tab from her dress pocket. "Anyways, 'bout those drinks you had, they weren't exactly on the house, sooo..."

Alastor chuckled and pulled out his wallet. "Of course, my dear! I apologize, it must not have crossed my mind!"

He settled the bill and threw in a generous tip, for both you and Mimzy. His job as a radio host was quite the money-spinner, affording him the pleasure of treating others to the finer things in life. Mimzy practically glowed with satisfaction, her blue eyes sparkling as she snatched the tab. Swift and efficient, she flipped through the bills, before pocketing the money.

"Thank you, love!" Mimzy chirped, already moving away from the table as she waved him off. "You're welcome anytime!"

“I’m sure I am,” Alastor responded flatly, almost mockingly, with a roll of his eyes, pulling a laugh from you. As Mimzy made her way off backstage, both you and Alastor were left alone.

“It's a shame you have to leave so soon. I've got more songs up my sleeve for later. I would have loved for you to stay and catch the performance,” you sighed, turning back to him.

Alastor's eyes sparkled with genuine interest. "Songs, you say? Well, cher, that does sound like a delightful experience. Perhaps I can catch your next show some other time."

You smiled, appreciating his enthusiasm. "I'd love that. I perform here regularly, and your company would be more than welcome anytime."

Alastor's gaze intensified, fixing onto you with a magnetic pull that seemed to draw you closer despite yourself. His eyes, pools of darkness, held an unexplainable intensity. As his lips curled up into a grin, there was a hint of something more primal than human lurking behind his charming facade. A shiver traced its way down your spine, leaving behind a lingering sensation that unsettled you to your core.

"I'll definitely make it a point to come by," he finally said. 

Scrambling for a response, the only sound that reached your ears was the rhythmic thud of your own heartbeat as your blood rushed through your veins.

"Y-You too! Don't let the night slip away too quickly," you stammered.

With a nod, Alastor bid you a final farewell, weaving through the dimly lit space towards the exit. 

Yes, he shall see you very soon.

Cher - Louisiana Creole term meaning "darling," "sweetie" or "honey."

[rainydayathogwarts]

Stolen kisses, pretty lies - Sirius Black

yes, the title is inspired by miss taylor. summary: sirius and his unlikely slytherin!gf wc: 0.6k+

Sirius had been an avid hater of slytherins since the moment he’d learned that both his parents had been slytherins at Hogwarts. He never thought he’d be in this position right now: hiding away with his slytherin girlfriend in a secret room of the castle, cradling your thighs in his hands while he passionately kissed you. His body rhythmically moved with yours, perched on his lap. Panting, you pulled away from the kiss, putting both your hands on Sirius’s chest as he tried reconnecting your lips. You moved your head away from him, turning to glance at the clock hanging on the wall, each second ticking away loudly.

The second you faced Sirius once more, he stole a kiss from your lips, causing a grin to form on your face. “You sure you won’t be late?” You asked with pretence worry, immediately melting back into Sirius’s torso when he hummed in reassurance. “Anyway, they know how to find me.” He mumbled against your lips, causing you to abruptly pull away from him once more. “You told them?” You asked, face blanching with horror. Sirius shook his head, eyebrows furrowing at your reaction.

“Haven’t told them, but we’re not exactly hiding it, are we?” Sirius was specifically thinking about how your arms had been wrapped around his body in the courtyard a mere two days ago, moaning softly as he left marks on the side of your neck. His hand now trailed upwards to graze against the fading hickeys, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. “Sirius, my parents can’t find out.” Sirius sighed, a melancholic look overtaking his features. He wished it wasn’t this way, wished he could take you to meet his parents and have him meet yours. But his tarnished reputation, and both your estrangement from your parents didn’t let that happen.

Sirius felt the energy shift in the room, so he smiled his handsome smile, adding “What? You ashamed of me?” In a mock accusatory tone. Sirius felt his heart soar at the way your face lit up. Your hands ran down his chest, and you leaned in close enough so your chest brushed against Sirius’s, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw as you whispered. “So ashamed. Can’t have my parents meeting this rebellious bad boy.” Sirius barked out a laugh, a hand travelling to the nape of your neck as he pulled you into a proper kiss.

Sirius’s second hand tightly gripped your hip, and he firmly planted both his feet on the ground to help slowly roll you over on the couch, so that he hovered over you. You giggled as Sirius pressed teasing kisses from your lips to your jaw, eyes fluttering shut in satisfaction. You moved your head to the side to allow Sirius more space on your neck when you accidentally glanced at the round clock again. Your eyes widened as you took in the time, the image of the clock’s moving hands triggering the memory of the promise you had made Severus to help him with his transfigurations homework. You gasped loudly at the realisation, pushing Sirius off you as you tried to stand up. “I forgot about Severus!” You yelped, not taking notice of the way Sirius’s eyebrows furrowed unhappily at the other boy’s mention.

“Snape?” Sirius questioned, watching as you tried gathering your things before wrapping his arms around your waist and powerfully tugging you back onto the couch. “You’re absolutely not leaving me for that git.” Sirius complained, immediately getting on top of you and resuming his actions. When a loud clatter was heard beside you, you ignored it, fully allowing your belongings to fall all over the floor, because right now, Sirius was your sole focus. And despite your promise, you wouldn't let anything change that.

taglist:

@ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe @hiireadstuff @superlegend216

[riddlesbunny]

thawed out

summary: Frustrated after losing a game to your brothers’ team, you let Cregan take his frustration out on you.

pairing: Modern!Cregan x Targtower!Reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: Explicit smut, semi-public/rough sex, spit, p in v, creampie, 18+ MDNI

note: Sorry it’s been a month since I’ve posted!! Watch this flop asdfghkl

Your eyelids flutter as Sara lightly dabs glittery eyeshadow onto them with her ring finger.

“Try to hold still,” she tells you, just as your reflection catches her eye in the mirror that hangs on the back of her closet door.

“Oh no,” she frowns, making note of the jersey you’re wearing, “Cregan is not going to like that.”

The jersey — all black, has no distinctive feature of any team, but it does have the name “Targaryen” etched onto the back, and 01 on the front, which is your brother Aemond’s hockey number.

Cregan is number 13.

“Targaryen is my last name,” you remind her, “and besides, Cregan is the one who wants to hide me. If he wants me to wear his jersey to games, he will have to make me more than just a fuck buddy,” you shrug.

Her lips turn downward into a frown, but she nods her head in agreement with you.

Very few people are aware of your relationship with Cregan. He’s a good guy with a big heart, the complete opposite of a fuckboy or a player. The main, if not only, reason why the two of you decided to keep things a secret was so you wouldn’t have to deal with the backlash from your brothers.

Cool air whips against your face, and tensions are high with only a few minutes left remaining of the game.

You watch on eagerly as Aegon pulls a move that is supposedly illegal, but the ref’s don’t seem to count it. Resulting in your brothers’ team winning the game.

You can’t help but wince as you watch Cregan rip his helmet off and make a beeline toward Aegon on the ice.

“What the fuck was that?!”

“Aww,” your eldest brother frowns in response, “Run home with your tail between your legs!” he calls. Cregan grunts in response while the rest of Aegon’s teammates, Aemond included, howl maniacally like wolves. Making a mockery of Cregan and the rest of his team.

You roll your eyes at the scene and push your way out of the stands and through the crowd.

You pick at your fingernails nervously as you wait outside the locker room, refusing to enter until the remainder of Cregan’s teammates pass you by.

The smell of sweat fills your senses as you enter the abandoned locker room.

“Cregan,” you call, “baby?”

The locker room is quiet and dim. The only audible sound in the room is the faint buzzing of one of the poorly lit fluorescent lights.

Cregan is sat on one of the benches, his nose pinched between his thumb and forefinger. You reach your arms around him.

“Hey,” you offer, “for what it’s worth, you did great.”

“I’m just so fucking pissed off!”

Cregan’s deep voice echoes through the locker room as he throws his stick to the floor. As mentioned earlier, Cregan’s a stand up guy, but his temper is a force to be reckoned with; and nothing sets it off quite like losing a hockey game.

“I know you’re upset baby,” you state empathetically as you dig the pads of your fingers into his shoulders. An attempt to massage the tense tissue, he all but grunts in response.

“You wanna take it out on me?”

“What?” He asks in a deadpan.

“Your frustration … you should just take it out on me.”

Cregan raises his eyebrows at this but he takes no time to react. He stands up quickly, his thick frame hovering over yours before he shoves you against the lockers abruptly. Gripping at your chin with force, he demands you to open your mouth. You oblige and he spits directly down your throat, you swallow obediently with a content mewl as wetness pools at your center.

A pathetic “please” is all you’re able to muster out to him as he stares at you hungrily.

He takes a seat on the bench, tugging his uniform pants and boxer briefs down to his ankles in one swift motion, exposing his cock.

His calloused hands lift you onto his lap with haste. A shiver runs through your body as he yanks down your leggings and underwear in a quick swoop, causing you to hiss as cool air fans your cunt. It isn’t long before Cregan’s warm hand is cupping you, his fingers playing in your slick.

You want to cry out when he removes his hand from you but once his hands are at your thighs again, spreading you open, you feel the throbbing head of his cock prodding against you.

“Fuck, baby,” you moan, egging him on, “come on, I said, take it out on me.”

A growl erupts from his chest as he forcefully spears you down onto his cock, filling you to the hilt. Your eyes flutter shut and you try your best to suppress a moan as he begins to split you open.

He continues with unrelenting thrusts while his grip on your hips only tightens, taking full control.

“Fuckin. Targaryen’s,” he says through gritted teeth, harshly slapping the swell of your ass. Your head snaps up as you glare at him disapprovingly.

“Obviously not you baby,” he coo’s reassuringly, running his fingers along the red handprint that’s forming, soothing the pain before kneading at the tender flesh.

“It’s just— Gods, do they fuckin’ rile me up,” he mumbles as both his hands make their way to your waist again, helping him thrust into you even harder.

“I know, baby, I know” you whimper, pressing your forehead to his as he continues to fuck into you at an unrelenting pace.

“But you know just how to make me feel better, don’t you, baby?”

“Y-yes,” you choke out as he perfectly angles his cock against your cervix.

“Yeah you do, this sweet little pussy is all I need.”

You can feel the tension building in your body at his words, your breath coming out in short gasps as he expertly moves inside of you.

His fingers trail down from your hips to your cunt again, sending hot waves of electricity through you.

His intense, grey, gaze never leaves yours. With each thrust, you feel yourself on the brink of insanity. Each drag of his length has you closer and closer to the edge.

Cregan moves with determination, his body pressed hard against yours as he takes you to new heights of pleasure. His digits finally find the apex of your thighs and pinch at your throbbing bud, causing you to gasp and arch your back.

Urging him on as he expertly works his fingers over your most sensitive spot. Each touch sends waves of pleasure through you. With one final pinch and a flick of his thumb, you’re cumming around him — gasping and trembling as the walls of your cunt tighten around his length.

His breathing comes labored and heavy, his eyes squeezed shut as he chases his own release. His own hips stuttered as he felt you continue to pulse around him. Unable to keep his composure any longer, he lets out a loud groan and spills himself inside of you, painting your walls with his seed.

“Fuckin’ Targaryen’s,” he drawls, this time his tone is filled with appreciation.

[enhaflixer]

Bf!Jay x f!reader - when walls fall.

angst, fluff, - she thinks he cheated on her (he didn't) the post to THIS ask.

The message had arrived three hours ago, shattering your world like a hammer to glass. A simple photo—Jay with his arm around her, both laughing with the kind of intimacy that only comes from shared secrets. The anonymous sender had added just five devastating words: "Thought you deserved to know."

Five years together. Five years of nursing him through pneumonia, of holding his hand at his father's funeral, of sacrificing that dream job in Seattle because he couldn't leave his hometown. Five years of choosing him, again and again, only to discover you were never his only choice.

You sit perfectly still on the edge of the couch, back straight, hands folded in your lap like some parody of composure. You've cried already—hours of silent tears that left your eyes puffy and raw—but now there's just hollow calm. You're an adult. You'll handle this with dignity, with maturity. You've rehearsed what to say, how to ask for your keys back, how you'll listen to his explanation with detached politeness before walking away forever.

When the door finally clicks open and he calls your name in that voice that used to make your heart flutter, you rise to your feet with mechanical precision.

"We need to talk," you say, your voice remarkably steady as you hold up your phone with the damning image. "I think it's time we were honest with each other."

Jay's face falls, confusion clouding his features. He steps toward you, hand outstretched.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

"Don't," you warn, stepping back, maintaining the careful distance you need to keep your resolve intact. "Just don't."

But he doesn't stop. He keeps coming closer, concern etched into every line of his face, and when his fingers brush your arm, something inside you—something you've been holding together with nothing but willpower and pride—simply disintegrates.

"I said don't!" The scream tears from your throat as you violently shrug away from his touch. All your carefully constructed composure evaporates in an instant, replaced by a tidal wave of raw, unfiltered agony.

You beat your fists against his chest, each impact a punctuation mark to your anger, your hurt, your betrayal. The cotton of his shirt crumples beneath your knuckles. Your planned speech, your dignified exit—all of it vanishes under the sudden explosion of pain that's been building inside you like a pressure cooker.

"How could you?" The words tear from your throat, raw and ragged. "How could you?"

Jay stands there, solid as stone, absorbing each blow like he deserves it. Maybe he does. The thought only fuels the fire in your veins, makes your strikes harder, wilder, less controlled.

"Say something!" you demand, voice cracking. Your palms are stinging now, but you can't stop. If you stop, you'll have to remember how pathetic this is, how you promised yourself you wouldn't break down, wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing you shatter.

Your strength is fading, arms growing heavier with each strike. Your vision blurs as fresh tears finally break free, streaming hot down your cheeks. Your blows weaken, turning from punches to pathetic pats against his chest.

"I trusted you," you whisper, the words barely audible through your sobs. "I trusted you."

When your legs finally give out, betraying your last attempt at dignity, he moves. His arms circle around you with a gentleness that breaks something fundamental inside you. You collapse against him, face pressed into the same chest you were assaulting moments ago, fingers now clutching at his shirt instead of battering it.

Jay holds you like you're made of something precious and fragile. His embrace is tight, secure—like he's afraid you might dissolve if he loosens his grip even slightly. His chin rests atop your head, and you feel the slight tremble in his body that tells you he's fighting his own battle.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs into your hair, his voice a low rumble you feel against your cheek. "I'm so sorry."

You should push away. You should remember your plan, your dignity, your resolve. But you can't move, can't do anything but hang there in his arms, utterly spent, hollowed out like something scraped clean of everything that once made it whole.

Later, he'll show you the full thread of messages, revealing the photo as a malicious edit by his ex—the one who threatened suicide when he ended things, the one who's been watching from the shadows for years. He'll show you the real image: Jay with his cousin at her wedding, before he even knew your name. He'll take you to his mother's house where they've been planning your surprise thirtieth birthday party for weeks.

But right now, there's just this: your broken heart leaking between your ribs, your pathetic whimpers against his chest, and worst of all—the tiniest spark of hope that refuses to die, that maybe, just maybe, there's an explanation that won't destroy the life you've built on the foundation of his promises.

