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thewulf · 5 months ago

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When the Laughter Stops || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - I was wondering if you could do one with Jake Seresin where him and the reader are co workers (but they liked each other a lot and are idiots) and she flirts with him a lot, like constantly and he mostly just laughs it off but flirt back sometimes, but she suddenly stops one day and is very quiet and he's worried... Read Rest Here

A/N: Gosh I just love Jake. I really hope they make another TG movie with our boy in it <3 Thank you for the request @stuffingbuttsandshit

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.3k+

T/W : Violation (Not Jake), Talk of Weapons, Talk of break in

Mornings at North Island always started the same way.

Your headset was already on, comms running smooth as you relayed flight data to Mav and the rest of the squadron. You had everything under control because that’s what you did. You were the best at what you did. And you knew it. You didn’t spend years at the Academy and across the country to be mediocre at your job. You were good and you knew it.

Jake Seresin knew it too.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” came the familiar, honey-dipped drawl over your shoulder before he even stepped into the control room. You grinned into your headset. He was right on schedule as always.

You didn’t turn around immediately instead letting the anticipation hang for a second longer before glancing over your shoulder. He was leaning against your desk, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with that insufferably handsome smirk that was as much a part of him as his damn callsign.

“Hangman,” you greeted, flashing him an easy smile. “Looking as sharp as ever. It must really be exhausting carrying around that much charm all the time.”

His smirk deepened as he took you in. “It is, actually darlin’. But I manage.”

You made a show of giving him a once-over. That green flight suit zipped halfway, dog tags resting against the fabric of his undershirt and that confidence oozing from every pore. Annoyingly attractive, you noted. Not that you’d ever admit it out loud. But damn, the man was hot as hell.

“Good thing I’m here to keep you humble,” you teased while tapping your earpiece as the radio crackled.

Jake leaned in slightly, just enough that you caught the faint scent of his aftershave. The scent curled through the air: rich sandalwood, and cedar laced with smoky vetiver and that deep warmth of amber and musk. Dark, refined, and impossible to forget. Just like man who wore it. And who was currently staring a hole in the side of your head.

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t wanna do that. What would you flirt with if I wasn’t around?” He gave you a devious smirk as his eyes traced your face.

You arched a brow, lips curling. “Oh, I’d manage.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head like you were something impossible. “Damn shame sweetheart.” This was the rhythm. The effortless push and pull. The game neither of you called by name but both played with unmatched skill.

“Seresin, you done harassing my officer?” Maverick’s voice cut in from across the room with nothing but amusement lacing in his tone.

Jake straightened slightly but didn’t look away from you. “Just making sure my sweetheart starts her day right, Mav.”

You shot Mav an eyeroll before turning back to Jake. “Aw, how sweet of you Jake.” You cooed at him.

Jake hummed, tilting his head. “Sweet’s not usually what they call me, darlin’.”

The way he said it, low and teasing, sent a thrill up your spine. But you didn’t let it show. Instead, you reached for the mission brief on your desk, casually brushing your fingers against his arm as you passed it to him.

“Guess I’m just special then,” you said with an easy grin.

His eyes flickered with something. Something unreadable. Something dangerous. But the moment passed as quickly as it had come.

“Guess you are,” he murmured. His voice softer this time.

And just like that, he was gone, heading out to brief with the others, leaving behind the faintest trace of his presence. You exhaled, shaking your head to yourself. Yeah. This was the rhythm. At least, it had been. Until everything changed.

Until last night.

Until you woke up to the sound of your front door creaking open.

Until you reached for the bedside drawer, heart pounding, breath shallow, fingers closing around the cold metal of the weapon you kept there. The weapon you dreaded ever having to use.

Until you saw him. A dark figure standing at the foot of your bed, a knife glinting faintly in the sliver of moonlight filtering through your curtains.

Your body had moved on instinct, years of training kicking in before fear could fully take hold. The moment you pointed your weapon at him, he hesitated just long enough for you to move. You sprang from the bed, voice sharp and unyielding, ordering him to back off. And then just as quickly as he had come he was gone. Like a wraith in the night.

The cops arrived minutes later but it didn’t matter. He was already long gone, leaving behind nothing but an overturned chair, a shattered sense of security, and the lingering imprint of fear in your bones.

You barely slept after that, sitting with your back to the wall, weapon still gripped tightly in your hands until the sun started to rise.

And now you were here, at work, trying to pretend like nothing had changed. But Jake knew you too well. So, when he walked into the control room, expecting your usual teasing grin, expecting the flirtation that had become second nature between you. He immediately noticed the difference. You were at your desk, headset on, posture stiff, eyes trained on the monitors like they held the secrets of the universe. No smirk, no playful roll of your eyes when he approached. No wink. No greeting.

And that was the first sign that something was very, very wrong.

Jake frowned, slowing his stride. He leaned against your desk, arms crossing over his chest in the same lazy way he always did, waiting for you to acknowledge him. Nothing.

He tilted his head. “Morning, sweetheart,” he drawled, watching for a reaction.

Your fingers stilled on the keyboard, just for a second, but then you resumed typing like you hadn’t heard him. His frown deepened. Okay. Maybe you were just busy. Maybe Mav had you swamped with flight schedules or logistics nightmares. Maybe.

But then he really looked at you.

Your usual fire, the effortless confidence that made your job look easy was gone. In its place was something tight, something controlled. He followed the subtle tension in your shoulders. The way your jaw stayed clenched even as you kept working. Something wasoff.

“You sick or somethin’?” Jake asked, lowering his voice, trying to meet your gaze.

You finally looked at him but the second your eyes met his you blinked quickly and dropped them again. “I’m fine,” you said too flatly. Too rehearsed. With no emotion in the usual boisterous voice of yours.

Jake’s stomach twisted. Bullshit. You weren’t fine. He knew fine, and this wasn’t it. But what he didn’t know was why. For the first time since meeting you, Jake felt the shift. The invisible wall you’d put up overnight, cutting him out without warning. And he hatedit. Where there should’ve been fire, there was only silence.

Jake tried to ignore it at first. Maybe you were just having an off day. Maybe you were tired. Maybe whatever had drained the light from your eyes would pass on its own.

But as the day dragged on, he knew that wasn’t the case. You barely spoke, sticking to clipped, professional responses when you had to interact with him or anyone else. You kept your head down, shoulders drawn in. It was so unlike you. It made his skin itch.

Then, when someone brushed past you in the hallway. Just a casual, harmless pass. You flinched. It was small, barely noticeable, but Jake saw it. And that was all it took. His blood ran cold. He knew that reaction. Had seen it before. And it sent every instinct he had into overdrive.

The rest of the day, he didn’t leave you alone. Not in a way that would spook you, but he made sure he was always nearby, always watching. You barely acknowledged him and that was the final crack in his patience. By the time your shift ended, he was donewaiting.

You had just stepped outside the hangar when he caught up to you. He moved fast enough that you had no choice but to stop. "Sweetheart," he said. And this time his voice wasn’t teasing, wasn’t lazy or smug. It was quiet. Steady. Serious.

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. “Jake, I—”

“Something’s wrong,” he cut in. His green eyes searching your face. “And I need you to tell me what it is.”

Your breath faltered. You didn’t answer right away but the way your gaze darted away. The way your lips pressed together like you were afraid to speak made his stomach twist. He softened, stepping closer, his voice dropping even lower. “Hey. It’s me, alright? Just me. You can tell me.”

You swallowed hard. And then finally your walls started to crack. “I—” You exhaled shakily, like forcing the words out might break you. “Someone broke into my house last night.”

Jake went still.

Your voice was barely above a whisper as you continued. “I woke up and he was just there. He had a knife… I think he would have tried to grab me. But I fought back, I scared him off but…” You sucked in a breath. Shaking your head unbelieving that this had even happened to you. “He ran before the cops got there. They haven’t found him. They won’t find him most likely.”

Jake’s fists clenched. His entire body went rigid. His jaw locking so hard it ached. Jesus Christ. The thought of you alone, terrified, fighting off some bastard in the middle of the night made his vision go red. He wanted to break something. No, he wanted to findthe bastard who did this. But right now, none of that mattered. Right now, you mattered.

Carefully he reached for you. His fingers grazing your wrist before he slid his hand fully over yours. His grip was firm, grounding. Warm.

“Jesus, darlin’,” he murmured. His voice tight, lethal with restrained fury but when he looked at you again all he let you see was the concern. The unwavering steadiness. “You’re safe now, okay? I promise you, you’re safe.” And for the first time all day, your body eased just a little. Just enough.

You weren’t sure who moved first. One second, you were standing there, raw and exposed with your confession hanging in the air between you. The next, Jake’s arms were around you, solid and steady, pulling you against his chest. And you let him. The moment his warmth surrounded you, the breath you had been holding all day broke free in a shaky exhale. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his flight suit, gripping tight, grounding yourself in him. Breathing in the woody scent that always seemed to coat him.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just held you. And God, you hadn’t realized how much you needed it until now. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. His voice a low, steady rumble against your ear. “You’re safe. No one’s scaring you again, I swear it.” You knew his words weren’t empty promises, weren’t meaningless reassurances. They were a vow.

Jake pulled back just enough to look at you, one hand lifting to cup the side of your face. His thumb brushing lightly along your cheek. “You’re not staying at your place alone tonight.” He said with such conviction.

You blinked up at him. “Jake—”

“Not a chance, sweetheart.” The smirk was there, but softer, missing its usual cocky edge. He tilted his head. “You really think I’m gonna walk away after what you just told me? Not a chance darlin’.” Your resolve wavered. You should tell him you’ll be fine. That you don’t need him hovering. But the idea of being alone in that house, of walking through those doors and feeling that fear claw at you again…

You swallowed hard and nodded. “I have a guest room,” you murmured. “You can take the guest room.”

Jake’s smirk deepened. “Whatever you say, darlin’. I’ll sleep on the porch if you want.” You smiled softly. Jake had a way of doing that for you. Charming bastard he was.

Jake didn’t waste a second when he got to your home. The second you stepped inside he was already moving. He checked the locks, testing the windows, making sure every single point of entry was secure. You stood off to the side watching as he knelt by your front door, brows furrowed in concentration as he worked to reinforce the deadbolt.

“You know,” you said while crossing your arms, “I could’ve called a locksmith for that.”

He glanced up, flashing you that signature Jake Seresin smirk. “Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to prove to you that I’m useful outside the cockpit.” You rolled your eyes but for the first time all day there was the tiniest tug of amusement behind it. And Jake saw it. Reveled in it.

After he was satisfied that your place was Fort Knox-level secure, he finally let you settle. The tension still lingered, though thin, stretched tight under your skin. He noticed it in the way your shoulders stayed rigid. In the way your fingers curled slightly like you were bracing yourself for something.

So, he did the only thing he knew how to do.

He made you laugh.

You weren’t sure when the tension finally started to ease but at some point you found yourself curled up on the couch half-listening as Jake recounted some absurd training exercise where Phoenix had absolutely wrecked him in a dogfight.

“—I swear to God, I had her, I had her, and then at the last second, she pulls this insane move out of nowhere. Next thing I know, she’s behind me, cackling like a damn supervillain and I’m dead in the water.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I bet she lovedthat.”

“Oh, she hasn’t shut up about it since,” Jake admitted, shaking his head in exasperation. “I’ll never live it down. Worst part is, Mav saw the whole thing. Didn’t even bother hiding the smug look.”

You let out a small laugh and Jake stilled. It was quiet, barely there, but it was real. His smirk softened, something shifting behind his eyes. For the first time ever, he really looked at you. Not just as the woman who sparred with him, who kept up with his banter, who never let him get the last word. But as you. The woman who had been terrified last night. The woman who had been shakentoday. The woman he never wanted to see rattled like that again.

You felt the shift too because your smile faded slightly. Your gaze flickering over his face like you were searching for something. Your voice was quiet when you spoke. “Thanks, Jake.”

His throat bobbed. The muscles in his jaw flexing like he was holding something back. He should’ve said something. Should’ve teased. Should’ve smirked and drawn out the moment. Should’ve eased you back into the comfort of your usual game. But he didn’t. Because this wasn’t the game anymore.

His hand lifted before he could stop himself. His fingers brushing along the side of your face. His thumb grazing your cheek so lightly, so gently, like he was afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful.

Your breath caught but you didn’t move away. Didn’t say a word. Couldn’t say a word. And then your eyes flicked down to his mouth just for a second, but long enough. Long enough for him to see it. To feelit.

His pulse kicked hard against his ribs, a slow, building pressure coiling in his chest, in his gut. Jesus. You wanted this. You wanted him. Just as much as he wanted you.