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. zayne is quite the early bird and loves to appreciate the sight of your sleeping self next to him. he might even tease you a bit.

wc. 1.2k

note. first love and deepspace fic, kinda nervous. lmk what you think of my characterisation of zayne.

tags. zayne x female reader. fluff. just zayne being a secret softie for you. reader gets called ‘sweetheart, dear / pretty, beautiful’.

it’s early. way too early for your body to properly function. the birds haven’t chirped yet and neither has the sun shown itself—it’s early, but zayne is up. he couldn’t fall back asleep once he had awoken and thus decided to stay up.

“hah, sleepyhead,” zayne comments through a deep sigh. he’s laying on his side, facing you. his eyes are completely focused on your appearance; from your messy bed hair to the drop of drool forming at the corner of your mouth. it’s all rather endearing.

your boyfriend reaches a scarred hand towards you, though is quick to retract it after some hesitation. he does not want to interrupt your slumber. you need your rest; especially after your hard shift as a hunter the day before.

and because you finally decided to follow his advice as your primary care physician. sleep is important for your health.

zayne’s protective instincts are begging him to embrace you—to protect you against the cold. you just look so vulnerable next to him.

though, his heart doesn’t agree. there are risks to such an action; you waking up this early and not getting your recommended seven hours of sleep is one of them. he decides not to do anything. . . for now.

zayne checks his phone to kill some time. no missed calls nor texts. it’s unusual for the surgeon to not be bombarded with calls and such, though it’s a pleasant change of pace.

his eyes dart back to your face again. no matter how many times he tries to distract himself from you, his focus always finds its way back to you. it’s like he’s subconsciously checking to see if you’re up or not.

zayne wishes to witness your face as it lights up the moment you lock eyes. to see your adorable smile that makes his heart flutter. to hold you close, cuddle with you and kiss you.

“mph,” a sudden yawn from your mouth interrupts zayne’s train of thoughts. you stretch your arms and move to lay on your back, however your eyes stay closed. you look even more adorable like that—with your hair even messier.

your lover can’t help himself like this. a slender finger reaches out to your lips, gathering the small droplet of drool at the corner. zayne’s neutral expression remains, but his eyes subtly soften once he gets to touch your skin.

“what a messy girl,” zayne mumbles to himself. he nearly makes himself chuckle, however is quick enough to bite back that short laugh. he takes his chance and subtly traces the shape of your bottom lip.

there’s no going back now that he’s touched you. his attention is now fully on you and you only.

zayne is too busy tracing your facial features to notice that you’re starting to wake up. your eyes flutter open and - to your surprise - you find your lover’s face hovering above yours.

you feel the pad of his thumb on one of your cheeks, his index and middle finger holding the other. he gently squeezes your cheeks together so that your lips form a pout. it’s secretly his favorite thing to do—makes you look silly.

“zayne?” you whisper in a groggy voice.

zayne lightly jolts in place and takes his hand away. he clears his throat awkwardly; his gaze darting back and forth between the objects in your bedroom. he purposely avoids all eye contact while maintaining a stoic expression. as if he wasn’t just caught admiring you.

“oh, you’re awake,” your lover mutters. he attempts to change topics by looking at the digital clock on your nightstand, “it’s still too early. you should go back to sleep, dear.”

you still feel flustered whenever he refers to you as ‘dear’ or any other affectionate nickname. your relationship has come so far and it warms your heart. you grin and reach your hand out to place it on zayne’s jawline.

“mm, what were you doing when i was asleep?” you ask in a teasing tone. your fingers trace his jaw gently, trailing down his neck. it makes the dark-haired man gulp lightly. there’s not much left of his self control.

zayne allows you to lead his face back to yours. the tender touch he missed so much—your warm palm meeting his cold skin—it drives him insane. he sighs, though does not admit the truth, “nothing much. just checking my schedule for the day and such.”

that gains him a playful scoff from your side. you know that’s a lie just by the memory you have of his face hovering above yours from earlier. he was admiring you. you poke the tip of his nose, “riiiight, then why were you staring at me so lovingly? touching my lips so delicately?”

you giggle as you recall that faint softness in zayne’s eyes when you caught him admiring the view of you. his fingertips treated your skin with such care. maybe you should’ve pretended to be asleep and see how things would have played out.

“ah, you see,” zayne replies in a low tone, his hand moving once more to tap at the corners of your lips. you could’ve sworn that there’s a faint grin on his face as he continues, “it’s hard to ignore the sight of you when you’re drooling all over yourself in your sleep.”

that shuts you up. you immediately try to wipe away any leftover drool from your lips. your hands work quick, but you don’t find anything to wipe off, “l-liar. i’m not drooling, thank you very much.”

zayne shakes his head with a breathy chuckle and ruffles your hair. he leans in and his breath on the skin of your cheek sends shivers down your spine.

“because i got rid of it all before you woke up, sweetheart,” he mutters lowly and lets his lips graze against your cheek, “i was kind enough to help my messy little girlfriend out and save her from the embarrassment.”

you sputter an incomprehensible excuse, but fail at defending yourself from that. you know zayne is a pro at teasing when he’s in a good mood. you’re absolutely no match to him. you huff and eventually give in, “whatever.”

zayne knows he won that one. he only jokes around with you like that in hopes to seeing your adorable ‘angry’ face. that frown and pout on your face makes you look all the more pretty to him.

he sighs and spoons you—arms cradling you to his chest from behind once you turn your back to him. neither of you complain about your current position. there’s a yawn coming out of your mouth again;

“go back to sleep, i’ll be here.” zayne whispers to you and you nod.

before you close your eyes, you turn your head and stare at zayne. he gazes back down at you and that tender look in his eyes makes its appearance once more. that look which is reserved for you.

“promise me you’ll sleep too,” you mumble. your lover stays silent for a couple seconds, not knowing whether he can promise you that or not. though after seeing your little pout again, he can’t help but give in.

zayne leans in and places a reassuring kiss on your forehead, “i promise. i will.”

[eremikayearner]

prettiest smile ‹𝟹 itoshi rin

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ in which, you finally experience his smile and his laughter for the first time.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ when you had first befriended rin all those months ago, you honestly hadn’t expected your friendship to flourish like this.

rin was quiet, snappy, and quite frankly, tended to be very rude. but for some reason, that never shook you off of him. why? he couldn’t fathom a reason. not even you could come up with a reason. just that you liked his mystery, his company, his presence, all of it.

maybe you liked it too much.

under the spring sunlight, you and rin walked back to your home as you yapped away. another thing you liked about rin was that he was a good listener. you could talk about any of your interests and he would be there beside you, nodding along, occasionally asking questions — and the best part? he remembered. he remembered things even you had forgotten.

“i don’t understand why he doesn’t just confess already.” you huffed, complaining about the male lead in your romance novel. “he has to understand he’s an attractive guy. i don’t think any girl would reject him!”

rin looked at you curiously. “what do you mean?”

“i mean that everybody likes pretty boys. even if they’re the worst person on the planet. rin, come on, back me up here. you can testify!”

“i still don’t understand.” rin replied.

you rolled your eyes. was he being serious? absolutely no way. “girls confess to you all the time.”

he looked at you completely cluelessly.

then it hit you.

oh my god.

rin was genuinely clueless.

he was utterly unaware of his own beauty.

how? he was one of your closest friends now, and one of the first things you had noticed about him was that he was rather beautiful. pretty teal eyes fringed by long dark lashes, a face sculpted by angels, dark hair that fell over his face perfectly, and come on. he was an athlete. anybody with eyes could see the carefully built muscle against the fabric of his clothes. rin was a pretty boy. it was no secret.

however, it seemed that everybody knew the secret but him.

he tilted his head just slightly to the side, sunlight streaming through the trees and pronouncing the deep green undertones of his hair. “so?”

you stopped walking, completely the dumbfounded. then the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them. “you’re pretty.”

oh, now you’ve done it. who the hell calls their male friends pretty?

rin raised an eyebrow. “i’m pretty?”

“no!” you exclaimed, your heart racing in your chest as he looked down at you, and oh god — you were blushing. then his eyes widened in surprise at your quick reaction, your heart beating so fast it could have collapsed inside your chest. “i mean i’m not saying you’re not, ‘cause you are. pretty, i mean. but i’m just saying-”

your rambling was definitely making this worse. you looked down at the ground, your cheeks flushing pink and your blood racing through your veins. then you heard something soft. the smallest sound.

laughter.

you raised your eyes to find his face, and your breath catches. he laughed louder, and your heart fluttered in your chest as you watched him with wide eyes. you didn’t think he could get prettier.

but here he was. the soft golden sunlight hitting his face and illuminating every breathtaking feature. his smile could have stopped wars, his laughter could have been mistaken for an angel’s. you had never seen him look prettier. it was almost too much for your poor heart to handle. he was smiling — laughing because of you.

you felt light. too light. as you watched him, lips parted in awe, you felt your heart fall. falling endlessly, effortlessly, as you looked at rin.

he giggled, and your stomach flipped, his smile radiant as he looked down at you. “so you think i’m pretty?”

you couldn’t even speak. you just nodded.

he laughed again, nodding to himself. “good. i think you’re pretty too.”

you might faint.

rin’s laughter was pure as his hands went to your face as you mumbled about feeling lightheaded ; his proximity, touch and laughter worsening it. rin could only giggle as he teasingly asked you if you were okay, delighted by your shy and soft responses.

oh, you’re so screwed. you’ve definitely fallen for itoshi rin.

[comatosebunny09]

serve & protect [ prologue ] | sylus

— summary: you’ve stood dutifully by his side for years. seen him at his worst, not once letting that side of him deter you. can you blame him for craving more than your loyalty? — cw: royalty au, king sylus, femme reader, knight/bodyguard reader, mutual pining, brief mention of injury, marking, tension, jealousy, kind of a slow burn, will get steamier — notes: a reimagining of something i wrote a few years ago. heavily inspired by final fantasy xv & the beast within (2024) movie. tysm for reading! — now playing: waltz no.2 - cihat aşkın 

You would feel bad for badgering him if he wasn’t prone to disappearing like this. 

Prone to shirking off his duties like an entire kingdom didn’t rely on his guidance. 

You sigh for the umpteenth time amid the night-blooming jasmines. Fingers tighten around the strapped leather grip of your sword, fastened to your hip. Your feet move on autopilot, carrying you through the garden on a path you’re all too familiar with, the grass shining with dew and crunching beneath your feet. 

Your shift just began after a grueling week of training. Yet, you’ve already been tasked by his royal advisor with locating your charge before even shrugging into your coat. You’ve become something of a glorified babysitter these days, practically telling your liege when to eat.

If not for his advisor threatening to lop your head off—he could very well try—you would leave the king be. He hasn’t found much reprieve these days, what with neighboring countries pushing for peace treaties, reformation efforts to rebuild the outlying cities, and distant kingdoms shoving their daughters at him for marriage, amongst a slew of other issues.

It isn’t uncommon for your charge to slip away when the weight of the world is too much to shoulder. For him to retire to his private garden to catch his breath. He’ll never admit it aloud, but shouldering an entire kingdom on his own deepens the violet bags hanging beneath his eyes. The sleepless nights. The impending anxiety stewing in his gut.

Only you know of the secret passageways that lead to his most favored spots in the garden, where his servants get lost trying to navigate the network of rose bushes arranged like a labyrinth to keep them out.

It’s often your responsibility to fetch him since you work more intimately with him than anyone else. You know His Majesty’s habits like they were mapped on the back of your hand. You wouldn’t have it any other way; it’s nice to be the only person allowed into these private quadrants of his life.

A shock of white stains your peripheral, peacefully nestled between swaying hydrangeas. 

You near him, noting that he’s propped up on an ironwood bench. His head is lowered and crooked to one side, arms folded over a broad chest, lips slightly parted. A book rests open and forgotten on his thigh, legs crossed. You tamp down a smile when you realize he’s fast asleep.

“Your Majesty,” you beckon with a hidden fondness as your steps slow to a stop before him.

He doesn’t stir. Of course, you don’t expect him to. When sleep claims him, it’s hard to free him from its ivy-like crawl.

You kneel dutifully, bowing your head, your sword scrawling a thick line in the dirt. You caution his name again, the sound of your voice competing with that of the breeze threading through the leaves. 

Still nothing. Just the steady rhythm of his breaths and distant morning birds singing their symphony around you.

With a sigh, you incline your head to look up. And what a mistake that proves to be, traitorous butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

He’s a beautiful contradiction amid the soft stir of pastel flowers. A dark cutout of regality, slumbering like a dragon guarding its treasure. 

His hair is reminiscent of a thick blanket of snow, piling itself amongst the treetops. He wears summer skin in the midst of spring. Stretched taut over a pretty Roman nose, angular features, full lips. He’s ethereal, limned in the sun’s amber glow, a sight that could bring the end of days or sink ships to the bottom of the sea. Thick, furled lashes dance with dreams beneath furrowed brows. A gruff sound escapes his mouth as he lightly stirs before falling still again.

Even in sleep, he maintains the intensity with which he’s known to rule.

A quaint smile touches your lips. You quell an impulse to soothe the divot between his brows with your thumb. To smooth out the hard press of his lips together. A well-timed gust of wind kicks in, rustling the velvet-soft hair framing his face.

Your fingers twitch with an impulse to touch. To tuck those unruly locks behind his ear. You instead curl them into a loose fist on the ground, quietly chiding yourself for allowing such thoughts to trickle in. 

He is your charge—your king. Affectionate gestures like that are forbidden. A conflict of interest, no matter how harmless they may seem. 

Besides, you’re unworthy of touching him. There’s dirt caked beneath your nails and an ever-present film of grime adorning your cheeks. He should have someone of equal stature smiling at his side. A pretty, glittering doll in flowery dresses, well-versed in the tongue of nobility. In the art of being poised and prim.

You’re a mere servant. A shield to be used at his disposal, your hands battle-worn and skin sun-kissed. You threw away all hope for love when you took an oath, binding your life to his and pledging your fealty to him. 

He handpicked you to serve as his personal bodyguard, a decision you still grapple with several years later. Many seasoned knights served in the royal guard longer than you’ve held a sword. You would never do anything to jeopardize his trust, to betray his kindness. 

The affection that unfurls like lotus petals in your chest for him is deep-rooted. However, it results from serving under him for so long and nothing more.

At least…

That’s what you tell yourself whenever his gaze lingers a little too long, pilfering the air from your lungs. 

Or when his dexterous fingers brush over your wrist under the guise of reaching for something in front of you. 

When he presses a warm and possessive hand at the small of your back whenever you tour the citadel’s grounds with him, or he requests your input on something at his desk. 

When he flashes a rare quirk of lips that’s boyish and dimpled and disarming when he thinks no one else is the wiser.

You clear your throat, remembering yourself. Your voice is more assertive this time, dispelling the nebulous haze of your musings. 

“Your Majesty, please. You have to get up.” The urge to stroke his cheek returns. You squeeze your thigh to curb it.

As if the Gods grant you mercy, that does the trick. 

His lashes flutter, and his voice is thick and raspy, rolling like thunder over the horizon in his chest. You watch him blink away the bleariness, the scarlet wash of his irises causing your heart to pull. 

Your king studies you as if making out the colors and texture of your face. You try not to shiver under his scrutiny, instead looking away as warmth inhabits your face. You’ve always found his eyes to be one of his most devastating features. They could easily glean through the mist of your mind, your guise, reading you like the yellowed pages of a book, even without tapping into the power residing in his right eye.

Heat permeates through the thickness of your uniform when, after setting his book aside, he suddenly pitches himself forward, elbows digging into the pockets of his knees. He rests his chin atop his folded together fingers, and you don’t need to fully look at him to see the smirk crooking his lips. The scent of unfettered energy and stripped sandalwood rolls off his skin, curling around your senses, threatening to root your tongue to the roof of your mouth.

The air between you is rife with tension. So thick, you can cleave through it with your blade. Your king watches you amusedly, and you do everything within your power to resist the bewitching pull of his gaze. The comfort and strength he exudes.

When he speaks, you nearly jump fifty feet out of your skin. His voice is as devastating as his eyes, puddling in your stomach, turning your brain to smog.

“I knew you were there all along. That’s why I didn’t bother opening my eyes. I was merely resting them.”

You scoff despite the anxiety scorching your innards. Closing your eyes, you retort under your breath, though loud enough for him to hear, “Sure, Majesty. You were resting your eyes while snoring with drool running down your chin.”

Your charge releases an indignant sound from the back of his throat, reeling back to touch his face, mortified. Your shoulders shake with your quiet laughter, and you hide the round tug of your lips behind your fist.

“Funny,” he says, and he gives you a look. One he’s used to silence an entire court of hecklers, its sharpness boding danger.

You clear your throat, donning that straight-faced mask you’ve grown so accustomed to wearing. You’re friends—childhood companions—yet you know when to shift from candid to serious.  

Recalling why you were initially sent to fetch him, you stand to full height, brushing the dust off your hands on your thighs before snapping to attention. Your king raises a brow as if sensing something on your mind. 

“At ease,” he orders, his voice devoid of its usual sternness as he leans back against the bench, a long arm draped along the bench’s headrest. 

You get a good look at the veins peering through the cuffed sleeve of his button-up, spilling down his forearm to puddle at the back of his hand. You swallow against the barbs forming in your throat, your mouth growing dry.

“Speak freely.”

You nod, your hands clasped together at the small of your back. “You have a brunch date with the Queen of Universum today, sir.”

He blinks as if this information is news to him before recollection forms between his brows. His Majesty scowls, drumming his fingers on the bench’s rim impatiently. “Of course. Another noble here to throw their daughter at my feet.”

Your shoulders slightly drop at the dejection in his tone. You wish people weren’t so insistent that he take a wife. His father ruled just fine without one following the death of his mother. Still, having been around His Majesty so long, you understand why it’s imperative he marry soon. 

Your shoulder throbs dully, serving as your reminder. 

You try to ignore how the thought of some pretty noble wrapped around his arm makes you bristle, green-eyed feelings stewing in your belly. It would never be you—never could be you. You’re content with being his handler, watching him mutter obscenities over paperwork from your position at his door.

“How does that make you feel?” His Majesty suddenly asks, a teasing edge to his voice.

You blink, caught off guard. “M-Me?”

His chuckle is rich and endearing, and you unconsciously step back when he stands, swaddling you in his warmth and imposing aura. Stuffing a hand into his pocket, he pokes your nose, and you go cross-eyed looking at his slender finger.

“Yes, you. How does it make you feel, knowing that so many women would kill to take my name?”

He’s trying to get a rise out of you. Trying to weasel something out of you you’ve tucked in the deepest regions of your mind. You don’t humor him; instead, you give him a haughty look, your chin defiantly jutting forward. 

“I think anyone willing to marry you is clinically insane.”

He laughs at your brazenness, your teasing, full-bodied and soothing. Dimples crater his cheeks, and the softness washing over his eyes causes a smile to twitch your lips. Without warning, idle fingers scorch your skin through the fabric of your jacket, easing down your arm, past the crook of your elbow, further still…

You’re breathless as His Majesty coaxes a hand from behind your back, and you watch with slightly parted lips and through the wispy sweep of your lashes as he draws it to his mouth. His eyes drill into the hulls of your soul whilst his molten lips brush your knuckles. He kisses them with such tenderness, such reverence, as if you’re an idol forged from glass, meant to be preserved in a museum.

The sound of your pulse pounding like a war drum blots out every bit of noise around. Your throat thickens, tongue bolted to the roof of your mouth. 

“Good morning, by the way,” he drawls as if ensnaring you in a secret, his warm breath ghosting your skin, limber fingers scorching your hand to the bone. 

You snatch away quicker than you mean to. Smooth your palm down your thigh before pinching yourself, studying the blades of grass licking at your boots. You wish you hadn’t caught sight of the fleeting pain in his expression. Wish you hadn’t been the cause of it.

“W-We should get going, sir,” you divert, trying to hide the shakiness of your voice.

He pushes out a weighted breath, stuffing the hand once curled around yours into his opposing pocket. “Lead on, then, dear friend.”

“Right.” With a curt nod, you turn on your heel towards the patchwork of greenery you emerged from.

He follows wordlessly, closely, a towering presence at your back, footfalls weighted in the grass, swallowing up the sound of your smaller ones. Static charges between you, imbued with something potent. You practically feel his eyes boring holes into the space between your shoulder blades.

You try to no avail to quell your thundering heart. To ignore how your knuckles throb where his lips imprinted themselves on the rough stretch of skin. 

You wince, inwardly warring with yourself, praying that His Majesty keeps his hands to himself long enough to get through his meal with the queen. 

You could only dream he would behave.

His Majesty is as infuriating as he is handsome.

masterlist | next >>

[mahalachives]

Part 8: Everything I Am, Everything I Will Be

Azriel x f!reader

Genre: fated mates, rom-com, crack humor, eventual angst, eventual smut

Summary: Azriel never expected to finally meet his mate and to be… this.

A walking disaster with a talent for tripping over air, an uncanny ability to charm even the grumpiest Illyrian, and a knack for throwing herself headfirst into situations that require his immediate intervention.

She is warmth where he is shadow, laughter where he is silence. And worst of all? She makes him smile without trying.

Azriel, Are you Okay? - Masterlist

Azriel had first noticed you in Velaris, long before fate had decided to intervene.

It had been an ordinary afternoon in the Rainbow.

Azriel had been returning from a briefing with Rhys, his shadows trailing behind him like gentle wisps of midnight.

Most people gave him a wide berth—the Shadowsinger’s reputation ensuring his solitude even in crowded streets.

She’s coming, his shadows whispered suddenly, their tone unusually bright, almost melodic. The one who speaks to plants.

Azriel tilted his head slightly, curious.

His shadows often brought him snippets of information about the residents of Velaris, but rarely with such… delight.

That’s when he saw you.

You were hurrying along with an armful of ancient scrolls, humming softly to yourself about deadlines and temperamental flora.

Before he could step aside, a particularly ornate scroll adorned with painted lilies slipped from your grasp, rolling toward his feet.

Catch it, his shadows urged eagerly, already curling toward the falling parchment.

He caught it before it could unravel completely, his gloved hand gentle with the delicate parchment, careful not to damage the exquisite illustrations of rare night-blooming plants.

“Oh! Thank you,” you’d gasped, “These are absolutely irreplaceable botanical records, and my supervisor would have my head if—”

You froze mid-sentence as you finally looked up, eyes widening in recognition, a small pressed flower falling from between the pages of your notebook.

“You’re Azriel,” you whispered. “The Shadowsinger.”

He’d simply nodded, extending the recovered scroll with one hand while quietly retrieving the fallen flower with the other.

Her heartbeat sounds like hummingbird wings, his shadows observed, sounding almost… enchanted. She smells like lavender and old books.

Your fingers brushed as you took both items, a fleeting touch that sent an unexpected warmth shooting up his arm like gentle sparks.

His throat tightened pleasantly, a subtle flutter spreading across his chest as his shadows curled briefly toward you like morning mist reaching for sunlight.

Warm, they murmured happily. Bright. Remember her forever.

“Thank you,” you’d said again, softer this time, a small smile lighting your features.

He'd inclined his head in silent acknowledgment before continuing on his way, gently quieting his shadows when they tried to urge him to follow you, to learn more about the female who’d caused such a stir among them.

We’ll see her again, they whispered confidently as he walked away. She matters to us.

Azriel had dismissed their unusual behavior with fond exasperation.

His shadows could be fanciful at times, prone to innocent fixations that often proved meaningless.

Besides, his heart had belonged to Mor then.

Had for centuries. Would for centuries more, he'd thought.

He was wonderfully wrong.

Five centuries of life had prepared Azriel for many things.

Torture. War.

The darkest corners of Prythian's courts. The weight of secrets that would break lesser males.

But nothing—absolutely nothing—had prepared him for the paralyzing uncertainty of preparing for his first date with his mate.

"You look like you're planning an assassination, not a romantic evening," Cassian drawled from where he lounged against the doorframe of Azriel's private chambers in the House of Wind. He eyed Azriel’s fourth—or was it fifth?—tunic choice of the evening. "I mean, if you’re aiming to impress her with murder skills, go for it. But I’d suggest toning down the ‘serial killer’ energy at least a notch."

Azriel didn't respond, busy adjusting the collar of his tunic for the fourteenth time.

The fabric embroidered with silver stars seemed simultaneously too formal and not formal enough.

He'd never cared about his appearance beyond functionality before.

But tonight... tonight mattered.

You mattered.

"I've never seen you this rattled," Cassian continued, his grin widening. "Not even when we infiltrated the Winter Court during the Frost Solstice and you got cornered by that deranged—"

Azriel shot him a warning look, shadows coiling tightly around his scarred hands. "I'm not rattled."

Liar, his oldest shadow whispered in his ear. Your heart races at the mere thought of her.

His shadows had been insufferable since the day you'd fallen on him in the archives—growing more vocal, more insistent with each passing day.

They'd recognized the mate bond before he had, whispering your name when he tried to sleep, urging him toward you at every opportunity.

Centuries of perfect control, undone by one female with a talent for calamity and eyes that saw straight through his carefully constructed walls.

"Have you decided where you're taking her?" Rhys asked, materializing from the shadows of the hallway. The High Lord's violet eyes gleamed with barely suppressed amusement.

Azriel nodded once. "The oak grove."

Cassian raised an eyebrow. "The treehouse? No one knows about that place."

"Exactly," Azriel replied, finally turning away from the mirror. He didn't need to explain further.

Both males understood the significance—he was sharing something private, something he'd kept hidden for centuries.

Rhys's expression shifted, something knowing gleaming in his eyes. "Interesting choice," he said, the words weighted with meaning Azriel couldn't quite decipher. "There's something... fitting about it."

Before Azriel could respond, Cassian clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to make lesser males stagger. "Well, don't keep the lady waiting. And remember—" he winked "—I've got a favorite blade riding on you sealing the bond by the full moon."

Azriel growled low in his throat. "Get out."

Both males laughed as they retreated, though Rhys paused at the doorway.

"Az," he said softly, all humor gone from his voice. "You both deserve this. Remember that."

The words struck deeper than Azriel wanted to admit.

Five centuries of darkness and solitude had convinced him he deserved nothing but shadows.

And then you had crashed into his life—literally—upending everything he thought he knew about himself.

She is your light, his shadow whispered. Your starlight. Your home.

He had one final thing to retrieve before leaving.

From his desk, he took a small wooden box containing the gift he'd spent hours carving.

A ridiculous gesture, perhaps, but one he hoped would make you smile.

That smile.

It haunted him.

Brightened corners of his soul he'd thought long dead.

With a deep breath, he unfurled his wings and stepped to the balcony.

Before launching into the evening sky, he allowed himself one moment of vulnerability, one whispered confession to the sunset.

"I am terrified."

You had faced many terrifying things in your life.

Cave-dwelling monsters with too many teeth.

That one particularly aggressive goose on the mountain trail.

But nothing—absolutely nothing—had prepared you for the sheer, overwhelming panic of getting ready for your first official date with Azriel.

"I have nothing to wear," you wailed, flinging another dress onto the growing pile on your bed. "Nothing."

Lira, sprawled on your one comfortable chair, didn't even look up from inspecting her nails. "You have approximately seventeen outfits on that bed alone. Not to mention the three I brought over. And the one Mor sent with a note that said—and I quote—'wear this if you want to see a shadowsinger blush.'"

"None of them are right!" You held up a midnight blue gown with silver accents. "Too formal."

A casual tunic and pants. "Too boring."

A revealing red number that had somehow found its way into your closet. "Too... Mor."

Lira sighed dramatically. "He's seen you with bedhead, covered in mud, drenched in the Sidra, and tripping over literally nothing. If you showed up in a flour sack, he'd probably still look at you like you hung the stars."

"That doesn't help!"

"Fine." Lira finally stood, sifting through the fabric mountain with expert precision. "Wear this. It's pretty but comfortable, and the color brings out your eyes."

She held up a simple but elegant dress in a deep violet hue with subtle silver detailing.

The fabric was light and flowy, perfect for a summer evening in Velaris, yet structured enough to look intentional rather than haphazard—something you desperately needed help with.

"Are you sure?" you asked, taking the garment with reverent hands.

"Positive. Now..." She gestured vaguely at the disaster that was your hair. "Let's tackle that next catastrophe."

An hour later, you stood before your mirror, barely recognizing yourself.

The dress fit perfectly, highlighting curves you didn't know you had. Your hair was pinned in an elegant-but-not-too-fussy style that somehow made you look like you belonged in the Night Court's fashionable circles.

"See?" Lira said smugly, adjusting one final pin. "You clean up nicely when you're not falling into things."

"Don't jinx it," you muttered, nervously touching the moonbloom pendant that hung around your neck.

The delicate flower seemed to pulse with life in the fading evening light, a constant reminder of Azriel's feelings.

Gregory bubbled energetically from his bowl, performing what looked suspiciously like approval laps.

"Even Gregory thinks you look good," Lira commented, tossing a pinch of fish food into the bowl. "And he has very high standards. Don't you, Gregory?"

A loud knock interrupted your nervous fidgeting.

"He's early," you hissed, panic rising again. "He said sunset! It's not sunset yet!"

"It's close enough," Lira pushed you toward the door. "Now go. Be awkward. Be romantic. Be yourself. And for Cauldron's sake, try not to fall into the Sidra again."

With one final glare at your so-called friend, you took a deep breath and opened the door.

And promptly forgot how to breathe.

Azriel stood there, not in his usual Illyrian fighting leathers, but in formal Night Court attire—well-fitted black pants and a deep blue tunic that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. His wings were meticulously groomed, the membranous material almost glowing in the late afternoon light.

But it was his face that caught you off guard.

The usual carefully controlled mask had slipped, revealing raw appreciation as his hazel eyes swept over you.

"You're beautiful," he said, the words coming out rougher than usual, like he hadn't meant to speak them aloud.

Your cheeks heated.

"You too." You winced immediately. "I mean, not beautiful—well, yes, beautiful, but handsome. You look handsome. Good. Nice. I'm going to stop talking now."

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "I brought you something."

From behind his back, he produced not flowers—which would have been the conventional choice—but a small, intricate wooden box.

"For the menace," he said, gesturing toward Gregory's bowl. "From one guard to another."

You opened it to find a tiny, perfectly carved castle tower—a fish hideout for Gregory's bowl.

"You got my fish a present," you said, staring at the delicate woodwork, complete with miniature windows and a tiny door. "Did you... did you make this?"

A rare flush crept along Azriel's cheekbones. "I had time."

The image of the Night Court's most feared spymaster whittling a tiny castle for your emotional support fish was almost too much to bear.