Something cracked wide open between you in that moment. Something unspoken but undeniable. Something that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long it was a wonder it hadn’t boiled over sooner.

Jake’s breath was warm against your skin as he leaned in, his nose barely brushing yours. Giving you the chance to back away if you wanted. He could feel the way you inhaled sharply. The way your fingers curled slightly into the fabric of your hoodie like you were holding yourself back.

His thumb traced the edge of your jaw. His voice dropping to something barely above a whisper. “Don’t thank me, darlin’.”

And without thinking, without second-guessing, without giving either of you a chance to step back. He kissed you. It was slow, like he had all the time in the world to memorize the way your lips felt against his. It was lingering, like he wasn’t sure if this was the first or the last time he’d get to do this. It wasn’t playful. Wasn’t teasing. It was real.

When he pulled back, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward, wasn’t tense. It was heavy with something unspoken. With something waiting to be acknowledged. But instead of speaking Jake just gave you one last lingering look before pressing a softer barely-there kiss to your forehead. A silent promise. A quiet reassurance.

“Get some sleep sweetheart,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

The scent of fresh coffee pulled you from sleep. For a moment, you lay there, disoriented, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through your curtains. Your brain slowly caught up. You hadn’t made coffee. And there was only one other person in your house who would.

Jake.

You pushed back the covers and padded toward the kitchen. The wood floor cool against your bare feet. And there he was.

Jake Seresin stood at your stove pouring coffee into two mugs like he’d done it a hundred times before. His flight suit jacket was still draped over a chair, but he’d changed into the sweatpants you’d tossed at him last night. The fabric hanging low on his hips in a way that was far too distracting this early in the morning. His hair was still messy, slightly sleep-ruffled, and for some reason that made your stomach do something ridiculous.

He looked comfortable here. In your space. Like he belonged. And you liked it. Liked the way it looked. Liked the way he looked. God help you.

At the sound of your footsteps he turned, flashing you a grin. “Mornin’, sweetheart.” He held out a mug. “Figured you might need this.”

You crossed your arms but took it anyway, inhaling deeply before your first sip. Perfect. Of course, he makes perfect coffee, too. “Didn’t take you for a domestic type, Seresin,” you muttered, lifting an eyebrow. Trying your best to look annoyed but you were anything but that.

Jake smirked while leaning a hip against the counter. “You saying you expected me to sneak out before sunrise?”

You hummed, taking another sip. “Wouldn’t have been the first time a Navy pilot bailed on me.”

His smirk faltered just slightly. Just enough to make your lips twitch. “Not my style, sweetheart,” he said, shaking his head. Then after a beat he nudged your elbow. “You slept okay?”

The teasing had softened and the warmth in his voice caught you off guard. You hesitated, fingers curling around your mug, but the truth easily came this time.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I did. I slept more than okay.” Because knowing he was just a room over made it easy to relax. Jake studied you for a second. His green eyes sharp, thoughtful, like he was making sure you meant it.

Satisfied, he clinked his mug against yours, smirk returning full force. “Good. ‘Cause I make a damn good bodyguard. But I make an even better breakfast. What’s it gonna be, sweetheart? Eggs or pancakes?”

You blinked. “You’re making breakfast too?”

Jake gave you a slow, lazy grin. “Oh, darlin’, you think I’m lettin’ you start your day without a full meal andmy charming company? Hate to break it to you, but you’re really bad at getting rid of me.”

You scoffed while shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

“Charming,” he corrected, winking.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was impossible to fight, “Pancakes. I like my breakfasts sweet.”

He gave you that devilish grin, “Noted darlin’.”

And just like that. That something between you and Jake Seresin shifted. For good.

Jake Seresin/Top Gun: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @mamachasesmayhem @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @illisea @jessicab1991 @guacam011y @dempy @mrsevans90 @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @missxmav @kajjaka @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ryswritingrecord @lostinwonderland314 @xxrougefangxx @greantii @tallrock35 @hyunjinvoid @ahoeforfandomsblog

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smutmind · 19 days ago

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Home Ground ft. Mina

Twice Mina X You

"You… you really don't get tired, do you?" Mina gasped, her breath catching on the edge of another moan.

The moon hung higher now, casting a pale glow through rice-paper screens. The private suite had the scent of cedar and body heat, its minimalist elegance disrupted by tangled sheets and Mina’s flushed, trembling body. Mina hadn’t chosen easily. Reserved, quiet, and meticulous, she had studied hundreds of fan profiles in silence—until yours landed on her desk.

"No one else had your numbers," she’d said, fingertips tapping the report. "But I wanted to see if the hype was real. If you were real."

"I’m here to prove it," you’d replied, voice low.

She’d narrowed her eyes at you. "You think you can keep up with me?"

"No," you’d said. "I think you’ll beg me to stop."

Your medical reports, stamina scores, personal logs—everything screamed obsession and inhuman endurance. She was skeptical, cautious, but intrigued. When you finally stood before her, eyes low, mouth shut, heart racing, she felt it in her gut. This wasn’t infatuation. It was hunger.

But tonight wasn't love. It was something sacred and fleeting. One night. One gift. One unforgettable surrender.

Now she lay beneath you, hair clinging to her damp cheeks, thighs shaking, lips parted in awe. Her soft, natural tits heaved with every breath. You had taken her slowly at first—gently even—but when she moaned and clawed at your back, something in you snapped.

You’d been pounding her for hours.

She’d lost track of how many times she came.

Her pussy was soaked, stretched, twitching with every thrust. The futon was drenched in sweat and slick, her moans no longer soft but ragged and cracked. Mina's voice had gone from breathy gasps to broken cries.

"Please," she whimpered, hands trembling as they clung to you. "I-I can’t keep up... but don’t stop. Please, don’t stop."

"Fuck, you're destroying me..."

You grinned, sweat dripping onto her chest as you drove deeper. Her body jerked with each thrust. Eyes rolled. Her mouth hung open in a silent scream.

"Fuuuck… I’m cumming again…!"

She clenched tight, body arching in convulsions. You didn’t slow. She sobbed beneath you, tears streaking down her cheeks.

"I can't—! It hurts!"

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No," she cried. "Fuck no. Make me scream. Make me your little toy."

You pinned her wrists, holding her down.

"Take all of it."

"Yes, yes—please! I want to feel you ruin me!"

You fucked her through her climax, relentless, cruel. Her body shook, overwhelmed, yet she pulled you closer.

"You're still hard," she whispered, voice shaking. "You’re a fucking machine… oh god."

You kissed her hard. She whimpered into your mouth. When you pulled back, she was already climbing into your lap.

"Ride me."

She trembled but obeyed. Lowered herself slowly, crying out as your cock filled her again.

"Ahh—shit—it’s too much, but I can’t stop... fuck, I love it..."

Her body flinched, overstimulated—but she started to move. Desperately. Messily. Moaning between sobs.

"Break me. Fuck me until I forget my name."

You flipped her, bent her over, fucked her hard. Her screams turned into raw, choked sobs.

"Yes—pound me—make me cry. Oh fuck, it’s too good—"

You used every position she could offer—her hips, her back, her stomach. She twisted for you, offered her ass when her pussy throbbed too hard. You pushed in slowly, stretched her open. She sobbed, cried out, clawed at the cushions.

"It burns—but don’t stop! I want to feel you everywhere—every fucking inch—"

You bottomed out. Her body trembled. And still, she moved with you. Matched your thrusts.

She collapsed eventually, boneless and twitching. But her mouth moved.

"One more," she whispered. "Please... fuck my throat. I need to taste all of you."

You sat back. She crawled between your legs, lips trembling. She took you into her mouth. Deep. Wet.

"Mmm—gods—still so fucking hard..."

Her throat spasmed with effort as her spit and your cum mixed.

"I love this. I love being your slut."

Her tears didn’t stop. Her body shook. But her eyes—those eyes—were wild and devoted.

"Again," she gasped, cum staining her chin.

You were still hard.

She laughed, hoarse and beautiful.

She climbed back on top of you, this time slower, resting her forehead against yours. Her hips rolled gently at first, and she whispered, "You’re going to keep going until I pass out, aren’t you?"

You didn’t answer. You just held her hips, lifted her, and began again.

Her moans started fresh—less panicked, more surrendered. Her voice trembled.

"You own me now... I’m yours to fuck, yours to break, yours to rebuild. Just... don’t stop. Please, don’t stop..."

You took her gently at first, then harder. Each time she gasped, she softened more, melting against you. You carried her through another climax, then another, until her body spasmed on instinct alone.

Hours passed. Her limbs wouldn’t move, but her mouth still begged.

"One more. Just one more. I promise. I swear..."

She lay against your chest, mumbling. Your cock pressed against her inner thigh. She looked up, barely conscious, smiling through exhaustion.

"Again. Use me. Make me yours forever."

You stroked her hair.

"It’s just one night, Mina."

She nodded slowly, face against your skin.

"Then make it a night I’ll never forget."

#girl group smut #smut #kpop smut #female idol smut #male reader smut #kpop idol smut #male reader #mina smut #twice smut #mina #twice

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cupidsworstcrime · 2 months ago

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Virgin!Jason Todd x f!reader

inspo - @theclockonthewall

smut below the cut

contains some somno , marked with a heart banner

Jason’s mouth was hot on yours by the time you reached the hallway of his apartment. His jacket hit the floor before the door even clicked shut. He’d spent the entire evening being smooth—leaning close when you talked, his voice low and rich with promises. His hand on your thigh under the table, that cocky grin whenever you got flustered. He’d acted like he knew exactly what he was doing.

But when your back hit his bedroom door, and you whispered, “Take me to bed, Jay,” something shifted.

He hesitated.

Not in a dramatic way. He didn’t jump or pull away. He just froze for a breath too long—lips parted, his hands still on your hips, pupils blown wide.

You smiled, soft and curious. “Jason?”

His jaw clenched. “Yeah. Yeah—just…” He finally opened the door, leading you inside. The lights were dim. The air warm. His room smelled like leather and cedar and maybe a little nervousness.

You turned to face him, walking backward until your knees hit his bed. “You okay?”

Jason looked at you, then down at his hands, flexing them like he wasn’t sure where they were supposed to go. That cocky, sharp edge from earlier—the one that called you baby in a voice full of gravel and sin—had dulled to something… so much more raw.

“I’ve never…” he started, voice low. He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks tinged with red. “I’ve never done this.”

You blinked. “Never?”

He shook his head. “All talk. I mean—I know what to do. But I just... haven’t.” He forced a breath out, almost like it hurt to admit. “Wasn’t the right time. Wasn’t the right person.”

Your heart thudded. You reached out, curling your fingers around the hem of his shirt, gently tugging him closer. “You’re doing fine, Jason.”

He met your eyes, breath shallow. “You sure?”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “I want you. All of you. Doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be you.”

His hands found your face slowly, reverently, as though you were something precious. The bravado was gone, stripped bare along with the layers of clothing that fell away.

Jason hovered above you like he was afraid to break you.

His fingers ghosted over your thighs, callused and trembling. “This okay?” he asked, voice hoarse, dark lashes casting shadows under his eyes.

You nodded, then cupped his face. “More than okay. Come here, Jason."

He kissed you again—sloppy, too eager, but you loved it. His tongue swept into your mouth like he was starved for it, and when he settled between your thighs, he let out a shaky breath that hit the hollow of your throat.

“Fuck,” he murmured, eyes darting down where your bodies met. “I… I want to do this right. I just—don’t wanna mess it up.”

“You won’t,” you whispered, tugging him back down to kiss his jaw. “It’s not about perfect. Just follow what feels good, yeah?”

Jason nodded like he was memorizing instructions, then reached between you both, trying to line himself up. You felt his cock nudge against your entrance, and his hand slipped once, then twice. He cursed under his breath.

“Here—let me,” you said gently, reaching down to wrap your hand around him. He stuttered out a gasp, hips twitching into your grip.

“Shit—fuck, sorry—too fast?” he panted, cheeks flushed deep red.

“No,” you said, grinning a little as you guided him to your entrance. “Just sensitive?”

Jason groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You have no idea.”

You pressed a kiss to his temple. “It’s okay. Breathe, Jay. Go slow.”

And he did—pushing in with a gasp, your name falling from his lips like prayer. His hands gripped your hips too hard, but you didn’t mind. The stretch had him stuttering, his mouth open in awe and disbelief.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “You feel—fuck, it’s warm, it’s tight—I don’t…”

He bottomed out with a broken sound and didn’t move for a moment, his chest pressed to yours, muscles trembling like a live wire.