"Gregory appreciates your dedication to home security," you managed, placing the tower carefully in the fish bowl. Gregory immediately swam through the tiny doorway, clearly approving of his new quarters.

"Shall we?" Azriel offered his arm—a formal, courtly gesture that somehow seemed both foreign and perfectly natural coming from him.

"Where are we going?" you asked, slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow and trying not to focus on the firm muscle beneath your fingertips.

His shadows curled playfully around your wrist. "It's a surprise."

Your eyes widen with wonder as you take in the treehouse, your lips parting in surprise.

You can't believe Azriel has brought you here—to a place he built with Cassian centuries ago and maintained alone for three hundred years.

"You're taking me to your secret hideout?" The words tumble from your mouth, wonder filling your voice.

Azriel's hand moves to adjust the moonbloom pendant at your throat, his fingers lingering against your skin.

The touch sends a flutter through your chest, your pulse quickening beneath his fingertips.

"I wanted to share something with you," he says, his voice rougher than usual. "Something private. Something no female has ever seen."

The weight of his admission isn't lost on you.

Five centuries of guarding his privacy, his secrets—and here he is, offering a piece of himself so willingly.

"I'm honored," you say, meaning every word.

"You should be," he replies, a rare lightness in his tone. "Cassian doesn't even know I still come here." He pauses before adding, "The wards only recognize my blood... and now yours."

Your heart skips a beat at the revelation that he'd altered ancient wards for you.

As you climb the stairs, your foot catches on the lip of a step—your usual gracelessness making an appearance at the worst possible moment. Before you can tumble backward, Azriel's hand snaps out to steady you. Instead of a polite rescue, he pulls you flush against him, his palm splayed across the curve of your lower back, fingers edging just a little lower than strictly necessary.

Heat floods your body at the contact.

The thin fabric of your dress does nothing to hide the firmness of his chest against yours, and you can't help the quiet gasp that escapes your lips as you look up at him through half-lowered lashes.

His shadows coil around your legs, bold and hungry.

You can feel them reaching for you, as though they want to slip under your dress and map every inch of your skin.

"Careful," he murmurs, but his dropped voice makes the warning sound more like an invitation.

When you try to straighten, he doesn't let you go immediately.

Instead, his fingers flex over your lower back, pressing you firmly against him. Your breath hitches as something pulses between you—an unspoken promise of what could happen if you just gave in.

With visible effort, he loosens his grip, drawing a shaky breath as he eases you upright. But his thumb grazes the curve of your hip in a final caress that feels like a claim.

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "Try not to fall again," he teases softly, his tone laced with sin. "Next time, I might not let go."

"Sorry," you murmur, your cheeks flushing. "Gravity and I have a complicated relationship."

"So I've noticed," he replies, fondness warming his voice.

As you enter the treehouse, you're struck by the beautiful details—floating faelights, a moving star map, a low table set with foods that somehow match exactly what you like.

But it's the walls that truly capture your attention.

Maps, notes, sketches—centuries of observations, thoughts, a private world spread out for you to see.

"What is all this?" you ask, moving closer to examine a map of the Night Court.

"Records," he answers, standing close enough that his wing brushes against your back. A small shiver runs through you at the contact. "Observations. Memories."

You realize what you're looking at—his personal history, his private sanctuary where he keeps the parts of himself he shows to no one.

"Why did you bring me here?" The question comes as a whisper, vulnerability plain in your voice.

"Because you deserve to know me. All of me. Not just what others see."

For a male who has spent centuries in shadows, who has built his life around secrets and silence, the offering is monumental. He is giving you the power to truly know him—and with it, the power to truly hurt him.

"I don't know what to say," you admit.

"You don't have to say anything," he assures you, guiding you to the table with his hand at the small of your back. "Just... be here. With me."

As you sit across from each other, Azriel's shadows refuse to stay contained. They reach for you, wrapping around your wrists, tracing the line of your neck with a boldness that makes your skin heat.

"Your shadows are very... hands-on," you observe, watching as they caress you like living extensions of his desire.

You notice the heat creeping up Azriel's neck. "They've grown fond of you," he says, clearly understating. "They've never... responded to anyone like this before."

"Just the shadows?" you ask, surprising yourself with your boldness.

His eyes drop to your lips, and you can almost feel the phantom touch of his mouth on yours.

"No," he says, his voice dropping to a register that reveals his desire. "No, starlight. Not just the shadows."

The endearment sends warmth blooming in your chest.

Throughout dinner, you watch Azriel relax in a way you've never seen before.

He tells you stories he's never shared with others—mishaps and adventures with the Inner Circle, lighter moments that few would associate with the fearsome shadowsinger.

You laugh freely, entranced by the way he watches you, the way his lips curve when you throw your head back in amusement. Around him, you feel lighter, brighter, more than you've felt in a long time.

Your peaceful dinner is interrupted by a faint sound outside—one that Azriel's trained ears catch immediately.

"Was that...?" you ask, peering into the darkness.

"Ignore it," he sighs.

"But it looked like—"

"Cassian," he confirms, caught between exasperation and amusement. "And if my shadows aren't misleading me, Mor is with him."

Your eyes widen. "Are they spying on us?"

"They're attempting to," he corrects dryly. "Rather poorly."

You burst into laughter at their friends' antics, finding humor where others might find irritation.

"We could give them something to spy on," you suggest, mischief dancing in your eyes.

Azriel arches a brow, heat visible in his gaze. "What did you have in mind?"

The idea of acting out an exaggerated romantic scene to scandalize your friends delights you.

"Oh, Azriel," you exclaim in an exaggerated breathy voice. "I had no idea you could do that with shadows!"

He plays along with surprising enthusiasm, his voice dropping deliberately lower. "It's a rare talent. One I've been saving for the right person. For you."

His shadows put on a dramatic display, swirling around the room with theatrical flair. But some use the opportunity to touch you in more intimate ways—tracing down your arm, caressing your collarbone, stealing touches that make your breath catch.

"The right...angle?" you continue, your tone deliberately suggestive. "Or the right... position?"

When Cassian crashes outside, you have to bite back your laughter. But beneath the amusement is a rising heat, a dangerous awareness of Azriel—of how beautiful he looks with rare humor in his eyes, of how much you want to turn this playacting into reality.

"Both," he says solemnly. "It requires... flexibility. And endurance." He leans forward, dropping his voice to a husky whisper. "Fortunately, I have centuries of practice."

One bold shadow caresses your neck.

You break into laughter, the tension momentarily diffused. "That," you gasp between laughs, "was the most fun I've ever had fully clothed."

When your laughter subsides, you find Azriel studying your face with an intensity that makes your heart race.

"I've existed for over five hundred years," he admits quietly. "And I can't remember the last time I laughed like that."

The vulnerability in his admission touches something deep within you.

"Well, I'm happy to make a fool of myself anytime if it makes you laugh," you say with a warm smile.

"You weren't the fool," he counters, rising and moving to the window. "Come. There's something I want to show you."

When you join him at the window, his wing brushes against your back—a casual touch that sends a shiver down your spine. The view of Velaris at night stretches before you, a tapestry of lights and shadows.

"It's beautiful," you whisper.

"This is how I see the city," he tells you, his voice an intimate murmur. "From above. In shadows and light."

When you turn to face him, he's already watching you—his hazel eyes reflecting the faelight, turning them to liquid gold.

"What are you thinking?" you ask.

"That I never thought I'd have this. That for centuries, I accepted solitude as my due. And then you—" He shakes his head, wonder in his expression. "You fell into my life. Literally."

You reach for his scarred hand, tracing the ancient burns with gentle fingers. The tissue is rough beneath your touch, but you don't hesitate or flinch. These marks are part of him, as essential as his shadows or his wings.

"These are part of you," you say softly. "Just like your shadows. Just like your wings. Parts I wouldn't change." You pause, realizing something. "You haven't worn your gloves since the library incident."

The observation seems to startle him, as if he hadn't realized it himself.

"Why?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

His shadows curl closer as vulnerability passes over his face.

"Because I've spent centuries hiding these scars." His scarred fingers intertwine with yours, the contrast between his damaged skin and your softness both stark and beautiful. "But after you fell on me that day, after you touched me without flinching... I found myself yearning to feel your skin against mine, even if by accident."

He moves closer, the bond between you drawing taut. "Do you know what it's like? To want something so badly you can hardly breathe with it? To have your skin ache for a touch you've convinced yourself you'll never deserve?"

The raw emotion in his voice makes your heart ache.

"Most people avoid touching them," he says, his voice rough as you continue to trace his scars.

"I'm not most people," you remind him, your tone dropping to match his. "I'm your mate."

The word hangs between you—mate—sacred and true. The bond between you flares at the acknowledgment, a rush of warmth that suffuses your entire being.

"Yes," he agrees, his voice rough with possessiveness. "Mine."

He reaches up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip in a touch that makes you tremble. His scarred hand against your skin feels right—as if you were made to complement each other, to balance his darkness with your light.

"In Illyrian tradition," he says, barely above a whisper, "the first kiss between mates is a sacred vow. A promise more binding than any words." His shadows embrace you both, creating a cocoon of privacy. "I do not make such promises lightly."

Your heart pounds as you understand the weight of the moment.

"What are you promising me, shadowsinger?" you ask, the title feeling right on your lips.

His eyes meet yours, centuries of loneliness and newfound hope converging in his gaze. "Everything I am. Everything I will be."

The words feel ancient, powerful, true.

"I'm going to kiss you now," he declares, the words both a warning and a vow.

"Good," you reply, unable to resist lightening the moment. "Because my knees are about to give out, and I'd hate to fall again."

A smile touches his lips, tender and full of promise. "I'll catch you," he promises. "I always do. I always will."

And then he's leaning in, his eyes never leaving yours. Finding no hesitation, he closes the distance and presses his lips to yours.

The first touch is gentle, reverent—a question, an offering of his heart. His shadows engulf you both, creating a world where only the two of you exist. He cradles your face like you're something precious, something to be cherished.

The mate bond explodes between you, a surge of sensation so intense it nearly buckles your knees. Colors, scents, feelings—all sharper, brighter, more vivid than you've ever experienced. You can feel his heartbeat as if it were your own, can sense his emotions mingling with yours in a tapestry of wonder and desire and rightness.

You slide your fingers into his hair and pull him closer, wanting more. A growl rumbles in his chest as he backs you against the window, his body pressing against yours with an urgency that matches your own. The feeling of him against you is more intoxicating than anything you've ever known.

"Azriel," you gasp against his mouth, unable to contain the emotion swelling within you.

"I can feel it too," he murmurs, wonder threading through his words as the mate bond flares between you. "The bond. It's singing."

Kissing him is like finding a home you never knew you were missing. His taste, his scent, the way he responds to you—it's intoxicating, overwhelming, perfect. His wings curve around you both, shielding you from the world in the most ancient Illyrian tradition.

Your scent and his mingle—your parchment and lavender now blended with his night-chilled cedar, marking you as his. Every nerve ending in your body feels alive, hypersensitive, attuned to each small movement.

You slide your tongue along the seam of his lips, drawing a feral sound from his chest that sends heat pooling low in your belly. He answers with a rough, devouring kiss that makes you moan softly into the quiet space around you.

His shadows take on a life of their own, swirling in a dizzying dance over your shoulders, skimming down your arms and waist—touching, tasting, exploring in ways that make you shiver with need.

The moonbloom pendant at your throat suddenly flares with bright, shimmering light, bathing you both in ethereal glow. You clutch at him, fingers threading into his hair and tugging just hard enough to make him groan.

When you finally pull apart, you're both panting. His eyes gleam possessively, making your breath catch. Your hair is mussed from his restless fingers; your lips feel swollen, tingling with the evidence of his kisses.

"Well," you manage, voice quivering with excitement, "as far as first kisses go, that was…"

"Insufficient," he growls, low and ragged, already leaning back in. He drags his thumb across your lower lip, collecting the lingering taste of your kiss. His wings flare behind him in a display that screams possession. "We should try again. For thoroughness."

Your laugh comes out breathy. "Thoroughness? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

His eyes narrow in challenge, the corners of his lips tilting into a predatory smirk. "I'm over five hundred years old," he reminds you, his voice decadently deep. "I'm no kid. And I'm very, very thorough."

A delicious tension crackles between you, heightened by the knowledge of just how far that promise could go. The mate bond pulses like a physical tether, tightening around your souls.

"Thank the Cauldron for that," you whisper, already tipping your head for another kiss. "Think of all the practice you've had."

His shadows flare, enveloping you both in a cocoon of midnight.

They skim across every curve, every hollow, every dip of your body they can reach, impatient for him to join them in full exploration.

Azriel swallows a groan, every muscle tensing as he fights for control. But one look at your parted lips and the flush darkening your cheeks, and you see the moment he decides to let go, to show you exactly how long he's waited, how desperately he's craved this moment.

"Practice," he echoes roughly, his breath skating across your mouth. "You have no idea."

Then he bends his head and captures your lips again, the kiss far from soft—raw and hungry, a promise that the thoroughness has only just begun.

You practically skip into the Botanical Archives, a goofy smile plastered on your face as you clutch a small bag of pastries in one hand and a steaming cup of tea in the other.

The memory of last night—Azriel’s treehouse, that kiss (kisses!)—still swirls in your mind like a flock of delighted starlings, making your heart flutter every time you replay it.

The Archives are quiet at this hour, mostly hushed librarians and scholars drifting between shelves.

But one voice shatters the hush the moment you step inside.

“Well, well, look who decided to waltz in here like she’s the High Lady of Good Moods,” Lira crows from behind the reception desk. “Did someone have a fun night, perhaps?”

You try to tamp down your giddy grin—but fail spectacularly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say, setting your tea down and carefully ignoring the fact that you nearly trip over a stack of dusty tomes.

Lira narrows her eyes. “That’s not your I-have-no-idea-what-you’re-talking-about face. That’s your oh-mother-above-I-think-I’m-in-love face.”

Heat floods your cheeks. “Shh! Keep your voice down or the entire Archive will know I have…a reason to be happy.”

She laughs, straightening. “Please. The entire Archive already suspects you have some reason to be happy. You’re glowing like a star under a Cauldron-blessed spotlight.”

You roll your eyes, though the corners of your mouth curl upward anyway. “Anyway, are we cataloging the new Day Court scrolls this morning? Or are you just going to stand there and harass me?”

“Bit of both, probably,” Lira says brightly.

She taps a wooden crate with her foot. “We got a new delivery—again—like those Day Courtiers have nothing better to do than bury us in half-translated manuscripts. Go forth and sort.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, picking up the top scroll. “Ah yes, I shall valiantly bury myself in dusty documents for the sake of botanical advancement.”

Lira pretends to salute. “What a trooper. Let me know if you start missing that shadowsinger so much you can’t function.”

You open your mouth for a scathing retort, but she wiggles her fingers in a sassy goodbye and flounces away, leaving you alone with your scrolls, your warm tea, and approximately one million butterflies in your stomach.

You set to work at a large wooden table in a back alcove, where the morning sun filters through high, arched windows.

The gentle hush of the Archives usually soothes you, but today you’re too antsy—your mind keeps wandering to Azriel.

To the feel of his lips against yours, the warmth of his scarred palms, the way he promised to catch you if you fell. (And, to be fair, you are pretty inclined to falling.)