“You okay?” you whispered, running your hands down his back.

Jason nodded slowly. “Too good. Gimme a second or I’ll—fuck—I’ll finish before I even start.”

You kissed the edge of his jaw, letting your legs wrap around his waist. “Take your time, baby. I’m right here.”

When he started moving, it was uneven. A little shallow at first, uncertain. You guided him—hands on his hips, whispering what felt good, what you liked, moaning his name when he got it just right.

And when he finally lost control, hips jerking erratically as he spilled inside you, he whimpered against your neck, body shaking.

“I—I didn’t mean to be so fast—I—”

You silenced him with a soft kiss. “You were perfect.”

His eyes were wide, glassy with emotion. He brushed a hand down your side like he didn’t believe you were real.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

You smiled, pulling him closer. “You’re mine anyway.”

It started with a kiss—slow and searching, after he’d cleaned you up and curled into your side like he never wanted to leave.

You thought he might fall asleep right there, nuzzled into your neck. But then he shifted, pulling you closer, hands wandering again. And you could feel him growing hard against your thigh, already twitching with need.

You smiled against his cheek. “Jason…”

“I know,” he mumbled, eyes heavy, voice even heavier. “But I… I need you again.”

He didn’t even wait for you to tease. He climbed over you with new focus—less nervous this time, but still fumbling a bit, like his body couldn’t decide between collapsing or worshiping you.

His kisses were wetter now, tongue clumsy, breath warm and needy against your skin. He moaned when he slipped inside again, still sensitive, still twitching.

“Oh my God—you’re still—shit—you’re so tight, I—fuck—”

You giggled softly, running your hands through his hair. “You sure you can handle it?”

Jason groaned like it hurt. “No. Not even a little. But I want to.”

And he moved. Slow at first, then desperate, hips stuttering like he was chasing something just out of reach. You could feel the tension in his thighs, in his trembling arms as he tried to keep himself up, fighting the way his body kept jerking at every squeeze of your cunt.

“Shit, shit—too good—I’m not gonna last—oh God—wait, wait—” he gasped, dropping his head to your shoulder.

You cupped his cheeks, kissed him through it, let him rock in and out in shallow thrusts that made his breath hitch every time.

“You… you gotta finish too—” he whined, mouth dragging over your jaw. “Please—I want you to—wanna make you feel good, too—need to—”

“You are,” you whispered, your nails scratching lightly down his back. “You’re doing so good, Jason.”

He whimpered at the praise, hips grinding in a little deeper. “Can’t think—can’t—fuck, I just wanna stay here. You feel so good, baby, so warm—so wet—can’t stop, I can’t—”

You felt him starting to fall apart again, hips stuttering harder now, the sound of your bodies slick and messy, the room thick with the scent of sweat and sex and his needy, filthy little whimpers.

“I’m gonna cum—I—please, I’m gonna—”

“Let go,” you whispered, wrapping your legs around him. “Cum for me, baby.”

And he did—with a soft sob of your name and a frantic snap of his hips, burying himself as deep as he could go before collapsing onto your chest, body trembling from the overload.

His voice was wrecked when he mumbled, “You’re gonna kill me, I swear…”

You stroked his sweat-soaked hair. “Still got breath to talk. You’ll live.”

He kissed your shoulder, a little out of it, voice slurred. “Round three in twenty minutes?”

You laughed, pulling the blanket over you both. “You’ll be asleep in five.”

He was.

The first thing you feel is warmth.

Not just the morning light spilling through the curtains, or the soft sheets tangled around your waist—but his mouth. Hot and slow and greedy, tongue slipping against your folds like he’s been dreaming of it all night.

Your eyes flutter open with a gasp, hips instinctively shifting—and there he is.

Jason.

Curled between your legs like he belongs there, arms wrapped under your thighs to keep you open, nose pressed right against your center. His hair’s messy, dark and white strands falling into his eyes, and his expression is something between reverent and wrecked.

“Jason—” you breathe, voice still rough from sleep.

He pulls back just far enough to glance up, lips already slick. “Mornin’.”

You almost laugh, but it melts into a moan when he licks another stripe up your cunt, slow and careful, eyes fixed on your face.

“Didn’t mean to wake you yet,” he murmurs, voice a little hoarse, “just… wanted to try somethin’. Is this okay?”

“God, yes,” you manage, threading your fingers into his hair. “Best alarm clock I’ve ever had.”

He grins against you, a little crooked, a little cocky. Then he goes back in.

And for a man who claims he doesn’t know what he’s doing—he feels amazing. A little clumsy at times, but so goddamn eager, trying everything. Long, wet strokes with his tongue. A gentle suck of your clit. Light teasing, then deeper pressure, then a low groan when you start to shake.

Every time you gasp, his hands tighten on your thighs. Every moan earns another desperate lick, another experimental flick of his tongue like he’s learning your body note by note.

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles into you, eyes fluttering shut like he’s in heaven. “Taste so good. Could stay here forever.”

Your hips buck at that, and he groans, the sound vibrating through your core. You just know his cock twitching against the sheets, untouched. This isn’t about him right now. It’s about you.

“Jason,” you whisper, barely hanging on, “fuck, you’re—so good at this—”

“Yeah?” He looks up again, lips shiny, eyes wild. “You’re close?”

You nod, breath hitching—and he dives back in. No hesitation. Just tongue and lips and soft, filthy little praises hummed into your skin until you're writhing, clutching his hair, shattering with a cry.

He doesn’t stop until your thighs shake.

Doesn’t stop even when you’re whining, overstimulated.

Doesn’t stop until you’re pulling at his hair and gasping his name.

He finally comes up for air, lips red and chin wet, looking absolutely ruined.

“Better than pancakes?” he asks, breathless.

You laugh, dragging him up for a kiss. “Jason Todd, you’re a goddamn menace.”

“Your menace,” he murmurs, already hard against your thigh.

You barely get the words out before Jason's hands are firm on your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn't keep you right there. There’s no teasing smile this time—just dark, heavy eyes and his cock already rubbing against your slick entrance, soaked from your release and the way he licked you clean.

"You keep lookin’ at me like that," he mutters, voice low and guttural, "and I’m not gonna last."

"Who said I want you to?"

That’s all it takes.

He snaps his hips forward and slides in hard, a deep, perfect stretch that knocks the air from your lungs. The moan that rips from your throat is almost a sob, but Jason just groans like you were made for him.

"Fuck—" His head drops to your shoulder, panting. "You’re so wet. You got me so fuckin’ hard, baby. Thought I was gonna blow just eating you out."

And then he starts moving. Really moving.

Not slow, not careful—he’s not the nervous virgin from last night anymore. He’s a man possessed now, dragging his cock almost all the way out before slamming it back in, rough and needy, hips smacking loud against your thighs. He watches the way your tits bounce, the way your nails dig into his arms, and grins.

"You like it like this?" he pants, voice breaking as he fucks into you. "This what you wanted, huh? Been so fuckin' sweet to me—teaching me—now I just wanna ruin you."

He catches one of your legs, throws it over his shoulder to go deeper, and you scream his name, vision going white.

Jason keeps talking. Filthy, frantic, his voice unsteady and wrecked.

"God, baby, you feel so good—can feel you squeezing me, fuck—fuck—you gonna cum again? You want me to fill you up?"

Your brain is static. You can’t even answer. Just nod, cry out, take it.

He leans down, mouth on your neck, biting softly as his thrusts get rougher. Sloppier. Losing rhythm.

"Shit—shit—I’m gonna—baby, I’m—"

You cum with him, clenching hard around his cock as he slams into you one last time, hips grinding as he spills inside you with a choked groan.

You’re both shaking.

Breathing hard.

He collapses on top of you, still inside, still panting.

"...so that was round four?" you gasp.

Jason chuckles, voice muffled against your skin. “God. Don’t tempt me with five.”

firm believer that after Jason's first time, he becomes an insatiable sex demon.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #jason todd x you #virgin!jason todd #red hood x reader #red hood smut #red hood x you #i hate tagging so much

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sierra-cedar · 2 months ago

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Cedar AWS

Take your business to the next level with the power of Amazon Web Services (AWS). Sierra Cedar is your go-to partner for AWS services. Our team helps your organization scale grow and succeed. Whether you need help with moving your infrastructure or ongoing support we have the experience and tools to assist you.

#Cedar AWS #amazon web services

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cedarspiced · 1 year ago

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i feel like gregor fucking mendel.

#i may be in excruciating pain so bad i'm nauseous but i can't afford to not go into work #but i'm not eligible for disability bc i'm too rich.#fuck you everyone in gov't with the power to improve the life of us disabled ppl who don't use that power.#fuck you capitalist system that forces everyone to work for the privilege of barely surviving at the expense of their health.#and ESPECIALLY fuck you to the nonmaskers who did this to me. i hope one day you all can experience the same awful pain i do every damn day #cedar speaks

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rafesgreasycurtainbangs · 2 days ago

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HIS GIRL’S BIRTHDAY . . .

you wake to the softest brush of lips against your temple, a warm hand gliding over your bare shoulder, tracing the curve of your arm.

the room’s hushed, early morning light barely slipping through the heavy curtains of rafe’s bedroom at tannyhill. his scent—salt, cedar, and that musky edge that’s all him—wraps around you, pulling you from sleep.

his body’s pressed close, chest flush against your back, one heavy arm draped over your waist, fingers splayed possessively across your stomach. you feel his breath, warm and slow, fanning over your skin as he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, “happy birthday, baby.”

you stir, blinking slow, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips. “mm, mornin’,” you mumble, voice thick, nestling deeper into his warmth. he chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates against you, and shifts, propping himself up on one elbow to gaze down at you.

his blue eyes are soft, crinkled at the corners with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten. his hair’s a mess, golden-brown strands falling over his forehead, and he’s got that look—like you’re the only thing in the universe worth seeing.

“c’mere,” he says, voice gravelly but warm, tugging you gently to roll onto your back. you do, and he’s right there, hovering over you, one hand cupping your face, thumb brushing your cheek slow and deliberate.

“my girl’s birthday,” he says, almost to himself, like he’s in awe. “fuck, how’d i get so lucky, huh?” he leans down, kisses you soft but deep, lips moving with purpose, like he’s pouring everything into it. you melt, hands sliding up his bare back, feeling the flex of muscle under your fingers, warm and solid.

he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, nose brushing yours. “love you so damn much,” he murmurs, “so fuckin’ grateful f’you, baby.” his hand slides to your hip, squeezing gently, pulling you closer until your legs tangle with his under the sheets, the intimacy of it making your heart race.

you nod, a little overwhelmed, voice soft. “i know. love you too, rafe.” your fingers thread through his hair, and he hums, leaning into your touch like he can’t get enough.

he’s always been touchy, craving physical closeness, always needing his hands on you—your waist, your thigh, the small of your back. but today, there’s something extra in the way he holds you, like he’s making sure you feel every ounce of how much you mean to him.

he kisses you again, deeper now, tongue sliding against yours, slow and lazy, like he’s got nowhere else to be. when he pulls away, he’s grinning, boyish but with that mischievous glint in his eyes.

“got plans f’you today, angel. whole damn day’s yours.”

you raise a brow, curious but still half-lost in the haze of his kisses. “plans? what kinda plans?”

he just smirks, tapping your nose lightly. “you’ll see. c’mon, let’s get you up. wanna start this right.”

you’re not used to this—birthdays have always been quiet for you, barely a blip on anyone’s radar, maybe a quick text or a card if you were lucky. but the way rafe’s looking at you, like today’s a holiday he’s been planning forever, makes your stomach flutter.

you sit up, stretching, and he’s already moving, grabbing one of his t-shirts from the floor and tossing it to you. “put this on, baby. you look too damn good in my clothes.”

you laugh, pulling the shirt over your head, the fabric soft and smelling like him. he watches you, eyes darkening as you stand, the hem falling just above your thighs, leaving your legs bare. “fuck,” he mutters, stepping closer, hands finding your hips.

“you’re gonna kill me today, i swear.” his grip tightens, just enough to make your pulse quicken.

“rafe,” you giggle, swatting his chest, but he catches your hand, kissing your knuckles before tugging you toward the bathroom. he’s got the shower running, steam curling in the air, and he’s undressing you with a gentleness that feels almost reverent.

his fingers linger, sliding over your hips, your waist, like he can’t help himself. “shower first,” he says, but his touch says he’s not in a rush to let you go.

you step under the warm spray, and he’s right behind you, hands roaming slow, not sexual but intimate, washing your hair with a focus that’s so rafe—careful, deliberate, like he’s savoring every second. “you’re too good to me,” you murmur, leaning back against his chest as his fingers massage your scalp.