A silly grin curls your lips.

You find yourself humming a jaunty tune, tapping your quill on the table.

At one point, you even spin in a small circle, the skirt of your lilac day-dress flaring around your legs. If any of your coworkers see, you’ll deny it.

Forever.

“Snap out of it,” you mutter, unrolling a parchment with care.

The Day Court has included a thorough treatise on cacti. Instantly, your mind conjures Azriel’s shadows swirling around spiky succulents, and you stifle a giggle.

You’re so lost in daydreams that you almost miss the moment the alcove falls too silent.

A cool draft brushes the back of your neck, sending a ripple of unease across your skin.

Your humming halts.

You glance over your shoulder, expecting to see Lira or one of the other scholars.

But there’s no one—just row upon row of towering shelves and the gentle flicker of faelights.

Maybe it’s just a draft, you think, trying to steady your heartbeat.

You turn back to the Day Court scroll, pressing its corners flat against the table.

Then you hear it—a voice so soft it barely registers over the faint rustle of parchment.

“Hello…”

Your entire body goes rigid.

Slowly, you set your quill down, dread curling in your stomach.

The fine hairs at your nape prickle as a memory stirs—one you can’t quite place.

“Lira?” you call softly, forcing a calm you don’t feel.

No answer. Just eerie silence.

You let out a forced laugh. “I’m hearing things. Perfect.”

You try—try—to read the neat calligraphy on the scroll. But your eyes keep flicking to the edge of your vision, half expecting some lurking figure to emerge.

“She’s here…” another whisper comes, colder this time. “She’s back.”

Your blood runs cold.

The timbre of that voice claws at something old inside your head.

Your hands tremble as you half-rise from your seat.

You open your mouth, intending to speak—but the words never come.

Because suddenly, the hush around you fills with whispers, overlapping voices, some trembling with desperation, others echoing with a cruel, mocking tone.

“Do you remember us…” “You left us…”

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, and a jolt of raw terror streaks down your spine.

Flashes of old nightmares rise in your mind, a dark corridor, flickering torches, voices that taunted you in the corners of your dreams.

“She hears us again...” “Help us…let us out…” “You never should have run.”

Your vision shivers, the edges going hazy.

This isn’t real, you tell yourself.

Except it feels so real, the air turning frigid, your lungs refusing to draw breath properly.

You clutch your ledger like a shield. “W-who’s there?”

You hate how shaky your voice sounds.

No answer, just a chorus of nearly soundless laughter—both sorrowful and cruel.

It wraps around you like cold fingers.

And in that overlapping cacophony, you catch snippets of an old plea, your plea, from long ago.

“Leave me alone—please—go away!”

You slap your free hand over your ear, as though you can block them out.

“Stop,” you manage, voice cracking.

A chilling breeze seems to swirl around you, rustling the edges of the scroll. The ghosts’ voices crescendo.

“She fears us still…” “She remembers nothing…” “Don’t forget the blood…”

Tears prick your eyes, your throat tight with panic.

You don’t know what they’re talking about—you don’t recall any promise, any them.

“Stop,” you beg again, tears threatening to spill. “Please—”

A hand seizes your shoulder.

You yelp, spinning with your ledger raised defensively—only to find Lira, her face etched with alarm.

“Whoa!” she exclaims, hands up in surrender. “Easy! I come in peace!”

You blink rapidly, tears and panic making everything blur.

The voices vanish as if yanked away by an unseen thread.

Suddenly, you’re in the quiet Archives again, the morning sunlight streaming like nothing’s wrong.

Lira lowers her arms, stepping closer. “You okay? You look like you just saw the Bogge itself.”

“I—” You struggle to breathe normally.

Your pulse still pounds, and your ears ring with phantom echoes. You never should have run. “I thought I heard…” You shake your head, shame creeping in. “It’s nothing. I’m just—tired.”

She lifts a brow, unconvinced. “That was more than just tired. You were talking to someone, or something.”

You swallow, gaze darting to the corner of the alcove.

The weight of old nightmares lingers in the air, but the ghosts are silent now—lurking behind the veil, waiting.

“Maybe I… dozed off for a second,” you finally mumble, the excuse tasting sour in your mouth. “I’m really not sleeping well lately.”

Lira’s expression softens. “Then let’s get you some air. Trust me, inhaling stale parchment fumes isn’t gonna help if you’re feeling faint.”

Normally, you’d protest.

But the thought of staying here, alone, at this table—where those voices might return—makes your stomach churn.

So you nod, following her toward the exit, your heart still hammering.

As you pass through the high-arched doorway, Lira chatters about random Archive gossip, clearly trying to distract you.

You manage a weak smile here and there, but your thoughts remain fixed on those voices, how they echoed the nightmares you once had, how they accused you of leaving them behind.

Leaving who behind?

You can’t remember.

A final chill scutters down your spine as you glance over your shoulder.

In the alcove’s corner, the shadows are thicker than they should be, almost shaped like hunched figures.

Watching. Waiting.

A faint echo flickers in your mind, too familiar—childish whimpers, fear overwhelming your small body as you clung to blankets at night, wishing the voices would go away.

As you hurry after Lira, the rasping whispers claw at your memory.

“Don’t forget the blood… She’s still ours…”

Azriel appears so suddenly you nearly drop your ledger—one moment it’s just you and Lira in the corridor, and the next, the spymaster stands at your side, wings half-flared, shadows swirling restlessly.

His hazel eyes flick over you in a swift, razor-sharp sweep, cataloging every inch as if looking for injuries or signs of distress.

“Az,” you whisper, your voice still shaky from the lingering terror.

Lira startles, almost dropping the scrolls in her arms. “Cauldron,” she mutters, stepping back to give him space. “I’ll just…yeah.” She shoots you a worried look, then disappears around a corner, leaving you alone with Azriel’s intense gaze.

He doesn’t move for a beat—just stares, tension radiating from every line of his body.

The hush of the Archives thickens.

His expression is pure spymaster: unreadable, assessing, tinged with lethal calm.

Finally, in a voice carved from steel, he asks, “What happened?”

A wave of guilt crashes over you. You attempt a weak, tremulous grin. “Nothing. Just—library chaos. You know how it is.”

His jaw clenches, shadows uncoiling around his wrists like they’re ready to hunt.

“Don’t lie,” he says quietly. “I felt your fear through the bond.”

Your chest tightens at the reminder of how strong your panic must’ve been for him to sense it.

“I—” The words stick in your throat.

This man has faced wars, horrors you can’t fathom; the last thing you want is to burden him with ghost stories you can’t even explain. So you plaster on an overly bright smile. “It’s fine. Seriously, you can relax your wings now.”

He doesn’t.

If anything, they flare wider, as though to shield you from whatever threatened you. “Your hands are still shaking,” he observes grimly, eyes flicking to your trembling grip on the ledger.

A lump forms in your throat.

You force a laugh that comes out sounding like a pathetic squeak. “Must’ve been a dizzy spell. Too much dust. Really, Az, stop worrying.”

His nostrils flare with impatience—he’s clearly not convinced. Before you can protest, he steps forward, gathering you into his arms in one swift motion, ledger and all. The sensation of his firm chest against yours sends a jolt through your system that’s part embarrassment, part relief.

“Az!” you protest, cheeks heating. “We’re in the middle of the—”

He lifts you just enough to curve his arm beneath your knees, his other arm bracing your back. A neat little scoop that leaves you clutching at his shoulders, eyes wide. You can practically feel the hush of the Archives intensify as a few onlookers peek around corners.

But Azriel doesn’t seem to care.

His shadows swirl closer, forming a hazy barrier of privacy.

“You’re pale,” he says simply, as though that justifies everything. “And I’m not putting you down until you stop pretending this is nothing.”

“Az, I—” Heat flutters across your cheeks.

You glance around, mortified to be cradled bridal-style in front of whoever might pass by. But there’s no ignoring the steady thump of his heart against your ear, the secure hold of his arms.

It makes you feel…safe.

He looks down at you, his usually controlled features pulled taut with worry and frustration.

“You terrified me,” he admits low enough that only you can hear. “I’ve felt you anxious before, but never that close to panic.”

Guilt churns in your gut. “I’m sorry,” you manage, voice tight. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

His gaze lingers on the lingering tears clinging to your lashes, and the hardness in his face softens just slightly. “Tell me what scared you.”

“It’s nothing you need to hunt, I swear,” you say quickly, wanting to stave off the spymaster in him. Your voice trembles with the weight of the half-truth. “Please—just stop worrying.”

For a moment, he just studies you.

Then, releasing a sigh that ruffles your hair, he nods toward the nearest reading nook, a cozy alcove by a tall window. “We’re talking. Properly. Somewhere less exposed.”

He moves—with you still in his arms.

Your stomach swoops. “Azriel,” you hiss, mortified, “put me down. I can walk!”

His mouth presses into a stubborn line.

“You’re shaking,” he repeats. “Until I see you steady on your feet, I’m carrying you. You can glare all you want.”

You do glare. Furiously.

But you don’t exactly hate the warmth of his hold, or the reassuring solidity of his body. So with a defeated huff, you bury your face in the soft fabric of his tunic, hoping to hide from the curious glances of passing scholars.

It doesn’t take long for him to reach the alcove, where he sets you gently on a cushioned bench. One of his wings curls protectively around you in a half-shield, blocking out the rest of the Archives. Even as your feet touch the floor, he keeps a hand on your shoulder, as if afraid you might vanish.

“Tell me what happened,” he says again, voice firm but edged with a tenderness that tugs at your heart.

Your gaze drops to your ledger, your voice catching.

You can’t bring yourself to explain the whispers, the shadows, the half-buried nightmares you don’t fully understand. “I was just…overwhelmed,” you mumble, blinking rapidly against fresh tears. “I’m so sorry. I know you must have a thousand better things to do than rush here for no reason.”

Azriel’s expression darkens, and you sense that protective fury simmering behind his calm facade. “You are never ‘no reason,’” he says, each word clipped. “I’ll always come if you need me. You know that.”

“But—”

He slides onto the bench beside you, capturing your trembling hands in his. The warmth of his scarred palms steadies your breathing. “I can’t fix what you won’t tell me,” he murmurs, “but I can sit here until you feel safe again.”

The bond pulses gently, your chest loosening. You sniff, nodding gratefully. “I’m okay now,” you whisper, daring to meet his gaze. “Really.”

Azriel’s eyes remain narrowed, but you catch the barest flicker of relief. “If you say so.” His grip tightens just a fraction. “But if I sense that level of fear again, I will tear this place apart until I find the cause.”

The conviction in his voice sends a shiver through you. “Not sure the Head Archivist would appreciate you wrecking her shelves.”

He arches a brow. “Let her try to stop me.”

Despite yourself, a shaky laugh escapes your lips.

The absurd image of Azriel tearing down entire rows of rare scrolls in search of some imaginary threat is enough to dispel a bit of the tension knotting your gut.

“You’re impossible,” you say, but there’s no heat in your words.

He raises one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Maybe.” Then, more quietly, “I’d rather be impossible than let you face your fear alone.”

The sincerity in his tone nearly breaks you.

Emotion swells behind your eyes, though you manage to keep from crying again. Carefully, he shifts you closer, tucking you against his side. With his free arm, he drapes one dark wing around you like a shield.

Your heart flutters. The pressure of the wing against your back, the lingering hint of his soap-and-leather scent—together, they feel like an unspoken promise of safety.

A heartbeat of silence passes, your pulse steadying in time with his. Then, in a clipped tone that can’t entirely hide his concern, Azriel says, “Next time you sense anything—anything—off, you call me. Immediately.”

You open your mouth to argue—maybe you don’t want to feel like a damsel in distress—but the unyielding determination in his eyes melts your resistance.

“Okay,” you breathe.

He relaxes. Just a fraction, but enough that you feel the tension ebb. “Good.”

For a moment, you sit there in the hush, wrapped in Azriel’s wing, the rustle of his shadows quieting. You can practically hear his mind whirring, but he refrains from interrogating you further. He simply stays, presence unwavering, until the trembling in your limbs finally subsides.

Eventually, Azriel shifts.

You expect another question, another gentle demand for honesty. Instead, he lowers his head, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your forehead. It’s brief—barely more than a brush of his lips—but it speaks volumes.

A silent vow of protection. Of understanding.

Warmth unfolds in your chest, and you lean into him just a little more. Grip the fabric of his tunic a little tighter. Silently thank him for coming.

Even if you can’t tell him everything, even if your nightmares remain locked away, at least he’s here, fierce and unyielding, ready to chase away whatever haunts you.

You might not be entirely free of fear, but in his arms, with his protective wing folded around you, everything feels just a little more bearable.

Author’s Note: Azriel may be the king of quiet brooding, but she is the queen of secrets she doesn’t even know she’s keeping. I adore writing their soft, chaotic romance, and watching the shadows stir as her past begins to claw its way back. Things are only just beginning. 🖤 Tag List: @songbirdpond @tothestarsandwhateverend @lovely-susie @kksbookstuff @ladycaramelswirl @gamarancianne @writtenbypavani @bubybubsters @moonlitscrolls @valyas-corner @iris-lavender @lreadsstuff @nebarious @azrielssgirl @lamimamiii @fantasydreamwalker @dallynjennasgirl @tenshis-cake @lilah-asteria @sweetsugarcoffee @fall-winter-heart97 @lovely-susie @lreadsstuff @sofi03 @songbirdpond @nico707 @justtryingtosurvive02 @yourlocalcancer @saltedcoffeescotch @thatacotargirl @happypeanutstrawberry @theverseoftheblackpearl @tele86 @highladyofhogwarts @fuckingsimp4azriel @thegoddessofnothingness @lovelyflower7777 @stressed-reader @karespocketboyfriends @lreadsstuff @yourdarkroses-blog @plants-w0rld @oldernotwiser26 @ashduv @alittlelostalittlefound-blog @adventure-awaits13 @thegoddessofnothingness @fuckingsimp4azriel @highladyofhogwarts @stainedpomegranatelips @i-am-infinite @arcticfoxxes @hellohauntedturnstudent @yourallaround-simp

[dark-moonlust]

Love in Full Bloom

Commission for anon on Patreon. Enjoy!

Pairing: fae male x female human reader

Summary: Spring brings new life to the botanical garden where you meet with Florian, your fae mate and Lord of Nature. Amidst growing flowers and dazzling fae magic, he makes you understand how much he loves you.

Warnings: sfw, spring vibes 🌸, fluffy cute feelings, emotional intimacy and steamy kisses, passion and tenderness, fae magic, smut implied briefly.

Spring had come.

The botanical garden was full of life and colors.

There was something mesmerizing about it: the trill of birdsong, the hum of bees and the scent of freshly awakened flowers.

You picked up your pace, weaving through the garden's paths and heading to the clearing where you were to meet your mate. The place around you was scattered with trees and flowers, leaves and petals swinging gently. It was one of the places Florian, your fae mate was responsible for.

Darn it... You were late. Nearly running, you darted through people, your fingers brushing across the pendant on your chest—a delicate silver leaf with a small bird beside it. It was Florian's present to you, a symbol of his protection, infused with his powers to keep you safe. You grinned, remembering the day he'd clasped it around your neck, saying: As long as you wear this, you will be safe. Always under my care.

Florian, your fae boyfriend waited for you by the north gate, in front of the secret entrance where the lines between the commonplace and magical blurred.