“nah,” he says, voice soft in your ear. “you deserve this. deserve everythin’. gonna make sure you know it today.”

when you’re both out, wrapped in towels, he’s pulling you back to the bedroom, sitting you on the edge of the bed. “stay,” he says, like you’d argue, and disappears into his closet.

he comes back with a small, wrapped box, tied with a simple ribbon. your stomach flips—gifts aren’t something you’re used to, not like this.

“rafe, you didn’t have to—”

“shh,” he cuts you off, sitting beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. “open it, baby.” his hand’s on your thigh, thumb rubbing slow circles, grounding you.

you untie the ribbon, heart pounding, and lift the lid. inside is a delicate gold necklace, a tiny wave-shaped pendant glinting in the morning light. your breath catches. “rafe… this is…”

“saw it and thought of you,” he says, voice low, watching your reaction like he’s hanging on it. “like how you’re always calmin’ me down, y’know? my own little piece of the ocean.”

he takes it from the box, fastening it around your neck, fingers brushing your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “looks perfect on you.”

you touch the pendant, eyes stinging. “i’ve never… no one’s ever done this for me,” you admit, voice small. “like, made my birthday a thing.”

he curses under his breath, pulling you into his lap like it’s instinct. “fuck, baby, that’s not right. you’re…” he shakes his head, jaw tight, like the thought pisses him off. “you’re everythin’. deserve to feel like it every damn day, ‘specially today.”

you laugh softly, blinking back tears, and he kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, like he’s trying to make up for every birthday you’ve ever had that wasn’t enough. “gonna change that,” he promises, voice thick. “startin’ now.”

the day’s a whirlwind of him spoiling you. breakfast is at a seaside café, where you share pancakes and he steals bites from your plate, grinning when you roll your eyes. his hand’s on your thigh under the table, fingers brushing lazy patterns, always touching, always close.

after, he drives you to your favorite beach, the one you’ve always loved, and he’s packed a picnic—sandwiches, fruit, a bottle of wine.

you sit on a blanket, his arm around you, watching the waves as he tells you stories, makes you laugh, keeps you tucked against his side like he can’t stand the thought of you being far.

“you’re spoilin’ me,” you say at one point, half-teasing, but he just shrugs, kissing your temple.

“good. you should be spoiled.”

later, he takes you shopping, insisting on buying you a dress you’d eyed in a boutique window. “try it on f’me,” he says, leaning back in the chair outside the dressing room, and when you step out, his eyes darken, a slow smirk spreading.

“fuck, angel, you look…” he doesn’t finish, just pulls you to him, kissing you right there in the store, hands gripping your hips like he’s seconds from taking you home.

dinner’s at a rooftop restaurant, all twinkling lights and ocean views. he’s reserved a private table, and he’s watching you across it, eyes soft but intense. “you happy?” he asks, voice quiet, like he’s checking.

“happier than i’ve ever been,” you say, and you mean it. his hand finds yours, fingers lacing together, and he smiles, that rare, unguarded one that makes your heart skip.

when you’re back at tannyhill, the air feels different, charged. he’s quiet as he leads you upstairs, hand firm in yours, like he’s been waiting for this all day. in his room, he lights a few candles—something you never expected from rafe, but the soft glow casts shadows that make the moment feel sacred.

he’s behind you, hands on your shoulders, lips brushing your neck, slow and deliberate, sending heat through you.

“been thinkin’ about you all day,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low, rough with want. “my girl. wanna take care of you tonight.” his hands slide down your arms, fingers brushing the straps of your dress, and you shiver, leaning back into him.

“rafe,” you whisper, turning in his arms, and he’s right there, eyes locked on yours, so close you can feel his breath. he kisses you, deep and slow, hands roaming your back, pulling you flush against him until there’s no space left.

the dress slips to the floor, pooling at your feet, and he groans softly, hands gripping your hips, your waist, like he’s starving for you.

“so fuckin’ beautiful,” he says, voice thick, guiding you to the bed with a gentleness that makes your heart pound. he lays you down, hovering over you, his weight a comforting press as he kisses you again, slow and teasing, building a heat that’s almost unbearable. “you okay, baby?” he checks, thumb brushing your cheek, eyes searching yours.

“yeah, ‘m good,” you murmur, pulling him closer, hands sliding over his shoulders. “just… want you.”

he smiles against your lips, kissing you deeper, hands exploring every inch of you like he’s memorizing you. “gonna take my time,” he says, voice a low growl, dripping with intent. “make you feel so good, angel.”

he starts slow, lips trailing down your neck, your collarbone, kissing every inch of skin like he’s worshipping you. his hands are everywhere—sliding over your hips, your thighs, fingers brushing just close enough to make you tremble but not enough to satisfy.

he’s deliberate, teasing, watching your reactions, the way you arch into his touch, the soft gasps you let out when his lips find a sensitive spot.

“look at you,” he murmurs, lips against your stomach, hands gripping your hips. “so fuckin’ perfect f’me.” he’s coaxing, voice soft but commanding, like he’s guiding you through every sensation.

his kisses dip lower, and you’re already a mess, hands fisting the sheets, breath hitching as he takes his time, drawing it out until you’re practically begging.

“rafe, please,” you whisper, voice shaky, and he looks up, eyes dark with want but still so soft, so focused on you.

“i got you, baby,” he says, voice soothing but firm. “just relax f’me. gonna make you feel good.” he moves back up, kissing you deep, tongue sliding against yours as his hand slips between your thighs, slow and deliberate, fingers finding you with a precision that makes you gasp.

he’s gentle but commanding, working you with a rhythm that has you trembling, every touch calculated to push you higher.“fuck, you’re so good,” he groans, voice rough, lips brushing your ear. “so tight, so perfect. all mine.” he’s praising you constantly, words dripping with that drawl, each one sinking into you, making you feel cherished, wanted.

his other hand grips your hip, keeping you steady as he builds the tension, slow and steady, until you’re right on the edge, whimpering, clinging to him.

“rafe,” you gasp, and he’s there, kissing you through it, coaxing you with soft murmurs of “c’mon, baby, let go f’me” and “you’re doin’ so good.”

when you come undone, it’s overwhelming, your body shaking as he holds you close, whispering how proud he is, how perfect you are.

he’s not done, though. he kisses you again, slower now, hands roaming as he positions himself over you, eyes locked on yours. “you with me?” he checks, voice low, thumb brushing your cheek.

“yeah,” you breathe, nodding, still dizzy but wanting more, wanting him. “please, rafe.”

he groans, low and guttural, like your words undo him. “fuck, angel,” he murmurs, kissing you soft as he lines himself up, slow and careful, like he’s savoring every second. when he moves, it’s deliberate, deep, his forehead pressed to yours, eyes never leaving you. “so good,” he whispers, voice tight with restraint. “so fuckin’ good f’me.”

he’s slow at first, letting you adjust, every thrust measured, steady, filling you in a way that makes your breath catch. his hands are everywhere—one gripping your hip, the other sliding up to cup your face, thumb brushing your lip as he murmurs,

“you feel that? how perfect you are? made f’me.” his voice is rough, raw, but so tender it makes your chest ache.

you’re whimpering, hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he picks up the pace just slightly, still careful but deeper, harder. “rafe,” you gasp, and he groans, kissing you messy, all tongue and teeth, like he can’t hold back anymore.

“love you like this,” he says against your lips, voice breaking with want. “all soft and needy f’me. my perfect girl.” he’s coaxing you again, guiding you higher, every word and touch calculated to make you lose yourself in him.

his hand slides down, fingers working you again, slow circles that match his rhythm, and you’re trembling, overwhelmed, every nerve on fire.

“c’mon, baby,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, your neck. “let me feel you again. know you can. so good f’me.” he’s relentless but gentle, pushing you toward the edge with every thrust, every word, his touch everywhere—your hips, your thighs, your face, like he can’t stop touching you.

when you fall apart again, it’s with a cry of his name, and he’s right there, kissing you through it, murmuring,

“that’s it, angel. fuck, you’re so perfect.” he follows soon after, a low groan against your neck, his body trembling as he holds you close, kissing your skin, whispering how much he loves you, how you’re everything.

after, he’s still touching you, pulling you into his chest, wrapping you in his arms. “best birthday yet?” he asks, voice teasing but soft, kissing your forehead.

you laugh, breathless, nuzzling closer. “you have no idea.”

he chuckles, tugging the blanket over you both, keeping you close. “good. ‘cause this is how it’s gonna be, baby. every year, just you and me.”

⩇⩇:⩇⩇

𓂅 taglist ― @littlelamy @dollyfiles @drewstarkeyswife0 @icaqttt @urcoolgf @camercns @pointocean @dsfault @rafestoothbrush @huhidontknowstuff @drewssgirl

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lazysoulwriter · 2 months ago

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sweetest surprise - pedro pascal.

requested! hope you like it, sweetie! - requested are open. i don’t usually write anything involving kids, since it’s not really my vibe — but this one felt special and i really wanted to do it. hope you like it! it turned out super soft and sweet. 💛

---

Pedro had no idea.

Which was rare. He usually had that sixth sense husbands develop—the one where they know something is up just by the way you sigh or stir your coffee. But this time? Nothing.

He thought you were still in L.A., stuck with work and a tiny person with glitter in her curls who refused to nap. He didn’t even question it when you sent a voice note that morning full of sleepy yawns and background cartoons.

Little did he know, you were already in New York, standing in the elevator of his building, your daughter buzzing beside you like she’d had three cups of hot cocoa.

"Shhh," you whispered with a soft laugh, pressing a finger to your lips. She grinned, bouncing slightly. "But I wanna say happy birthday now." "I know, meu amor. But let’s do it right, okay? We knock. Then we yell." "Then we hug!" she added, very seriously. You smiled, smoothing a curl away from her forehead. “Exactly.”

The elevator dinged, and your heart did that thing it always did right before you saw him—skipped, fluttered, soared. No matter how many years or miles or mornings apart.

You knocked. Three soft taps.

From inside, you heard movement, a small grunt of confusion, and then his voice—warm, groggy, curious.

"...Hello?"

You could picture him already—barefoot, hair wild, probably wearing that worn gray tee that hung just right.

You knocked again. This time, your daughter couldn't hold it. "Happy birthday, Daddy!" she squealed, muffled behind the door. There was a pause. A beat. And then—

"Wait—wait a second—” The door flung open.

There he was.

Pedro froze for a second. His face crumpled into disbelief, then joy so pure it hit you like a wave. You barely managed a “Surprise…” before he was pulling both of you in, one arm around your waist, the other lifting your daughter clean off the ground as she giggled into his neck.

“Qué carajo,” he whispered, holding her tight. “Mi corazón. Look at you.”

“I helped with the plan,” she declared proudly. “We flew! And I had apple juice on the plane.” Pedro laughed, eyes glistening. He looked at you over her shoulder. “You did all this?” You shrugged, smiling. “We missed you.” He leaned in, kissing your forehead, then your cheek, then finally your lips—slow, grateful, like he needed a moment just to breathe you in.

Inside, everything smelled like him. Cedar, coffee, the candle he always lit on Sunday mornings. You slipped off your shoes and sank into the space that always felt like home, no matter the city.

Pedro sat on the couch, your daughter curled up on his chest like she’d never left. He looked down at her, brushing a hand over her soft curls, his expression all melted edges and quiet awe.

“She grew,” he said softly. “Didn’t she?” You nodded, settling beside him. “Every day. You blink and she’s taller.”

He looked at you again, and his voice broke just a little. “Thank you. For coming. This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.” You tucked yourself into his side, hand over his heart. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Later, he opened the tiny, glitter-covered card she’d made him. It was more stickers than words, but he kept running his thumb over it like it was treasure.

That night, when she was asleep between you in his bed—her little body wrapped around Pedro’s arm like a koala—he looked at you in the soft glow of the hallway light and whispered,

“We’re so lucky.” You smiled. “We really are.” And then, just before sleep pulled you under—his fingers found yours under the blanket. Warm, steady. Home.

---

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #bd!pedro pascal #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfics #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fics #pedro pascal one shot #x reader #pp

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 4 months ago

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the long drag of a cigarette.

smoke floods his lungs, in sticky streams, glides into his throat and burns the back of it with a scorpion's sting. nicotine kissing his gums. he exhales, watches as the toxins form a cloud of gray, polluting the air — keeps the cigarette poised between his fingers as the bottom end crumbles to ash. the orange spark left by his lighter has all but faded, he can’t taste anything but slow, sweet decay. tender rot in his lungs.

suguru watches you, out of the corner of his eye.

it’s rare for him to have company, at this time of day. with such awful weather, to boot. that’s why his eyes can’t help but wander, to your figure, your vacant expression. the sight of it makes his bones twitch. you’ve been sitting there since he arrived, barely moving. you look young, scrawny, clothes too big for your body. there’s mud on your shoes and the cuffs of your jeans; their edges frayed and damaged, like you’ve been walking down concrete and puddles all day. your skin glistens with leftover dewdrops.

the air smells of rain. he likes it, despite his frizzy black locks, likes the contrast between the sting of the smoke and the life in the air, a summer soon to pass him by. he tastes it when he parts his lips and allows himself a tender inhale, earth and leaves and ripened clusters of honeydew being split into halves. when he looks down at the ground, he finds his own reflection; a silhouette in the puddle at his feet, ripples tearing his face in half. he looks weary. lilac smudges underneath his eyes, hair raised into an unkempt bun, the silver sliver of piercings on his bottom lip and helix catching the dim light of the lamp overhead. they gleam, in the humid air.

(he got them on a whim. a tattoo would be the next step, but he has no idea what design to choose.

mostly, he just wants to feel the sting.)

a choked out sound. it snaps him back into reality, plants roots and vines around his feet. suguru watches you, with eyes of burning cedar, tastes the visage of your image on his teeth and on his tongue.

for a moment, your gaze overlaps with his own. fickle eyes. you’re covering your mouth, staring at the cigarette only centimeters from their mark —

and he understands the issue. can see your eyes water from the smoke. it’s only you and him here, no one else who can complain or chew him out, just you and him outside the tiny konbini, by an alley littered with trash bags and hungry strays; cats, ravens.

you.

”… sorry,” he hums, vocal cords roughed up, lacking their usual luster. he doesn’t like the way it sounds. ”i’ll put it out.”

he crushes the cigarette under his boot. it falls on the concrete without making any noise, pliant as he makes it crumble apart, dissolve into black soot. dirty rainwater swallows what remains.

with a rustle of fabric, he digs through the plastic bag hanging off his arm — searching for a bottle of water to moisten his dry throat, uncapping the lid and relishing as it flows against tender flesh. it feels nice, to have this routine. to come here every day, and have himself a silent smoke. suguru enjoys the structure. enjoys what little semblance of control he can get, after leaving his old life behind.

(after crushing his potential under the heel of his boot. his ears still ring with gunshots at night, but the silent death has strayed its course.

buddha, he thinks, lips twitching with a withheld smile. look at what a spectacle i’ve become.)

no words from you grace his ears. you duck your head, as if scared of the sudden attention, of his voice. he belatedly regrets his lack of consideration — wishes he had twisted it into a softer shape for the fickle creature to his left. but you aren’t coughing anymore, only sitting there with your legs dangling off the edge of the bench. with those lifeless eyes, a fish about to be gutted, just as weary as his.

like you’re about to fade into slumber. fade out of existence.

even after all these years, even without sorcery — suguru can sense death. his instincts are forever honed. what he smells on you is decay, the same as the ache in his rotting lungs. you look famished, trembling fingers finding purchase in your lap, picking at a piece of lint on your jeans.

the sight makes his heart ache. breaks it apart, like an unripened fruit, splits and tears down the middle. you look so small, so weak. so very, very vulnerable.

a moment’s hesitation.

suguru’s hand slips back into the bag, ghosts against a styrofoam cup and pack of wakaba cigarettes, before his fingers finally settle and curl around a soft, triangular object. wrapped up in neat sheets of plastic, still slightly warm to the touch. perfect.

he gives you a glance, and finds you’re already looking at him. eyes droopy with fatigue, but moving down his fingers, almost curiously. watching him pull out the cheap onigiri and cradle it in his palm.

ah, now you’re looking away. skittish — he tastes the word on his tongue, allows his eyes to run from the bridge of your nose to the tips of your fingers. you’re coiled in on yourself, almost as if waiting for a blow. and oh, it hurts him, even though he isn’t sure why. even though he can’t recall the last time his heart felt this wet with pity. he feeds the cats around here, sometimes, but they never look so sad.

”are you hungry?”

the words have left his mouth long before he can regret them. and suguru is pleased, to notice his voice has peeled itself of the rasp, invited smooth, silky vowels. he sounds kind, he thinks. hopes.

but you still look uncomfortable. he must appear intimidating, to you. tall, pierced, long hair and sleepless eyes. a handsome face does no good when you don’t even have the courage to look at it properly. you shift in your seat, not meeting his eyes.

no response.

that’s just fine.

”here.” he takes a seat on the bench, at the very edge, careful not to come too close. you jolt, but stay, as he unfurls his palm. ”you can have it.”

cautious eyes meet his own. still just for a moment, a flicker of light when you tip your head a certain way. then it’s gone, and your eyes are just lifeless again. he’s seen it before, in mirrors. he’s all too familiar with the act of drowning on land.

”go on.”

he tries his hand at a smile. voice a low lull, coaxing you forward, still patiently holding out the onigiri.

a growl of your stomach. it’s barely audible, but he picks up on it, watches the way you clutch at your abdomen as if to muffle the noise. ducking your head, again, a bit of colour blooming in your cheeks.

finally, a feeble hand reaches for his own.

so you do have it in you.

”… thank you,” comes a murmur, a little scratchy. but soft, just rusty. how polite. he watches as your shaky fingers curl around the plastic, bring it to your lap.

suguru takes notice of your body language. still skittish, your shoe tapping at the concrete as if restless, eager to get away. but you’re more relaxed than when he first spoke to you. it feels good.

feels right.

(feels like something he’d forgotten.)

”how old are you?” he asks, uncapping the lid of his water bottle, just to place it next to you. hand reaching into his pocket, to pull out his lighter, her lighter, worn with age. ”if you don’t mind me asking.”

no response. you fumble with the plastic wrapping, having difficulty getting it off. the nori tears, he can tell from the way you mouth a wince. without thinking, he’s taking it from off your hands — practiced, as he unfurls it, peels the plastic and fishes out the rice ball. while he does, you finally speak, in a voice just barely raised above a whisper.

”… ’m in college.”

a quirk of his brow. ”… are you?”

you nod. suguru gives back the snack, watches as you take a bite, listens to the crunch of seaweed and the quiet hum you let out as you chew. softly, slowly, as if savouring the taste. he isn’t sure whether to believe you or not. you’re younger than him, that much he’s certain of. ”… sure you’re not a runaway?”

it’s half a joke, half a question. he’s smiling, but your brows furrow together, face set into tense lines.

”… i just don’t have anywhere to go, right now.”

another bite. crunch, chew, swallow. he watches your throat bob, waits for the quiet gulp.

”that’s all.”

…

”i see.” he taps his fingers against the hood of the lighter, snaps it open and shut, a gaping mousetrap. ”that’s unfortunate. and your college can’t help?”

this time, he gets no response. you must already feel uncomfortable, sharing your troubles with a stranger. he understands, but an itch still gnaws at his bones.

trust is a fickle thing.

suguru watches you eat, and tries to calm the rising desire in his chest. warmth spreads throughout his stomach, at the sight, creeps into his veins. a coo on the tip of his tongue that he has to swallow down. he feels no need to have anything of his own, no real desire to fill his empty stomach. he only wants to watch, watch, watch, as you feast on what he brings you. he wants to watch you eat forever. it’s a sudden thought; his stomach twists with ill-content.

a deep, aching pit.

sometimes, he can still feel them. wriggling around in his womb, fighting for space as they crawl up his esophagus. all the curses they had him vomit up.

he thinks he must have lost something, back then. thrown up more than he should have. a lung, maybe. his heart, his human heart.

no running soothes the longing. it’s a losing battle, to struggle against it, to not be swallowed underwater when he keeps his eyes shut for too long and finds he no longer remembers how to suffocate the urge. when he realizes life still feels like dragging mud into whatever house will keep him. there is a burning hole inside him, something left it there, a hollow space that only ever deepens, sinks a blade into his chest.

what could fill it?

who could fill it?

(you, you, you, his gut supplies.

you, and your fragile bones.)

a shiver travels down his spine. it’s gone as soon as it came, because now you’re licking the grains of rice from off your fingers, like a cat lapping at the white bones of a grilled fish. he thinks it’s cute, thinks you look perfect after a little meal. eating so well for him, out of his hand. you look less fatigued, less droopy, and suguru feels more alive than he can remember.

for a moment, ill-chosen, he pictures you in his home. seated at his kitchen table, legs dangling underneath it, your fingers guiding warm stew and freshly made bread into your waiting mouth. pictures you soaking in his bathtub, napping on the couch while the tv flickers on and off, wrapped up in blankets and resting on silken sheets, waiting for him… he plays with the idea, for a while. isn’t sure where it came from, just knows he wants it.

and god, how long has it been since he felt desire?

”was it good?” he asks, suddenly, a smile playing at his lips, branches blooming with wisteria. ”tasty?”

a nod. he takes what he can get; dares not be greedy, when you’re already letting him so close. he wants you to trust him more than anything, right now, in this moment, more than he wants to breathe. more than he wants to ruin himself. you’re small, unsteady on your feet, all alone in the world. and you just happened to end up at the konbini he frequents.

suguru geto does not believe in fate.

he does believe in meaning.

(the word sears a burning gap into his tongue.)

”i’m glad,” he says, the hum of a buzzing dragonfly, slipping the lighter back into his pocket. he stands up, to his full height, breathes in the humid summer air and lets it stifle his lungs. he ponders, ponders, ponders. figures he can let himself be a little selfish, after all the years he spent eating himself alive. the gift of a bleeding heart left on the counter to cool.

just this once, suguru doesn’t look to the rotting innards in his stomach for guidance — he takes.

and the rainy day surrenders to the longing in his lungs.

”i know this is sudden, but would you like to come with me?”

his voice is silky, clusters of jasmine buds and honey, deep and warm and rumbling through his chest. you look up at him with big eyes. surprise, he wonders, or just caution? it’s good to be on edge, either way.

just not with him.

”i’m a social worker, of sorts,” a little white lie, just to get your guard down, just to soften the lining. ”if you have nowhere to go, you could come with me. just until you get back on your feet. of course, i don’t expect you to trust a man you just met, but…”

he eyes your clothes, your face, the decay sticking itself to your soul.

(it seems to me like you’re out of safe choices.)

”i’d like to help you, if possible.”

suguru tilts his head. you meet his low-lidded eyes — a look of bewilderment crossing your features. eyeing him, warily, as if expecting him to pull the rug from under your feet, pull a dagger out of his coat. his bangs sway like dying ravens hung out to dry.

trust is a fickle thing. he doesn’t mind. it’ll take you some time to adjust to his presence, he’s well aware.

”… what do you get out of it?”

your voice cuts into the air, the sharp edge of a blade. something like a hiss, but not quite; he senses the fear there, the trepidation. you’re guarded, that’s all.

it’s a good question.

company. duty. something to fill the pit in his chest.

meaning, meaning, meaning.

”… like i said,” he exhales, wearing a smile, eyes narrowed into slits. ”i just want to help. that’s all.”

and it’s true. he does want to help. wants to water your roots, watch you flourish before him. how long has it been since he felt responsible for anything other than himself? he remembers satoru and shoko and a myriad of dying plants. he wants to keep you tucked under his wing, safe and secure, where he can make sure no more harm befalls you. the world has already run you ragged — he knows, he can tell, you’re one and the same. the world has soiled you too. he knows, he knows, but you’re safe now.

ask a dying man what he wants, and you will get only one answer. but suguru has always been greedy.

he wants to make breakfast for two, and sleep with his chest to your back. but can’t tell you that. has to coax you into it, slowly, treat you with the caution you’d use to bandage a fawn’s broken leg. he thinks you’d feel right at home, with him. his apartment is on the smaller side, but he could adjust to your needs. he has more blood money than he knows what to do with. as long as you feel welcomed.

”i don’t need anything in return.”

tobacco lingers in the air, melts into the heavy scent of wet asphalt and rain, hugs his skin. suguru watches you, watches you, watches you. from the twitch of your pinkie to the tap of your shoe against concrete to the flicker in your eyes when you realize he’s being serious, when you fall into the half-truth.

trust is a fickle thing. it sweeps you in when your guard is down. leaves just as quickly.

(but a human being at their lowest will always want a hand to guide them.)

”… where do you work?”

suguru eyes ripen. a smile tugs his lips into a crescent moon, a silent victory.