He was tall, towering over you with broad shoulders and a muscular body that made you hot all over. A sun-kissed face with sharp features, prominent cheekbones, a strong jawline, and pointed ears. His eyes were a deep forest green with gold flecks, and when he looked at you, it felt like he could reach right into your heart.

Long brown hair stained with gold and copper strands fell to his shoulders, and somehow, no matter what, tiny flowers and leaves found their way into it. And his wings, oh they were stunning. They were now tucked behind his back, but they were huge and clawed, with translucent membranes that shimmered in green, gold, and silver hues.

His lips softened into a smile when he saw you. He rushed to you, his steps fluid and graceful. Strong hands wrapped around your waist, enclosing you in his embrace. He smelt of musk and flowers, and you still couldn't believe he was yours.

Yes, Florian always made you feel that deep, wonderful flutter in your chest. He was the fae Lord ruling over nature, but he was also completely yours. A fae so strong, yet you were always struck by the contrast between his power and the gentleness of his touch.

"There you are, little wren," he murmured, his lips brushing against yours. Soft and wet. "I've been waiting for you."

You smiled against his mouth, loving the way he spoke your nickname. Florian affectionately called you his little Wren. He'd said you reminded him of the small, joyful birds that sing in the forest.

"I'm sorry. The bus arrived later than usual."

"I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost." He exhaled. "I still would have preferred to hold you in my arms and fly you here. It would have been quicker, safer, and I wouldn't have to spend any second apart from you."

"It's okay," you said softly. "Spring is here, and as Lord of nature, you have so much to do. Besides, flying is not so convenient if people see us."

"Alright then. Next time, I'll walk with you. I do not like leaving you alone."

You laughed and kissed him fondly. "Florian, it is the middle of the day, and I am wearing your protecting pendant. I am safe. Always."

He hummed, his thumb delicately stroking the delicate jewelry. "I know. But you are my little wren, and I would rather keep you close, where I can see you and protect you myself."

"How sweet and protective," you said as his hands stroked your spine. "But I am not made of glass. I can take care of myself."

Florian frowned. "That doesn't mean I'm not worried. It's in my nature to protect my mate."

"I know that," you grinned, cupping his face. "I'm so happy you're mine."

He smiled—a genuine, brilliant smile. "You always know what to say to ease my mind." He patted your ass playfully. "Come, let's walk. The garden is in full bloom and I want to show you something."

He grabbed your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours, as you followed him through the magic gate and deeper into the paths of the garden, away from prying eyes. At your feet, flowers sprang to life, their petals unfurling in a riot of color while the trees swung gently, their leaves whispering things only Florian could understand.

It seemed as if the earth itself was worshiping him and also accepting you, honoring your bond. It made you feel so happy and blessed.

As you walked, Florian unleashed his magic, tiny flecks of stardust floating through the air. The earth responded to his call. The flowers bloomed in sparkling blues, bright reds, and deep purples that appeared to glow from inside. They smelt delightfully sweet. Butterflies with wings like stained-glass flew about you while birds tittered from the treetops.

"Wow... Florian," you marveled, "it's so beautiful."

He grinned. "This is nothing yet. Look at that." Next, he took you along a meandering route dotted with cherry blossoms, their pink petals drifting lazily to the ground. With a flick of his wrist, his magic danced again, and the petals whirled around you, swirling in the air before settling on your head like a crown. You laughed, wiping one off your nose, while Florian gazed at you, his eyes glowing with tenderness.

"Are you happy, little wren?"

"Of course, I'm happy. So so happy! You're pretty amazing, you know that?" you said, your face beaming.

He cupped your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. "You're so beautiful. Your eyes, your smile... so much more beautiful than the first bloom of spring."

You flushed because surely he was teasing you. "Flatterer."

"I speak the truth. How can you be so perfect?"

You chuckled. "I'm far from perfect, but if you think so, I won't argue. Thank you. For sharing this with me. For taking me as your mate even if I'm only human —" "No," he cut you off. "Thank you for being mine. For accepting me, not just the fae, but… me." You smiled, your fingers framing his cheek. "How could I ever resist you, Florian?" He did not answer with words. Instead, he kissed you, his lips claiming yours, tenderly, possessively. It began softly, as it always did, but it quickly deepened, his hands sliding to your waist and pulling you closer. You melted into him, your fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt as you kissed him back, opening your mouth to him.

Growling, his tongue delved inside, mating with yours and you whimpered softly, the sound drowned out by his kiss. You tasted the slight sweetness of honey and wild berries, a flavor that was entirely Florian. One of his hands moved up your back, leaving a trail of heat, and the other cradled the back of your neck, his fingers cupping your nape.

When he finally drew back, you were both out of breath, your fingers buried in his silky hair. Every line of his body was hard against yours, his eyes half-lidded. You could feel the fire in him, the way his heart pounded in tandem with yours.

"Do you see now?" he muttered, his voice gruff and low. "How impossibly in love I am with you?"

"Florian…"

He silenced you with another kiss, this time deeper and more demanding. His hands moved across your body, tracing your waist, the dip of your spine and your smooth hips. When his lips left yours to trail down your jaw, you groaned, dropping your head to offer him full access. He went low, pausing just above your rapid heartbeat.

"Tell me you believe me," he said, his palm resting against your breast. "Accept how much you mean to me."

"I believe you," you muttered, trembling with emotion. "I believe you."

"Good," he replied, his voice a low growl. "Never doubt it. You are my everything. My little wren, my heart and soul. Without you, I would be lost. Lonely. Sad."

"You'll never be lonely," you said, tears gathering in your eyes. "Not as long as I'm here."

You didn't cry. Rather, you clasped his face in your hands and kissed him again, slowly and lovingly.

"And you're mine," you breathed against his lips. "My fae, my mate, my love and very breath."

Florian mumbled a husky 'I love you' as he nibbled your lip and poured all of his love and devotion into another kiss. It was a kiss unlike any other, tender and all-consuming, warming you from your head to your toes. Pulling back, he held you against him because you were still dizzy from the kiss and your mutual confession.

A swift peck on the tip of your nose and he raised a hand, his palm lighting up to reveal a gorgeous flower, its petals shifting from pink to gold as his magic touched it. He tucked it behind your ear, his fingertips brushing against your skin, lingering longer than usual. "There," he rasped, tilting his head to admire his work. "Perfect." "What kind of flower is it?" you asked, carefully touching the petals. "It's called everbloom. It is only open at sunrise and closed at sundown. But it will remain open for you. Forever." "Oh, you're spoiling me."

He grinned and whispered, "You deserve it. You deserve forever." As you paced the botanical garden, Florian took you to a secluded grove where a crystal-clear brook bubbled over smooth stones. He took you to a grassy area beneath a willow tree and kissed you again and again. Everything around you got covered by a surreal mist as he made love to you. He was wild and untamed, yet tender and steadfast, his love like a natural force. And as you clung to him, your bodies and souls merged as one, you marveled at how deep your love was.

THE END

[fastandcarlos]

First Newborn Moments : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: the first moments for you both after the emotional arrival of your daughter

No words could describe how you felt as your eyes glanced down to the little girl in your arms, everything that you had ever wanted. Charles was sat by your side, leaning across with wide eyes, studying the features of your daughter in awe. 

“Can you believe it?” You whispered across to Charles, unable to hide the smile on your face. “She’s just so perfect, so small, and beautiful, more than I could’ve ever imagined.” 

Charles nodded in agreement with you, brushing his hand over the top of her head. He didn’t know where to look as he took it all in, her brown eyes, the little dimple in her cheek, the way her mouth was slightly parted as she slept, it was all too much like a dream. 

“I feel like someone’s going to come in soon and wake me up,” Charles spoke, “tell me this is all some sort of dream, I feel so lucky right now to have all of this.” 

“I promise you that it’s all real,” you whispered, resting your head down against Charles’ shoulder. 

It was the moment the two of you had talked about for so long during your pregnancy, wondering how it would be and how overwhelmed you’d feel. Neither of you had prepared yourselves for quite how incredible it would feel though to finally have your daughter with you. 

“Can we swap for a moment?” Charles asked, desperate to have a hold of your daughter too. You nodded, watching as he nervously stretched his arms out to take her. “What do I do?” He grinned as you placed her down, scared for you to let go and let him hold her alone. 

“Just make sure you support her, body and head,” you told him, placing his hands exactly where they needed to be before letting go. “See, you’re a natural.” 

As you moved away, Charles’ eyes were still full of worry, slowly bringing her in towards his chest. “She looks so frail and tiny, like she could break at any moment. I can’t believe I’m actually trusted to take care of such a little human being.” 

Charles had made no secret of the fact that he was scared, terrified of messing up or doing the wrong thing. You’d spent many late nights wide awake talking about his worries together, with you constantly being on hand to reassure him, reminding Charles that you both would be learning for some time, after all, no parent was perfect. 

Your smile was wide as your eyes stayed with Charles, admiring how fondly he looked down at her. “She’s already relaxed in her daddy’s arms; you must be doing something right.” 

“Beginner’s luck,” Charles sniggered, momentarily looking up and across at you. “I can’t wait for everyone to get here later, my brothers are going to crazy when they see how beautiful she is, they’re already slightly obsessed.” 

“She has no idea how lucky she is, does she?” You chuckled, watching as your daughter’s eyes fluttered shut. “She’s got the most loving family in the world, and yet she’s got absolutely no idea who any of us actually are yet.” 

Charles leant across and pressed a kiss against the side of your head. “I’m going to make sure that she grows up knowing exactly how incredible you are and how hard your body just worked to bring her into this world,” he proudly told you. 

To say things didn’t quite go as well as you expected was an understatement, labour had been nothing short of a nightmare for you both. It had left Charles terrified, constantly wondering what was going to happen as midwives ran around you until your daughter arrived. 

“I wish I could sleep like this,” Charles chuckled, “without a single care in the world.” 

“I feel like I could sleep as well as she is right now, I’m absolutely exhausted.” 

Charles’ concerned eyes immediately looked across at you, weakly smiling as he met your eyes. He could tell how sore you were, even if you weren’t going to admit it, wanting to savour every moment that you could of having your daughter there with you. 

A sigh came from Charles as you let go of a yawn, trying your best to disguise it behind your hand. “Why don’t you rest? I’ll wake you if anything happens,” Charles suggested, nodding in the direction of the pillow behind you. “You need to be looking after yourself right now, you’re just as important as this one is.” 

“I’ll get some rest soon, I promise. I mean, we should probably get used to the lack of sleep now, right?” 

A quiet chuckle came from Charles, not wanting to disturb your daughter. His worried eyes still watched you, only relaxing when you propped yourself up and rested in the bed again, stretching your legs out to try and wake your body back up again. 

“I can’t wait to take this one to the paddock, show her all the cool things that her daddy gets up to.” 

Your smile was wide as Charles’ eyes lit up, excited for all the things he had to look forward to with her. “She’s going to be absolutely spoilt by everyone at that paddock, I think you’ll be a forgotten man when we take her, no one will want to pay any attention to you, just to her.” 

“I wouldn’t mind,” Charles proudly shrugged. “Just as long as she knows that no matter how much anyone in that paddock tells her they love her, they don’t love her anywhere near as much as we do.” 

“Trust me, with the way I know you’re going to spoil her, she’s definitely going to be a daddy’s girl,” you teased, resting your hand against Charles’ shoulder. “I can already tell from the look in your eye that our little girl is going to have you absolutely wrapped around her little finger.” 

Charles nodded, there was no doubt about it that your little girl was his new weakness, knowing that he would never be able to say no to her. 

He couldn’t believe what he did to get so lucky, not just to have his daughter, but you as well. It was the sort of thing Charles always dreamt about, but knew would probably never come true. Only for him, it did, and it was better than he could have ever imagined. 

As your daughter settled, Charles leant over once again and pressed a kiss against your shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispered, taking you by surprise. “Thank you for everything, for loving me, taking care of me, and giving me the greatest gift in the world. Nothing will ever be good enough to show you how appreciative I am that you’ve just made me a dad.” 

Your smile was wide as you glanced back across at Charles, “you don’t need to thank me Charles. I should be thanking you for being here, right by my side, and getting me through the last nine months. I love you.” 

“I love you too, more than you’ll ever know.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[andvys]

Request: sleepy sex with blondie and Steve ❣️

18+ mdni, dwoht universe, Steve Harrington x fem!reader, (for those who didn't read dancing with our hands tied, blondie is just readers nickname) unprotected sex, @hellfire--cult surprise surprise baby. Also this took me forever, I apologize omg. also not proofread, ignore any mistakes, thank you xx

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

A huff fell from his lips as he glared at the rain rolling down the windows, it was paddling so harshly against the glass that it tore him out of his deep sleep. He was still so tired, his eyes dropping, his body begging for him to go back to sleep but the rain was so loud, making him unable to find the rest that he needs.

He took a deep breath and raised his hand up to his face, rubbing at his tired eyes. He moved his head to look at you. His lips twitched and his heart softened in his chest. Lying on your stomach, your cheek was pressed against your pillow, your hand on his bicep. You were sleeping so peacefully, you were far away in your dreams, unlike him.

He licked his lips, reaching his hand out to touch your face. He brushed away the loose strand of hair that fell in front of your eyes, smiling when you nestled your face into the palm of his hand. Even in your sleep you were chasing his touch, making his heart burst every single time.

You had been dating for almost a year now. This has become your normalcy -- going to sleep with each other every night, waking up in each others arms, cooking breakfast and dinner together, going grocery shopping with each other, cuddling and making out on the couch after a long day, making love in this bed and well... in nearly every room in your house. He got so lucky, so damn lucky.

Steve moved closer to you as he began to trace your features with the tip of his finger. The warmth in his chest spreading further and further. The smell of your body has always been so inviting to him, always making his heart flutter.

You were wearing nothing but his t-shirt and a pair of your favorite panties. You hooked your leg around his in your sleep, pulling him closer to you.

His breathing turned shaky, the sleepiness inside of him fading a little more by the second.

His hand fell to your shoulder, softly moving down your arm and then down to your waist before it finally settled on your bare hip.

He was craving you. Badly. His body yearning for you, his heart beating for you. This never changed. Even after months of dating and being with each other almost 24/7, this never changed. You still craved each other just as strongly as you did when you were both still each others' secret.

A whine fell from your lips as your eyes opened slowly and you rose from your sleep. You leaned into him, into his touch.

"Hey honey," Steve whispered as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek and then the corner of your mouth.

"Hi baby," you whispered back, meeting his lips in a soft kiss before you pulled away to look around the darkened room. Your eyes find the alarm clock on your nightstand. 2:11am. "Why are you up, Stevie-- oh!" A whimper tore from your mouth as you felt his lips under your ear.

The tilt of your head allowed him the perfect access to your neck and he started kissing you softly.

"Mmm, the rain woke me up and I couldn't go back to sleep. You're just so beautiful, baby. I can't resist you," he mumbled into your skin, painting it with a new hickey.

Your eyes fluttered shut, a moan fell from your lips when you felt him against your thigh. Your stomach fluttered instantly and you suddenly felt so empty.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, tugging him closer and closer until he was finally on top of you. Nothing needed to be said, your bodies moved on their own accord as he rolled his hips against you and his lips met yours in a feverish kiss.

Your hand found its way into his hair as his palm was slipping between your thighs. You couldn't help but grind against his hand, making him moan into your mouth.

The need to feel him closer was growing stronger and stronger, your desperation matching his own.

"I want you," you mumbled against his lips in between kisses. "I need you so bad, baby."

His heart fluttered so wildly against his ribcage. His dick twitching at your words.

"Yeah?" Steve murmured as he hooked his finger around the band of your panties, slipping them down your legs and taking them off. Smirking when you whined in need and looked at him with those pretty eyes he fell so deeply in love with. "Need me just like I need you, my love?"

You nodded your head in desperation, grinding against his fingers the moment he pressed them against your clit.

He pressed his lips back to yours again, nudging his nose against your own as he kissed you deeply. His fingers swiping through your already soaked folds.

"Fuck... I barely touched you and you're already dripping for me," he moaned as he slipping his middle and ring finger inside of you.

Your head sinked deeper into the pillow as your eyes fell shut, moans of pleasure leaving your lips as he started fucking you with his fingers.

"Mhmm, always." You whined, feeling his length digging into your skin, making you clench and yearn for more.

His body was pressed to yours so tightly, he was watching you in awe, watching how you fell apart only because of his fingers.

You were hot. So hot. You let go of him and moved your hand down to the hem of his shirt on your body.

Steve's dark eyes were following all of your movements, burning with anticipation. Curse words falling from his lips in whispers as you took the shirt off, leaving you bare in front of him. He leaned down instantly, wrapping his lips around your nipple, licking around it and sucking on it with a moan.

"S-Steve..." You whispered, biting your lip as you looked down at your boyfriend.

He pulled his fingers out and slammed them back inside of you, excitement growing deeper in him when he felt how tightly you were clenching around his digits, how wet and warm you were feeling.

"I-I need you, please..." You pulled at his shoulders, his fingers weren't enough anymore, you needed him, you needed his cock inside of you. "Fuck me!"

He didn't need to be told twice, he pulled his fingers out of you, chuckling a little when you whined at the loss of them.

"Don't worry, baby. I'll fill you up real nice," he murmured hotly against your lips.

Your desperate fingers tugged at his boxers, pushing them down just enough to release his length, making it slap against his stomach. You reached for it, curling your hand around it, your thumb teased his leaking tip.

His eyebrows scrunched together. Waves of pleasure already rolled through him.

"B-Baby, don't tease," he whispered against your lips as his hand replaced your own after a few pumps. His other hand holding onto your waist as he moved his length through your folds before he pushed against your hole. You both looked down, watching how he disappeared inside of you.

You pressed one hand against his hairy chest and curled the other around his neck as you pulled him down. Moaning as he stretched you open, the pain mixing with the pleasure so perfectly.

He pressed his forehead against yours. He shuddered in pleasure as your walls tightened around him instantly. Your warmth sucking him in.

"You feel so perfect, fuck, Blondie. God, I love you -- I'm so in love with you, baby," he rambled, whimpering as he pulled out, looking down at his glistening length. "Can you see that, honey? You're so fucking wet."

You nodded desperately, tears prickling in your sleepy eyes. Your breaths mingling together when he pressed his lips to yours as he pushed his cock back inside of you, burying himself deep inside.

The sleepiness was still very much present in your body, mixing with the pleasure now as he began to fuck you, rolling his hips slowly but deeply, his hands on your waist as he kept you in place. His eyes were fixed on you, watching you in awe as the streetlights from outside shone into your bedroom, illuminating everything just the right amount.

Words couldn't describe how much he loves this, how much he loves you, how he can't get enough of this -- fucking you, making love to you, kissing your body, leaving love bites all over, marking you up as his, even when everyone already knows.

His body was on fire, his stomach and chest fluttering as he watched how your eyes filled with love looked up at him like he was some god.

He leaned down and pressed kisses to your jawline, to your neck and under your ear. Sighing in contentment when you tugged at his hair and wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer and closer until there was not even an inch of space between you. You needed him close, he could feel it when he felt your fingers digging into his shoulder blades, when he felt you clenching around him.

He whispered your name softly, moans tearing from his lips as he felt how you were getting more and more soaked, the noises of it adding to his and your pleasure.

"I won't last long," he whispered as he grabbed the pillow beneath your head and he pulled himself back up to face you again, to press his forehead to yours, to kiss your puffy lips. "You feel so fucking good, baby. Can't ever get enough of you."

You tried to speak but the pleasure became so overwhelming. Your stomach tightened, the heat building and burning inside of you. Your clit aching and as though he could feel it, he pressed his fingertips against it, rubbing circles on it.

"Steve! I'm... please!"

His hazel eyes burned into yours with love and neediness. His heart was beating so strongly, you could feel it against your chest.

His moans turned into whimpers, his balls tightened as his cock twitched inside of you, prompting him to move faster, deeper, harder.

"Please what? You want to cum, baby? You wanna cum all over my cock, hmm?" He groaned against your lips, eyes threatening to roll to the back of his head.

"Yes! Yes, Stevie!" You whined beneath him, writhing and shaking beneath him. "Want you to fill me up, please... need your cum in me so bad, baby."

His heart burst every time those words fall from your lips and he has to hold himself together not to bust inside of you the second you utter those words.

Your hands moved to his shoulders, up to his neck before they finally reached his face. You cupped his cheeks, "please," you whispered before you kissed him again.

Steve continued to push in and out of you, kissing you passionately and softly as his hips rolled harshly against yours. One hand between your thighs while the other cupped the back of your head to protect you from the wooden headboard.

The heel of your foot dug into his ass, your soft hands held his face.

It didn't take much longer, he was so sensitive already. One... two... three more thrusts and he came inside of you. Moaning loudly into your mouth as you came undone with him, whimpering and crying out of pleasure.

Your tongues moved against each other, lips moving slower. You clung to him as he clung to you. His fingers now brushing through your hair as you ran your fingers up and down his spine, leg falling from his waist as the weakness hit you.

He stopped moving, though he didn't pull out just yet, staying inside of you. He wanted to keep feeling you, to be close to you, as close as possible.

And you wanted it too, no matter how much you were shaking, no matter how sensitive you were too.

You broke the kiss in need of air but he didn't pull away without giving you one more peck. A lazy smile appeared on his face when your eyes crinkled in delight.

He leaned closer and kisses away your fallen tears.

"My gorgeous girl," he whispered into your skin. "I love you so much."

Your heart soared at his words. You kept moving your finger up and down his back. Brushing his hair out of his face with your other hand.

"I love you, my handsome man." You said, giggling when he blushed at your words as he pulled himself back up to look down at you. "You're cute."

Your eyes were dropping again as the sudden tiredness hit you. A yawn fell from your lips and he watched you with an adoring smile.

"Tired me out again, Lego Head."

He snorted at the nickname, poking your waist, he made you flinch and squeal, "hey!"

"I'm sorry, Blondie," he chuckled as he buried his face in your neck, pressing his lips to the marks he left on you. Exhaustion hitting him now too.

You hugged him, holding him against you, you sunk your fingers into his hair, massaging his scalp.

"I'll make breakfast in the morning, baby," he whispered tiredly, continuing to kiss you.

"Waffles?" You smiled.

"Mhmm, Waffles."

A beat of silence took over, your eyes were already closing, sleep lulling you back in when his hand pressed against your stomach.

"Can't wait to put a baby inside of you, Blondie."

You rolled your eyes but you couldn't deny the fluttering of your heart, the excitement his words left you with.

And he smiled as he felt you hugging him tighter after pressed a kiss to his forehead. Contentment and happiness rushing through him the way it never did before you.

"I love you," he whispered again, followed by your name that always falls from his lips so beautifully.

"I love you too, Steve."

And with that, he closed his eyes again, keeping his face in the crook of your neck, falling asleep in the arms he found home in.

[whore4mattsturniolo]

Again ♡︎ Chris Sturniolo

You laid under your soft covers, your cheeks warm and your body even warmer. Your eyes were red and dry from crying for hours, and your body had just stopped shaking from the anger coursing through you.

Chris had fucked up. Bad.

He was quite possibly the biggest attention whore you'd ever met. Always wanting someone to see him, talk to him, bathe in his presence. You'd think that having a girlfriend would meet his needs. But you couldn't have been more wrong.

Chris was always on defense mode when it came to his phone. On the off chance it wasn't stuffed in his pocket or held in his hand like it was the secret to life's greatest mysteries, it was lying face down and locked. If you were laying in bed with him, he'd face the opposite way when opening any of his social media (not like you'd see anything anyway with the privacy screen he always used.) He didn't let you see his phone password, and he damn sure wouldn't even entertain the idea of you having the passwords to his socials. Unfortunately, it didn't bother you as much as it probably should've. Despite when any of your friends said, you were secure enough in your relationship to look past it. He hadn't given you a reason not to trust him, so you never felt like you couldn't

Until tonight, you let your curiosity get the better of you. Chris had fallen asleep on the couch, phone in hand. The soft light illuminating his features beautifully, his fluttering eyelashes, his rosy cheeks, his pink lips. Chewing on your thumb nail as you watched his back rise and fall with each sleeping breath, you went with your gut, moving at a snail's pace as you reached over to grab his phone just before it turned off. He stirred for a moment, the slight movement from the other end of the couch making your stomach drop as you froze, only for you to hear a low snore coming from him. You let out a breath, debating on what to check first.

Instagram.

As soon as you opened the app, you were met with an absurd amount of huge tits and fat asses. Girls arching their backs in short skirts and skimpy bikinis, flaunting their bodies all over the screen. Each post had a little red heart under it. He'd even been bold enough to comment some heart eyes and flames. Your stomach dropped as you continued scrolling, your throat tightening as you fought the urge to punch him in the chest while he slept peacefully, your mind swirling with anger, disgust, and a bit of confusion. He'd always swore how much he hated girls who were overly sexual, girls who had their OnlyFans linked on every platform. Low and behold, he was hating on the exact same girls his Instagram feed was filled to the brim with.

Needless to say, Chris wasn't asleep on that couch for much longer.

It had been a few hours since you made him leave, your apartment cold and dark without him. The pit in your stomach had begun to subside, but you still felt a sadness deep in your heart. He was so open about following these women, liking every single one of their posts, when he'd barely even posted you for your birthday. More embarrassingly, a few of them didn't even follow him back. He was talking to himself in these women's DMs, which somehow made you feel worse than if they'd responded at all.

As you sat alone with your thoughts, the thumping of music started to grow louder. Nothing out of the ordinary, due to the fact that your window faced a busy street. It wasn't uncommon for someone to drive past with their music loud enough to wake up the entire complex. Only this time, it didn't pass. It only got louder, and louder, like they were sitting in front of your window. Huffing, you cover your ears with the nearest pillow, silently begging for them to drive off.

A tap at your window sends a jolt through you, your eyes widening at the sound. Then another. And another. Someone was...throwing rocks at your window? As far as you knew, you hadn't done anything to harm anyone. There was absolutely no reason for anyone to be throwing anything at you. Your heart starts to race, the blaring music growing louder as you walked towards the window with clenched fists. First you had to deal with your boyfriend thirsting over any girl with tits and a huge ass, and now you had to deal with some rando throwing rocks at your window.

You yank the curtains apart, looking down to find Chris leaning against the hood of his black Mazda, holding his JBL speaker above his head with his arms outstretched. Your aggravation turns to confusion as your eyebrows furrow, opening the window up to see what exactly he was doing as the cold window air hit your cheeks.

"I want you to be mine again baby!" the familiar song blasted through the speaker, the lyrics barely audible between the harsh bass. You let out a cackle, watching your boyfriend shout along to the words. "I know my lifestyle is driving you crazy!"

"What the hell are you doing?" You shout, looking down at Chris as you lean further out of the window. "Turn that shit off!" You try to sound stern, but it's impossible to keep away the laughter erupting from your chest.

Chris smirks, keeping the song playing for as long as he possibly can, holding the speaker up higher. "It's how I feel baby! Listen to the words!" His voice echoes, the cheeky grin never leaving his face. "I go out of my way to please you! I go out of the way to see you I ain't playing no games, I need you!" He sings, drawing out each lyric of the song. Your laughter grows louder, almost falling to your knees as you clutch your stomach, tears threatening to fall from the sheer hilarity of the situation.

"Let me in baby!" Chris shouts over the music. "I'm sorry! I'm so fucking sorry!"

You peek out of the window from the floor, resisting the urge to bob your head to the music as your giggling continues. "I'll let you in if you turn that shit off!" He starts to laugh with you, rushing to turn the speaker off and skips to the entrance of the apartment complex, that stupid, smug grin still plastered on his face.

You really regretted getting him that JBL speaker.

tags: @yourmother29 @bowsandsturniolos @sweetshuga @sturns-mermaid @leah-sturniolo @spideylana @dykes4chris @sophsturns @mattsbunnyxx @slut4christopherr @trevorsgodmother @sosasturns @emely9274 @courta13 @mattsbrowser @oldermenwh0re @chrissweetheart @leoslaboratory @mattybsgroupie @conspiracy-ash @chriss-slutt @secretlocket @sagebutter11 @chrepsi @pr3ttylittleslutt @iloveduckssm @tezzzzzzzz @evansturn @nickgurl4life @izzylovesmatt @mr-wrinkleton @sturn777 @theyluvpeach @chrisslut04 @wildfluer @espressqe

inbox always open for requests, asks, or just to chat <3

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the buzzed babble

buttercup, chapter seven

a/n: WE BACK, BABYYY!!! SURPRISE!! one year later and here we are! back for even more of these two! that has been my little secret for a long time, ever since i quickly began to miss them after i finished the original 6 chapters, so the plan then became to revisit these two once the new daredevil series dropped.

summary:  “…I think I might have done something last night…” your eyes grew wide as the memories suddenly came flooding back. 

warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, smut, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, seeing matt hold a baby (because we all know how dangerous it is for our ovaries to witness someone we like do that), alcohol consumption, vomiting, hangover, kissing, dirty talk, size kink, blowjob, facesitting, crying, accidentally scaring matt back into his toxic idea that having people close to you is bad when you're a vigilanty

word count: 3583

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As the man beside you finally stirred from his slumber, a soft hum vibrated against the pillow beneath his head. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” the corners of your lips twisted upwards as you continued to stare just as you had for the past twenty minutes, curled up and toasty on the mattress beside him, your gaze tracing every millimetre of his peaceful features. 

“Morning,” Matt breathed out a hazy smile as his arm slithered closer to your warmth. Sweeping his palm over your waist, he lazily scooped you across the shy distance between your bodies, pressing your skin up against his own. 

Planting a peck on his stubbly cheek, you curled your fingers up over his jaw as you peppered his face with kisses, slowly waking him up further, before he tilted his chin and captured your lips with his own. 

Soon, the kisses morphed, from being slow and smouldering to needy and sloppy, as he rolled onto his back and you crawled on top of him. 

“How did you sleep?” you uttered against the column of his throat as your lips strayed from his own and began to flutter further south. 

“Mhm,” Matt hummed, his fingers gently floating up to your head and softly weaving into your hair as he blissfully tilted his head, “good, it was–, yeah…” his eyes then flickered shut as your pecks reached his collarbone. He swallowed hard as you felt his cock twitch awake beneath you, “and you?” he mustered up enough focus to ask. 

“Not too shabby,” you blinked up at him with a smirk before your kisses began to wander down over his chest, till you had scooted all the way down to the bottom of the bed.