”i’ll tell you.” he reaches his hand out, hungry for contact, lets his open palm hang in the air. ”but first… what would you say to a warm dinner?”

he watches your pupils waver. ripples along water, a dirty puddle in the street. he can almost see his own silhouette, a looming figure, gazing down at you with piercing golden eyes. he could fit you in his pocket, he thinks. you’d feel right at home in his lap.

ugly, ugly thoughts. the phantom curses in his stomach twist with glee, and suguru ignores their taunting. he thinks of neither god nor buddha.

(free of rot, but just as filthy.)

a smaller hand approaches his.

#i like it when he is a little fucked in the head <3 #enjoy my lovelies #geto x reader #geto x you #getou suguru x reader #suguru x reader

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wakandamama · 8 days ago

Text

Mail Call!: Returned to Sender📨

Here's the sequel to Letter of Lust ya'll! I'm so happy yall loved it as much as I did. Also translations at the bottom! 😊

Part 1: Letter of Lust

----

Smoke returns home from war and makes good on his promises to fulfil his woman.

“Elijah…. Th-the door, baby. Folks gonna see us!”

“Fuck ‘em. Let ‘em know I’m home. Let ‘em know I’m finna eat.”

Smoke returns home and makes good to fulfil his woman’s needs.

Even though the newspapers say that the war is over, Annie is still missing her soldier. It had been a month and not a word, or a letter or a token had been sent her way. It makes her work her root harder in worry, extending that part of her soul out just a tad more to hopefully cover even more of her man. Annie pulls her time piece out of her pocket, holds it close to her ear and sighs to hear it still ticking steadily.

It is the gift that Elijah sent to her after his first six months in deployment; he had written that it was to make up for how short or sloppy his letters may be. It is a classy and simple pocket watch, silver and white gold with ivy detailing around the border and a capital cursive A engraved on the back. As soon as it was in her hands she tied a red thread around the winding knob and called for eyes upon him. As long as it ticked, she knew Elijah's heart was beating.

Annie sighs and settles the watch on her vanity then returns to stripping out of the rest of her jewelry and clothes of the day. She gets the fourth button of her dress loose when a sharp creak from her porch step catches her ear. Annie grabs her straight blade and starts to the front door, with a quick whisper to her ancestors for strength before she swings her door open with a hard glare in her eyes.

Annie’s blade drops to the ground at the sight in front of her.

There Smoke stood.

His uniform shirt is neat but sweat soaks around the collar and the jacket rests in the crook of his elbow. His deployment bag is at his feet and a bundle of pink lilies and roses clutched in his thick fist that starts to tremble at the sight of her. Smoke’s other hand was poised to knock, it instead reaches forward and cups Annie’s cheek as he steps on to the threshold of her home.

“Damn, can’t a man at least knock?” He tries to joke, but his voice is thick with emotion and his eyes go watery. Annie grasps his hand so it presses against her skin and she can feel how warm blooded and alive her man is.

“Ife mi! O ṣeun fun fifun ifẹ mi pada.” Annie breathes, as tears start to flow from her eyes and she kisses the palm of Smoke’s hand. She feels his trembling thumb rub the tears back into her skin for a moment as a look of awe fills his eyes. Annie swallows while bringing her hands up to the sides of his neck, a sigh of relief is shared between them when she presses in and feels Smoke’s pulse under her fingertips.

Strong, steady, lovely and alive. Her Elijah was alive and well and back with her at last.

Smoke melts at such softness and care. Both of them close their eyes as their forehead gently meets and they share a deep breath together. Annie breathes in the smell of him, eucalyptus soap and cedar. Smoke takes a deep pull of her scent all floral, herbal and citrus.

Instantly the man tosses the bouquet and jacket to the side so he can surge forward, both of his hands slip forward to hold her face. Smoke locks Annie into a deep and feverish kiss.

The urgency and power of his strong steps forces Annie to step back as well, her hands slip down from his neck to grasp onto his firm biceps to anchor herself and kiss back just as passionately. Both hum, then moan between the smack of their lips and bump of their noses until finally Annie has to pull back for air.

“Elijah!” she cries, cheer coloring her breathless pants and Smoke gives her his signature shy grin. Annie hums to see a peak of gold on the left side of his mouth.

“Annie. Oh my Annie.” he says back, his hands raking down her sides until they rest in their rightful places on her hips. Smoke kisses into her neck like a teasing schoolboy and Annie giggles as his mustache tickles her hot skin. Smoke pauses to kiss her cheek with a wet smack, “Need err’ part of ya.” He groans in her ear with a tooth grazing her lobe.

Smoke starts at Annie’s temple with a tender shallow brush of lips, another faint kiss to the apple of her cheek, both of them chuckle as he pecks her nose. Finally Smoke comes back to her mouth, Annie moans as she takes the taste of tobacco and mint off his tongue once more. Annie grips a fistful of his shirt in each hand as Smoke takes his time to explore her mouth; tongue to tongue, teeth clashing, her bottom lip bit gently then soothed wetly.

Annie’s brows furrow for a moment, her hands go to his belt in a desperate and clumsy attempt to loosen it before Smoke has her eyes rolling back. Smoke lets off her lips to start trailing those kisses down her chin, then down the front of her throat. Annie gives a whiny choke when Smoke presses deep kisses onto the tender and sensitive flesh, lips sucking in time with her pulse until he is right over her heart pressing in a hickey.

Annie hisses, clutching the leather of his belt then hums in pleasure when Smoke’s hands leave her hip to cup each of her breasts in his wide hands. He presses his callous thumbs in, then circles her nipples until he teases them hard through the linen of her daydress.

Smoke goes back to licking the sweat off her throat as his hand yanks down through the rest of her buttons and the breeze of the room hits her bare front. Annie gasps at the coolness, her hands going limp at her sides and Smoke surges the two of them back until Annie is forced to sit in the plush armchair in the living room. Smoke stands solid and triumphant between her thick quaking thighs.

Annie licks the sweat off her upper lip with lustful eyes at the heavy bulge tenting through his uniform trousers, her hand shoots forward and grasps it firmly. Smoke moans to the ceiling at her heavenly touch, slowly she rubs Smoke’s dick through fabric as if trying to sense each part of it by touch. Her nails trace faintly across his balls and Smoke’s bucking makes her mouth water for the girth of him to grace her throat.

She can only get his belt unbuckled when Smoke abruptly grabs her hand and bends down to start kissing her fingers tips. Annie smiles and tries to pull her hand away but Smoke keeps trailing kisses up the back of it. He then turns her hand and presses his lush lips to the pulse point of her wrist. Going from a bend to a kneel Annie watches Smoke descend down until he kneels between her legs and leaves a hickey on her inner elbow.

Annie’s other hand cups the back of his head, massaging through his rough curls. A giddy heat fills her belly to know that he had forsaken his brother’s plea for a haircut to get back to her quicker.

That heat drops to her pelvis as his lips smoothly go from her arm to burying his face in her lap. Smoke uses his nose and a massage to the back of her knees to gently pry her thighs further apart so he can praise the plump flesh with wet kisses. With a teasing tongue he starts at the middle of her thighs. Giving each one a peppering of kisses and light bites, his hand firmly rubbing up and down her outer thighs until his hands grasp the soft flesh of her hips.

It’s only for a minute before impatience to satisfy a craving, that only a musk covered scarp of her nightgown barely satiated, fills Smoke. Annie whimpers, throwing her head back as he kisses her lower lip with a suckling peck before his tongue drags through the crease made by the meeting of her pussy’s pouch and inner thigh. Annie bucks forward as Smoke’s nails dig crescent into the meat of her hips and her right leg is swiftly mounted onto his shoulder.

The breeze outside loudly jingles her windchimes on the porch and Annie goes wide-eyed to see she was staring at glittering blue glass and the purple clouds of a sunset through her open front door. A spike of concern and a sense of indecency fills Annie in that moment. She tries to slow her man down by bringing her legs together just to grunt as Smoke forces them to stay open with a new strength that Annie knew promised to wreck her.

She’s only able to cup the side of his head with a shaky hand, gently pulling at his ear for his attention; she is nearly sent off course again as he teases open her folds with a finger.

“Elijah…. Th-the door, baby. Folks gonna see us!”

“Fuck ‘em. Let ‘em know I’m home. Let ‘em know I’m finna eat.” Smoke speaks into her pussy, words husky in arousal.

“Th-the cha-air?” she tries to argue and she flinches with a whine as he brashily slap her tender pussy with his hand. As if to punish that wild thought of modesty.

“Imma getcha a throne. Just be good ‘n fuck dis face, baby.”

Smoke’s minty breath puffing over her core causes Annie to jitter. Her hands clutch the arms of the chair as his nose opens her and he can wrap his tongue around the pearl of her pussy with a sweet suck.

“Orun ran mi lowo!” Annie whines aloud as Smoke’s tongue coax a heat to fill her belly and she fuck his face back in turn. Smoke peers up at her, nose to beard wet with her juices paired with a lustful glint in his eyes as he forces her to watch two fingers disappear into her body.

“Emi ni idahun re.” he whispers to her clit, flicking that pearl at the end of each word. Annie’s eyes go teary as he holds them in a stare and gives a wide lick over the front of her coozs before swallowing into her again.

Smoke’s free hand squeezes his leaking dick tightly as Annie's breathless moans excite him. Her pussy rewards him with a juicy squirt that nearly chokes him, yet he swallows and dives his fingers faster into her to coax out more. Smoke finally shakes his belt completely open then pulls down the long zipper of his trousers letting his dick spring free. He’s rock hard and quickly he starts to stoke himself to the taste of his Annie.

“Right ‘ere Poppa, ri-ri, fuck! I can’t stop- ya gotta-her so wet! Elijah! Poppa!” Annie pleads. She bucks when Smoke groans vibrates within her as she tightly grips his curls in one hand. Annie faintly catches on to the obscene slick sound of Smoke jerking himself but it quickly fades away as he curls his finger in a special way to set a coil off in her belly.

“Fuck! I’m gon- I gonna-”

Annie can’t spit out her words past the crying moan as her orgasm crashes upon her and she floods Smoke’s face with the result. Her hand presses his head in deep, her thighs trap him still as she cums, yet her man powers though steadily pressing that button and slurping down every drop her coozs gave him.

Smoke brings his head up with his face dipping, beads of cum and salvia drip through his beard to sprinkle over Annie’s shivering thighs. Her man wipes his face roughly with his free hand then groans as her wets his dick with it leaning back so he she can watch. Annie bites her lips in at the sight of his throbbing and leaking dick bouncing in his hand as he braces himself to stand up.

Annie strikes forward, her hand snatches into his shirt collar. Smoke gasps as her tight fist rips off the top two buttons when she drags him up and into her face. Smoke has to brace himself on the arms of the chair to not fall over her and Annie uses the angle to her advantage.

Their lips crash into one another once more. Annie licks herself off his gums and Smoke chases into her mouth further to get it back. The smack of their lips nearly distracts her from her goal but the hot wet tip of his dick pokes her navel and Annie drags her hand down to it.

“Wait. Baby.” Smoke pleads breathlessly and Annie shakes her head before kissing into his ear as her hand gripes the base of his shaft. Her middle finger curls between his balls before cupping them with a gentle squeeze that makes Smoke hiss and shake his head in disbelief. He pants as he tries to snatch back from her but grunts when Annie bites his ear lobe in reprimand before her soft hand firmly grips his velvety girth and starts to stoke him.

“Dontcha snatch a’way from me! I been missing that dick, poppa. It ain’t fair you getta taste and I can’t even getta feel.” she grits into his ear before kissing under it and placing her share of hickies onto him. Annie runs her hands through the pool in her lap slicking her hand up before going back to jacking his dick. Her gut clenches every time the head of it pokes her belly and Smoke can’t help but whimper while his eyes roll at her touch.

“Please! I’m already leakin’, Ann. Let me put it in ya.” Smoke whines as he finally staggers to a stand. Before he can try to control the situation once more, Annie scoots forward in the chair! She grabs his hips to force hims still and steady letting his dick tap against her lips and chin as he stabilizes. Smoke looks down in awe at the scene; Annie’s wet and dark doe-like eyes stare him down lustfully, her lips glossed and puffy, her damp tiddies heaving with laborious breath. The pink of her tongue darts out and licks along the curve of him, teasing that vein on the side of his member just as her letters promised to do.

“Shit.” he whispers as Annie gives his leaking tip a sloppy kiss before taking him down her throat with a heavy gulp. Smoke throws his head back with a groan, hands grasping the afros puffs on either side of her head. He hissing out random cuss words, the nigga couldn’t think of a coherent sentence at all in answer to her actions.

Annie uses her nails to scratch into his hip then down the V of his pelvis until they brace against the front of his thighs while her head nods on him. Annie lets up until Smoke’s shaft is halfway out her mouth before swallowing back down to the base with a wet suck. It only takes a minute of this before his dick jumps with need and the movement choke Annie as he bucks.

“Nah, dontcha choke now. You wanted dis.” Smoke tries to tease, he croaks out a chuckle when Annie swats the back of his thigh then quickens her soul snatching pace. Annie’s glare gives him a mild warning before they close once again, tears pearling out the corners, her man was rich tasting in her mouth.

Smoke goes to speak but is shut up by her humming on him. Annie pulls him out her mouth slowly with the vibrato until his dick drags fully out of her mouth with a plop. Her lips enclose his tip, tongue swirling his head like a honey flavored sucker.

Smoke cums with a guff shout that echoes out the open door. His only warning is a sharp jerk forward and twisting of Annie’s afro puffs. Annie opens her mouth wide as he nuts over her face and chest, licking it off both lips before swallowing his seed.

“Sorry poppa… I needed that real bad.” Annie says light with a flutter of her eyelashes when peers up at him and Smoke can’t help but cup her face in his steady hands.

He kisses her forehead, “Dontcha ever apologize for your needs, baby. Never to me, just let me get em for ya. C’mon gotta get to bed.” Smoke says gruffly, Annie yelps then giggles as he bends down and sweeps her up in a princess carry. She tightly hugs around shoulders and tries to balance them so he will set her feet down. Smoke scoffs and dips her the opposite way with a playful kiss.

“Elijah! You ain’t gotta show off.” Annie laughs before humming in approval at the feel of his thick and firm chest.

“Imma show ya something ‘ight. Mrs. Moore.” Smoke rambles as he finally kicks her front door close and takes her back to the bedroom.

“I ain’t tired!” Annie warns. Smoke gives her a quick kiss as he settles her on the mattress. She pulls the rest of her dress off, tossing it to the floor and leaving herself completely bare in front of him. Smoke eyes survey every part of her, taking in every inch of her rich and soft skin hungry makes his jaw flex to bite into her tender flesh.

“Who da fuck said a word ‘bout sleepin’ ? Just lay there and breathe, let me get this dick ready for ya.” he tells her.

Now it is Annie's turn to observe him, his brown had gotten darker from the harsh sun of war, nicks on his shoulders and chest from scrapes and grazes of close calls in combat. Where his muscles were once lean fitting, they had thickened, filled and firmed from his time half way across the world. Smoke’s dick starts to twitch and Annie hums as she goes to turn over on all fours (their usual position), Smoke stalks onto bed like a lion on the hunt and rolls her onto her back.

“Nah, I gotta see that face of yours. Pictures ain’t doing it no mo.” Smoke declares as he nudges her legs open. Annie grunts in surprise then moans as he folds one of her legs to her chest and wraps the other around his waist.

Smoke settles on top of her, kissing her deep and slow while his limp dick lays against her pussy in preparation. The two lovers make out for a minute Annie rubs him down where she can, noting every ridge of muscle and scar under her finger tips. Finally, her hands rest on the sides of his neck again, feeling his strong pulse and the coarse black cord of the mojo bag on him. Annie sighs in relief as she feels Smoke’s dick harden and bob once again, the tip of it slides across her lower belly before pulling off then slowly entering into her.

Inch by inch, until all seven and a half inches stretches her open with tight fulfillment. God, can Annie still take him? It had been so long, had her pussy forgotten him? Once Smoke bottoms out, he’s moaning in her face and Annie devoured it.

“Ya so tight Annie, ya grippin me. God I missed ya.” He mutters into her ear pulling out a few inches then trusting back in. They cry out together as the headboard thumps the wall. Smoke gives her three more slow, deep thrusts that keep him pressed into her chest before shaking his head and quickening the pace. Desperate to hear the sounds of her hips slapping his.

Annie moans out, yes’es and Oh’s of pleasure puff out her lips for him. One hand stays laid against the side of his neck while the other hands grips the sheets in a tight fist. Smoke places his hands over hers, forcing Annie’s fingers to splay out so he can hold it in place for her.

“Gonna have to measure ya fingers, get em fitted for a ring. You my wife now. Ya know that?” Smoke declares, words barely louder than the creak of the bed.

“Ye-yessss, s-s-ir” Annie sputters before her mouth stretches out in a silent cry of pleasure. Smoke bites that wet bottom lips of Annie’s, digging her knee further into her chest so he can hit that spot in her again.

“Gonna build ya a shop, can’t have no dusty ass niggas up in my house smellin’ my woman. They don’t needa know how good this pussy is.” Smoke states again, looking into Annie's eyes and smirking as they roll back before she can register the hunger in his.

“Yes-s-s! ‘Lijah! Right… right there Poppa! This hooch all yours.” Annie gasps, tears streak from her eyes as her core tightens and she starts to flood over his dick. Smoke falters for a moment with a moan at the slickness, he locks in pressing both her knees up toward her chest. In and out. In and out. In and out, Annie is dragged over the sheets until one corner pops off the mattress barely stopped from folding in by the pillows.

Smoke shakes his head as he watches her cream on him, the puddle left under them as he dick disappears inside her and reappears glistening from her juices.

“Imma blessed man looking at this shit baby. This tight puss, wettin’ ma dick. Ya so damn beautiful."

“Elijah!” Annie cries out, her back arching off the bed as she cums again, her thighs twist to lock him in, the blocked action makes her shake in pleasure. Her hands tighten dangerously around the sides of his neck and Smoke gulps for breath at the high of her choke hold on him. Her pussy grips just as firmly and it’s her man’s undoing.

He drills once. Twice. Three times before bowing over her with a deep, bassy roar as he nuts deep within her. His hips trust with sloppy jerks as he spills inside her.

“Elijiah!” Annie cries out as he lays into her breast, Smoke muffles her whines with a deeply pressed kiss. They both sigh in love, Smoke resting his head on her collar bone and kissing over the mark he left over her heart. He presses his ear to it and prays to it, giving thanks to Annie for her loving soul. For giving him stability in a way that was unreal.

Annie rubs the side of his head with a euphoric and exhausted smile on her face.

“I’m so glad ya home, my love. I worked every root I had for this moment.” Annie whispers after a while and Smoke chuckles with tears in his eyes at the declaration. He shuffles up so they are face to face.

“Thank you for being my home, Annie.”

TAGS: @brownskincheyenne @lizbehave @bigjh @uzumaki-rebellion @milkywayzard @biancalhurtt @partylikemajima @pastelprintessa @c0tt0ncandi @theethighpriestess @blowmymbackout @nahimjustfeelingit-writes

if you wanna be tagged lmk!💕

Translations:

1: Ife mi! O ṣeun fun fifun ifẹ mi pada. Eng: My love! Thank you for returning my love.

2:Orun ran mi lowo! Eng: Heaven, help me!

3:Emi ni idahun re Eng: I am your answer

#sinners #sinners 2025 #smoke moore #annie moore #smoke x annie #smut #black girl reader #black culture #black movies #black fanfiction #black fanfic writer #sinners fic #sinners fanfiction #micheal b jordan #wunmi mosaku #returning home #THEY ARE MUNCHERS!!!! AHHHH!!!!!!1 #Drink water❤️

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 4 months ago

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Ludos Imperiales 8

Summary: Acknowledging the bond between them creates a challenge Reader wasn't prepared for.

Content Warnings: Jealous!Azriel, Slight NSFW; Mentions of Death and War.

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

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I wish we could stay like this forever: The first rays of sunlight peeking through the drawn curtains, the lightweight comforter warm from the large body at my back. The scent of jasmine and citrus lingers on one side of the sheets, night-chilled mist and cedar on the other. The tether in my chest warms with every steady heart beat against my spine. Sleep threatens to pull me back under, contentment a yawning precipice in which I dangle dangerously along the edge.

I want nothing more than to close my eyes as soon as they open. I wish time would still and there would be no demands, no threats over our heads, no Empire to ruin these precious few moments of peace. But the stomping and shouting of guards outside the door brings all thoughts of bliss and peace to a screeching halt. There very much are threats over our head and an Empire out there doing its damndest to ruin everything that is good in this world.

I force myself to sit up, to throw off the warm comforter and the arm still looped over my waist. Force my body to move, to not linger in the early morning light, to not roll over and trace the swirling patterns of my companion’s tattoos over the firm planes of his chest.

There will be other mornings.

Rhys is gone. Cassian still snores from his bed, half hidden in the shadows. Azriel sits up with a grunt beside me. The slight tremor of disappointment that runs down the tether that links us

tells me he’s not thrilled about the arrangement either.

If I had more time, I’d be a little more mortified about the drool I feel crusted to my cheek, or the way my hair is sprouting out the side of my head like one of Anise’s vines. “Shit! It’s late!”

Azriel’s hazel gaze flicks to the door. “We wanted to give you as much time as possible to rest.”

My heart constricts painfully tight in my chest. Last night was an ordeal, yes, but I have no physical wounds, not like they do, and no one has offered them the same luxury. I want to kiss him. Want to crawl back into bed and into his lap, tangle my fingers in the thick locks of his hair and kiss him until we can both forget how awful the last couple of days have been. I want to lose myself in him, let him lose himself in me until there is no longer all this shit between us. I want to know what the bond might feel like if we had the time to explore it properly. Instead, I lean forward and give his scarred hand a squeeze.

“Thank you.” And before he can even respond, I’m sprinting for the secret door.

Rhys already has it open. It looks like he’s been watching the door to make sure the guards don’t try to come in before I’m gone. There’s no time to share anything other than a conspiratorial nod before the darkness of the tunnel envelops me and the door locks shut behind me.

I have to sneak past Cook as he gets the stove lit for the day, his back turned as I sprint from the cellar, the noise of the door opening only covered because he keeps banging logs against the old iron doors to make them fit. The Guards have made collecting the right size firewood difficult, as they’ve been stealing his carefully crafted supply to make fires to keep themselves warm during the night shift.

Thank the Mother and every god of luck we have that no one sees me run down the hall and back into my room.

There is still a little bit of the Raven’s blood on the wall. I find myself shuddering as I race past it to get to my closet. The Senate Meeting is in an hour, maybe less. What I would give to have wings!

I throw on the first dress I can find and dip into the bathroom to fix my hair. Shit I’m going to look awful! At least I can blame some of it on the ride over, but Father will never let me hear the end of it. Hell, if Brannagh and Amarathan don’t beat him to it.

I wrangle my hair into a braid that I wrap around the back of my head and pin in place with a gold clip that’s sharp enough to stab someone with, just in case. I shouldn’t be totally unarmed. Scrambling, I remember my Mother’s blade in my vanity drawer, and I lose precious seconds finding a way to hide it in the extra fabric tucked into the gold belt around my waist.

Anise meets me at my bedroom door, looking solemn. “I looked into those other gladiators like you asked.”

I loop my arm through hers. “Walk with me, please.” Her stiffness tells me she’s still mad, but she obliges me.

“The Attor is always top of the list, you know this.” She says with a sigh. At least for now, she has decided to pretend to tolerate whatever nonsense she thinks I’m getting into. I will take this fragile peace while it lasts.

I shiver. “Hard pass. What are their other options?”

“Senator Thessian has three Elven archers who have never been beaten.”

Archers leave too many variables. Especially since last time they’d flooded the arena and the Elves had won by finding a perch on some driftwood and slowly picking the competitors off one at a time. They need someone who can match their physicality with a sword, regardless of the obstacles in the arena.

“Too many uncontrollable variables.”

She sighs again as we inch closer to the front doors, and the Guards that stand waiting. “Senator Kallias just acquired an orc from the Western Wastes. He is untested, but his staff says he paid a pretty coin for it.”

Better. I like those odds a little more.

I kiss her cheek as we reach the front door. “You’re wonderful, Anise! I will find a way to thank you later.”

She frowns at me as her weathered hand squeezes my arm. “You shouldn’t go alone.”

In earshot now, a young Fae guard says, “She will have a squad after the events of last night.”

I fight back the urge to roll my eyes. A squad of males loyal to my Father. I’m just as likely to be dragged off the horse and murdered in the road by them than another Raven. A thought that does make me uneasy. I could, probably, hold them off on my own, but truth be told, now that I’ve been forced to stop and take a breath, I do still feel shaky. Training and muscle memory keeps me composed, but last night was a lot.

It will cost me precious time, but the idea forms easily, and I turn to Anise. “Good thing I have a few gladiators to protect me.”