Slotted in between his thighs, your fingertips played with the edge of his black boxers as you let your pecks hop from his hipbone to the bulge now straining against the cotton. 

“Fuck, baby…” he groaned as your soft lips repeatedly pressed against the thin barrier. 

Once you’d freed his cock, tugging down his underwear just enough for the hardness to spring free, you began to drag long licks up the entire length of him. Slowly tracing the veins that decorated his fat girth with your tongue, you blinked up at him and smiled through your gentle laps as the intimate teasing of your hot tongue caused him to melt further down into the mattress as soft moans flowed from him at every kiss you offered. 

When he soon came undone, your sweet mouth milking him for all of his worth, your hand had sneaked down between your own legs to relieve the aching throb. 

Swallowing his load, you offered his softening length one more peck, making it twitch, before you blinked back up at Matthew, panting against his palm that had floated up to rest against his head on the pillow.

Reaching down, his grasp caught onto your forearms before he guided you back up to straddle him once again. Sweeping his touch up to your cheek, he tilted you down till you were in reach for his lips to capture your own. 

“You ready to get up?” you whispered in between kisses, a shy shiver running down your spine at the notion that the taste of himself in your mouth only caused him to groan against your lips and pull your body down further against his. 

And as the scent of your want, molten between your thighs and sticky on your fingers, found Matt’s sharp senses, nearly intoxicated on the aroma, he uttered in a gravelly tone, “not yet,” before his hands seized your hips and manoeuvred your form further up till you were hovering above his head.

“Matt!” the sudden move caused you to yelp through an airy giggle before you grasped onto the headboard. 

His burly arms hugged your hips as he drew you down against him, tilting your frame as he hooked your soaked panties to the side, swiftly making you grind down against his tongue. 

Groaning against your pussy, his low voice vibrated against your clit and caused you to peek down at him, blissfully buried beneath you. 

“Oh, I could definitely get used to waking up like this,” you breathlessly murmured as he sucked down on your puffy pearl and your eyes began to flutter. 

Offering your ass a light tap, his grip then dug into it as he chuckled against your cunt, “I’d happily be your alarm clock if you’d let me.”

“Is that what the slang for boyfriend is these days?” you laughed hazily as you rocked down against his skilful mouth, “are you gonna walk around and tick all day–, o-oh…” your dumb joke then fell from your lips as your thighs began to tremble on either side of his face. 

His arms flexed around you as he kept your squirming form steady through your high, pinning you down against him till you were panting in sensitivity. 

Slinking your boneless frame back down to rest atop his own, your cheek smooshed down against his chest as his long arms draped over your back. 

“Oh,” a giggle then slipped from your lips when you managed to blink your eyes back open and spot how your nectar had glistened up the entire lower half of his face, “remember to wash your face before you head out, you can’t go the office like this or Foggy will have a heart attack.”

As you reached up to try and wipe his cheeks, Matt’s own broad palm swiftly took over as he smiled, “you do know that we were college roommates, right? There aren’t many facets left that can rock our relationship.” 

Chuckling softly, you then tilted down to steal a peck before you uttered, “I’m gonna go make some coffee,” and pushed yourself up off of Matthew’s warmth and out of the bed. 

Slipping on the green rope that hung on the back of your bedroom door, you then glanced over your shoulder at Matt in the bed as he brushed his flat palm over the memory of where your body had just been. 

Once the electric kettle on the kitchen counter was humming, you dug a small wooden spoon deep down into a dark bag of coffee grounds before letting each scoop drizzle down to the bottom of your french press, and on the last spoonful, you felt a pair of arms snake around your waist. Bare chest pressing up against your back, he clearly hadn’t bothered to slip on his clothes from the day before yet. 

“So, how are you feeling about tonight?” he checked in, “are you still up for joining? Because if you aren’t, then I think I’ll just cancel as well.” 

Grabbing the kettle, you tilted it and watched closely as the steaming water filled up the french press, “no, I actually think I am,” you uttered once you’d searched for the answer deep down in your gut, “it’s the end of the week, so why not go out? Maybe tonight is the night when I finally beat you in pool,” you half-joked, “who knows, it’s Friday, anything could happen.” 

“Yeah,” he chuckled in your ear, “I mean, maybe actually leaning the rules to the game might help you, but sure, maybe tonight is the night.” 

Muffled voices found your ears as you approached the frosted glass door of the Nelsen and Murdock office. Quietly creaking it open and tip-toeing inside, your glance flickered to the left and caught the tail end of a meeting in the conference room. 

“Alright, almost done, you just have to sign these and then that’s it,” Foggy spoke as he gathered up a stapled stack of papers and presented it to the lady sitting at the end of the table with a small baby in her arms. 

“Uhm…” the woman momentarily stared down at the many spots that needed to be filled with her scribbles before her glance flickered to her young child, blinking up at her as she clutched it in both of her hands. Shifted the baby slightly as she realised that she wouldn’t be able to grasp the pen as well, her eyes fell upon Matthew, sitting on her other side, “I’m sorry, would you mind holding him for just a second?” she asked, though didn’t wait for an answer before she handed her baby off into the lawyer’s arms. 

“Oh,” Matt breathed and swiftly readjusted his hands to cradle the infant better, “of course not.”

And as the mother began to sign her name each place that Foggy pointed out for her, your breathing nearly stopped entirely as you suddenly became transfixed with your boyfriend, carefully holding that tiny boy, at first a bit nervous and tense at the unexpected job he’d suddenly gotten, before his broad shoulders began to relax and the corners of his lips began to twitch into a smile as the baby began to babble up at him.

Had you known that witnessing your boyfriend hold a baby would trigger such a severe and primal sense in your body, then you would have probably stayed back at the bakery for just a few more minutes before wandering over. 

And as you wiped the drool from your chin and your ovaries distractingly ached, trying so desperately to seize control, the mother scooped her child back into her arms, leaving you blinking hard to shake the sensation off of you. 

“Y/n, hey!” Foggy spotted you as the client began to cross the office towards the exit that you still stood rooted next to, “I didn’t hear you come in.” 

“Yeah,” you coughed, “didn’t wanna disturb you. So, are you guys done for the day?” 

“Yep,” a sigh of relief escaped Karen as she began to clean up the conference table. 

Once Matt had gathered up the empty coffee mugs and brought them to the sink in the office’s small kitchenette, he circled back to near your side before he pressed his lips to your still toasty cheek. 

“Hi,” he murmured as his touch skimmed down the length of your arm before it briefly caught your palm in a gentle squeeze. 

“Hey, you,” an exhale flowed out past your lips, “how was your day?”

“It was alright,” he smiled softly, “yours?” 

“Yeah, it was good. I dropped an open bag of flour when I was trying to refill the bins,” you tilted your head, “but it was good.” 

“So,” Foggy puffed out a breath as he then gathered up his bag and cast his glance around to everyone, “Josie’s?” 

“Wait, do you think it’s too late to go back and join them for karaoke?” you pouted as you suddenly ceased your wobbly steps up the stairs of your apartment building, “do you think they’re still at Josie’s?”

“No, they probably already left,” Matt noted, steadily walking behind you with both of his hands firm at your waist so that you didn’t tumble over. 

“Did I just commit the biggest mistake of my life by going home already? I mean, I know that Karen said she’d send a video, but still…”

“Well, considering the fact that you can barely stand up right, it probably was a smart thing not to keep the night going.”

“I can stand perfectly fine, thank you very much,” you gracelessly reached the top of the steps, “it’s just the world that’s spinning thanks to all those shots.”

“Yeah, I still don’t know why you did that,” Matt chuckled as he reached into his pocket for his keys.

“Well, your friends can be very persuasive when they want to be, even if it’s something that you come to regret later,” you exhaled as your boyfriend momentarily leaned you against the wall while he unlocked the door to his apartment, “I think I might be starting to get why you opted out of it tonight…”

“Yeah, I learned that lesson a long time ago,” he twisted the key in the lock before snaking an arm around your waist to help you inside, “I tried to warn you.” 

Slumping against his frame, Matt kicked the door closed behind him before he slowly shifted you towards one of the armchairs. 

Carefully, he plopped you down in the chair before his feet began to carry him towards the bathroom. 

“No!” you let out a screech as your hazy vision shadowed him, “where are you going?” 

“To get you some painkillers,” he explained as he reappeared in the doorway of the lavatory, holding a tiny box in his hand, “I’m sure you’ll probably need them in the morning.” 

“Oh, my hero,” you hummed, making him smile as he slipped into the bedroom behind you to place the medicine on one of the nightstands.  

Though as you then watched as he crossed the dark apartment to near the kitchen, his visage bathed in warm shades of yellows and golds from the huge, glowing sign across the street, your chin found your palm as you stared at Matt as he conjured a tall glass and began to fill it with water. 

“…do you wanna be a dad?” you abruptly asked, your words hazy as your inebriated state forced you to utter the question out loud. 

Freezing up, Matt forgot to tap the faucet and shut off the water, rendering the glass in his grasp to instead overflow and dripple into the sink as he eventually uttered, “…what?” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m not asking you to take off your pants and knock me up this very moment, it just occurred to me that we’ve never dove into that conversation before,” you babbled, barely registering the words that slipped from your lips, much less capable of stopping them from seeing the light of day, “and also, relevant to that, I’ve never asked you if you ever wanted to get married–, hypothetically of course, just as the other question, but some day in the future, to someone.”

Standing still as a statue in the middle of his kitchen, an unsteady sound escaped his lungs, “oh,” as he scrambled for the right thing to say, “I–…” though his attempt was swiftly tossed to the side as you then suddenly exclaimed. 

“Oh my god,” your palm abruptly soared up to clamp over your mouth as a sudden wave of nausea washed over you like a tidal wave, “wait,” you sprang up from the armchair and scrambled to get to the bathroom. 

Once you were doubled over the toilet bowl, gagging on the regrets of the evening, a moment passed before Matt managed to snap himself free from the state your words had sent him spiralling into, and you finally felt him come up behind you and grasp your hair to hold it back. 

And once you’d emptied the contents of your stomach, the cool bathroom tile still spinning beneath your form, the memories of the night grew misty as even details form moments before began to slip from your mind like you were trying to scoop up spilled honey with your bare hands, only to watch as it slowly dripped and leaked through your fingers. 

“Urgh,” you weakly spat one last time, “do you have any painkillers? I think I might need some in the morning.”

His dark brows twitched slightly as he then uttered, “I already sat them down on the bedside table a few minutes ago, don’t you remember?” 

“Oh, you did?” you blinked up at him, his palm still gently pressed against your back, “thanks.” 

And as you began to fight the losing battle to your heavy lids, you felt Matt’s touch scoop up under your arms before he murmured, “come on,” and carefully helped you up off the floor, “let’s get you to bed…” 

A weak groan vibrated in your throat when you woke. 

Once you finally gathered the strength to blink your eyes open, past the soft grey sheets you were tangled in, stood Matthew, his back turned to you as he faced his open closet.

“How long have you been up?” you groggily murmured. 

Twisting around as his fingers finished knotting his tie, he simply breathed, “a while,” as if he hadn’t been up all night freaking out about the way your tongue had slipped up last night.  

A crinkle then found your brows as he reached for one of the dark jackets hanging in his wardrobe and you finally noticed his attire, “why are you putting on a suit when we’re just gonna stay here all day?” 

“Something came up,” he exhaled as he shrugged on the blazer, “I gotta head to the office.”

“What?” you slowly sat up in bed.  

“I’m sorry,” his fingers slowly did up the buttons. 

“Well, is everything alright?” you tilted your head, dully pounding from the night’s bad choices, “you seem kinda weird.”

“I’m fine,” he shifted, brushing off his obvious brooding, “I just gotta go.” 

“Oh, okay…” your gaze continued to trace him as he slipped on his glasses, “well, I’ll see you later then?”

“Yeah,” he offered you a tight-lipped smile, “later,” before bending down to press a fleeting peck to the top of your head. 

As the door slammed shut behind him, the clatter only worsened the queasiness fogging up your reality. And after a brief instant where you feared it would boil over and force you to rush into the bathroom, the wave of nausea thankfully began to settle again, even if just for a moment.

Crawling off the bed, you reached for one of Matt’s grey sweatshirts before slugging it around your form and zipping it up. 

Once you’d filled up a glass of water and chugged half of it, you shuffled back from the kitchen and sank down onto the couch, the cool leather somehow aiding in the aching symptoms of your monstrous hangover. 

Plucking up your phone that had apparently been discarded on the coffee table, you scrolled through the texts that Karen and Foggy had sent to you late last night after you’d passed out, before you found your thumb pressing down on the call button next to Foggy’s name. 

“Who the hell had the terrible idea to do shots last night?” he groaned on the other side of the line once he’d picked up. 

“That would be you.” 

“Oh, right,” he sighed, “hey, did I sing hit me baby one more time at karaoke or was that a dream?”

“According to the video Karen sent to me as evidence, you did,” you reached for the plaid blanket draped over the back of the couch and swaddled it around your legs, “are you on your way to the office right now?”

“It’s a Saturday and I’m hungover as fuck,” Foggy pointed out, “of course I’m not.” 

“Oh,” you breathed, “well, didn’t something come up? Matt just rushed out the door.”

“No,” he uttered slowly, probably tilting the phone away from his ear to check if he’d gotten any messages he’d missed, “nothing’s going on.” 

“Hm… okay…” you murmured, glancing around the empty apartment, “should I be worried?” 

Puffing out a long breath, Foggy then uttered, “Matt’s probably just being Matt. He’ll come around when he’s ready.” 

“Yeah, you’re right,” you nodded, “I’m probably just still a bit drunk and thereby reading too much into nothing.”

“Probably,” he quietly echoed. 

Fiddling with the edge of the blanket, you then asked, “so, what exactly happened last night?” 

“Uh, well, we started out at Josie’s, played some pool for a bit, then the shots happened, and then from what I remember, we split up and Karen and I went off to sing our hearts out and you and Matt went home, right?”

“Right…” the pieces slowly began to fall back into place before they all rained down on you like a hailstorm, “oh,wait…”

“What?” 

 “…I think I might have done something last night…” your eyes grew wide as the memories suddenly came flooding back. 

“Done something, like you need my legal aid done something?” 

“What? No, or well, I hope not…” you faintly shook your head before you uttered, “I think I may have asked Matt to marry me and give me lots and lots of babies…” 

The line was quiet a moment before you heard Foggy murmur, “…okay, and what did he say?” 

“He didn’t, I threw up and then we went to bed,” you heard your heartbeat begin to thump in your ears, “why would I even ask him something like that? Don’t answer that, I already know, I was drunk,” you swiftly cut in before he had the chance to offer a single word, “but, I mean, still. It’s not like I have some burning desire to settle down and pop out a billion children–, or well, maybe just one, at some point, far down the line when it feels right, maybe in like ten years or something, but not a whole fucking village.”

And as you felt panicked tears begin to blur your vision, you continued shakily, “Foggy? What if I screwed it all up? That’s why he ran out of here at the crack of dawn,” you sniffled silently, “I scared him away.” 

“You didn’t,” the man on the other end tried, “Y/n, listen to me, you didn’t do anything wrong, Matt is just being an idiot like usual.” 

“…I really don’t want to lose him,” your chest rose and fell rapidly as you stared blankly down at the pattern of the blanket draped over your legs, “I love him, Foggy…”

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