Her frown deepens. “I am not comforted by that.”

I pull free of her and turn to the guard. I can’t bring Rhys with me; bringing the figurehead of a known rebellion into a Senate meeting would be grounds enough for Father to take my head here and now. I can’t bring Cassian either, he’ll need every precious second he can get for that leg to heal. “Bring Azriel to me.”

The guard hesitates, clearly taken back.

I keep walking towards the stables. “Quickly, or it’ll be your head I throw on the chopping block for making me late.”

That does the trick.

I bite back a grin as I make it to the stables in record time and instruct Grayson, a wiry, half dryad stable boy, to prepare two horses. By the time the Guard brings Azriel, I’m settled in the saddle.

“The Emperor will not like this,” the Guard begins.

“I did not ask for your opinion.” I state, using my best courtly voice. Mother always used to tell me I sounded just like my Father. It had always felt like an insult, but at least it has its uses.

Besides, the way Azriel grins as he swings into his own saddle is enough to ease the discomfort. I think it’s a flicker of pride I feel down the bond from him, but I’m not totally certain. Perhaps I’m imagining it, but I sit a little straighter in the saddle regardless. I want to make all of them proud. I want them to know I can do this, that I’m not some fragile little girl. I can handle what they’ve asked of me.

We head out before the Guard are totally ready, giving us a bit of space between us and them. There isn’t exactly room to talk at the pace we set, but I appreciate the breathing room all the same. At least, for now, it doesn’t look like they’ve been instructed to stab me in the back.

The ride to the Capital is a blur all the way up until we’re in the city once more. The crowds are significantly less than yesterday, but there are still crushed roses and streamers in the streets. Worse, the crucifixes still stand, the Illyrian bodies still pinned.

I nearly bite through my tongue with how hard I’m clenching my jaw. Some of those males were still alive yesterday. None are today. There is no obvious intent to remove them either, to offer a proper burial. People walk past like they don’t notice the carrion coming in to pick the bodies apart.

Azriel remains stiff and silent beside me. I try my best not to look at him, to not make it obvious that I am checking on him now that the Guard have finally caught up.

I do not breathe any easier once inside the Palace. The place feels like it should have heads on spikes posted at every entrance. All the glittering gold pillars and sparkling fountains feel out of place in a spot built upon the blood of so many innocent lives. I never liked it here, but more and more this place is starting to give me the same anxiety I’d have walking into a dragon’s lair.

The Guards follow close behind, as I once again hold the chain around Azriel’s throat. It feels heavier today, the metal hot from the sun.

“You’re welcome to leave the brute with us, Highness,” one of them sneers. “We’d watch over him carefully.”

I’m still debating how much time it would take me to strangle the male with the chain as we reach the Audience Chamber.

“Ignore him,” Azriel huffs in my ear. As soon as we’d gotten off the horses he’d taken his position behind me, close enough that my hip brushed his if I turned even a little. Maybe it’s a little too close for the story we’ve been selling, but it puts him between me and anyone trying to stab me in the back like a giant shield and he knows it. I don’t like that he doesn’t have armor to protect him, should something happen, but we simply haven’t had the time to find any. A situation I’ll need to handle before we leave the city.

The Chamber doors are still open, by some miracle, and bits of conversation float towards me as I enter. All of which suddenly halt as soon as the gathered group of elites realize who I’ve brought with me.

I square my shoulders, even as the heat of Azriel’s withering glare skids across my shoulder. He’s very expressive today, and I have a sinking feeling that’s on me. Our proximity makes the bond relax, not so taut between my ribs any more, but it also heightens emotions. My protectiveness mounts the longer we’re together, I catch myself leaning towards violence anytime somebody looks at him wrong and from what the nymphs used to tell me, it’s usually worse for males.

Today will be interesting.

We walk down the center of the room, towards the throne where my Father lounges, being fanned by two slaves with palm fronds. Amarantha already sits to his right, drinking from a goblet of wine, her mood sour. Both their eyes narrow in on me, then Azriel, as the crowd dramatically parts, like we have the plague.

I give a brief curtsy to my Father as I take the seat next to him. A seat that has long been empty and was more for show than use. Nothing my Mother ever said in these meetings came to pass. The rest of the senate seats are filled by males, Amarantha and Brannagh the only exceptions.

“Be seated,” Father calls out, waving a hand in irritation.

A servant comes with a tray of wine and fruits, and despite the rumbling of my stomach, I wave it away. I’d like to not test my luck today; I’m just as likely to be poisoned as I am stabbed and even Azriel can’t do anything if I ingest arsenic.

The Emperor leans over in his seat, gray eyes sharp, jaw clenched tight. He’d never hit me in front of so many people, but that doesn’t mean I’m safe from his wrath either.

I brace myself, hands folded gently in my lap, even as Azriel tenses from his perch behind my seat.

“So good of you to show up,” he snarls.

“I had an interesting visitor last night,” I say and I hate the way my voice shakes.

“So you brought a known rebel into my council meeting in retaliation?” He hisses.

There’s a heavy layer of wine on his breath and it takes every bit of training to keep myself from trying to scoot further out of his reach. If he’s been up drinking, that’s a sign we’re moving in the right direction, he’s so off his game he’s unravelled, but that makes him dangerous. There is no telling what he could do next and my first impulse is to curl into a ball and make myself as small as possible.

“I questioned my safety in the hands of your guards on the empty roads over here,” I say, digging my nails into my palms to get the words out.

“But not with this savage?” He gestures with his chin towards Azriel.

All I can see is red. If I had not used so much energy to kill the Raven last night, my powers might not be slumbering so deep beneath my skin now. For that I am grateful. I do not need one more thing to worry about today.

“Their interests are in keeping this deal for their people, that’s hard to do if I’m dead,” I retort through my teeth.

“We’ll discuss this later,” he snarls.

My hands shake in my lap as Azriel’s shadow makes its way around my ear again, murmuring softly in a strange language as it rubs itself against my temple soothingly. It is an effort to breathe evenly and I do my best to turn my attention away from my Father and to study those in attendance today instead.

Thessian, Kallias and Beron sit on my right. Eris stands behind his father’s seat, serving as a guard today, and the auburn haired male winks at me when my gaze passes to him. I hope that means he did that research I asked him for yesterday.

Azriel’s hand tightens on the back of my seat with just enough pressure I hear the metal groan. Thankfully, no one seems to notice but me.

On the opposite side of the room sits Dagdan and Brannagh, their seats pushed together instead of giving them the five feet of distance all the other chairs have, just so no one is close enough to throw a punch if things get heated, as it often does. Next to them are senators Helion and Tamlin. Helion studies Azriel intently over the edge of his goblet of wine, but I can’t tell if it’s genuine interest or the same disdain everyone else has been throwing his way.

Tamlin broods silently in a stack of parchment in his hand, quiet without Lucien to balance him out.

Directly across from us are some of the few Senators who were not previously Lords of Prythian, as it was our biggest conquered province. They’re also the only ones on the Council who aren’t Fae. Giais is the only Elf. Ancient and ethereal, he’s been on the council since my Great Grandfather, though he doesn’t look a day older than me. Acacius had once held Amarantha’s title, but the Goblin had lost an arm in one of the last battles of the Giant War, and had been given a seat on the Council in his retirement. Maximus, who’s self-proclaimed title is Great Lord of the Dragon Shifters; he wears no shirt, but his entire top half is drenched in gold--gold rings with giant gems atop his long fingers, golden bracelets from wrist to elbow, a dozen gold chains in varying lengths and a belt, all catching the light and nearly blinding anyone who looks too closely at him. He’s the youngest male here, with the exception of Dagdan. The only seat empty is Senator Romulius’; the Nephilim away dealing with an uprising in his adjoining provinces.

There are no Humans or Giants on the Council. No Nymphs or Dryads. It used to be more diverse, but as Father’s paranoia grew, so did his prejudices, and the Council became smaller and more segregated as time passed.

“Who shall start today’s session?” Helion calls out as the chamber quiets and the doors close.

It’s like being sealed in a tomb. I wish I’d said yes to the wine, I think I might risk being poisoned just to not have to sit with the swirling anxiousness in the pit of my stomach.

Father gestures to Amarantha with a grunt that tells everybody we’ve found him in the middle of one of his moods. The quiet shifts to something more uneasy, shared glances passing between the senators. They all know this means they must tread carefully.

“Tax season is upon us,” Amarantha says, her voice carrying through the antechamber. “Are there any concerns we need to discuss?”

Tamlin waves his stack of parchment in the air. “My province is still recovering from last year’s tax season. Our prisons are full of debtors. My advisors are organizing things as best they can, but rumors of…” he pauses, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as his eyes flick to my Father. “...unrest are spreading. I would like to request a heavier presence of the Praetorian, just to ensure things go smoothly, if they can be spared?”

“Why should your inability to lead your people be our problem?” Acacius snarls. “Every other province has managed to reign in its citizens but you.”

“I would hardly call the situation in Illyria reigned in,” Helion says over the edge of his goblet.

Azriel tenses, wings rustling behind him. It takes everything in me not to turn and take his hand.

“Illyria is an outlier,” Amarantha snaps. “One that has been dealt with.”

Father’s head swivels to look at Azriel with the same air of an owl getting its sights on a mouse. A shiver runs down my spine as his eyes narrow in on my mate.

“Was it dealt with, Shadowsinger?”

The chamber quiets, every eye landing on Azriel. He keeps his composure near perfect, save for the hand still gripping the back of my chair with enough force to dent it.

“Aren’t the crucifixions testament enough?” He growls through his teeth.

Father grins wickedly. “Since my daughter is so certain she needed you here with her, why don’t you go ahead and tell this council exactly what happens to provinces that do not comply with our laws? Perhaps Tamlin needs a reminder about why he should keep his people in line?”

Tamlin frowns, hand tightening around the stack of parchment.

“What provinces?” Azriel snaps. “There is nothing left of Illyria but ash. It is a graveyard of women and children.” His voice breaks on the last word and down the bond comes the flash of a memory: A small body crumpled on scorched earth, a blood splattered doll clutched in its too small hand.

My stomach shoots into my throat.

Amarantha grins on the other side of my Father, pleased with my mate’s discomfort, pleased with her efforts of destruction in the name of the Empire.

“Sons must pay for the sins of the father.” Dagdan wins more than a few accolades for the sentiment. Beron goes as far to salute him with his wine glass.

“You must have known this would happen?” Brannagh counters. “Surely you knew the cost of your rebellion would be their heads? This is the price of rejecting the Empire and its protections.”

I glance around the room, looking for anyone to argue, anyone to challenge them. Helion shoots me a sympathetic look, but he says nothing. Eris shifts his weight behind his father, but he won’t look my way. They might be uncomfortable, but not enough to challenge them. Not enough to take a stand. We truly have no allies.

“You have never been hungry,” Azriel says, his voice low. The white-knuckled grip on my chair tells me he’s trying his hardest to keep his voice down. The shadow curled around my ear moves with the agitation the rest of them have to feel, even in their hidden perch behind his wings. “You have never been without clothes. Without a roof. You have never gone without clean water, without people to tend to your every need. You have never known what it is to crawl for your basic necessities and then have them ripped from you purely because the people over you could. My people were dying. As are yours-”

“That’s enough,” Father says dismissively.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep back the growl that threatens to slip past my teeth. How can he be so flippant about it? So careless? I have always known him to be cruel but I hadn’t realized how truly heartless he is. How heartless they all are as they laugh off the dismissal like Azriel is beneath them. As if his story is nothing more than a piece of fiction and he a worthless storyteller.

My hands ball into fists in my lap, power awakening in my chest, bubbling up like a wave, ready to wash over everything in this godsdamned room--

Azriel’s hand settles on my shoulder, squeezing gently in warning.

The Council goes back to arguing uselessly, forgetting immediately that Azriel is even here. It is for our benefit in the long run, I suppose, but I can’t get past it. How can they all be so blind?

Azriel’s hand slides down my shoulder slowly, rubbing a soothing line down my spine until he feels my breathing even out, until I unclench my fists in my lap and he’s sure I won’t explode. I tamper down on my power like I always do; always trapping it down beneath my skin so that no one notices it’s there. My shoulders slump. Why didn’t I say anything when I had the chance? Why do I always sit here uselessly?

Maybe I am no better than they are.

The topic shifts to clearing clogged trade routes. Thesian offers his daughter in a political marriage to Kallias’s son as if bartering items of clothing. The marriage is arranged in a matter of minutes, without either of their consent. It’ll be for the good of the Empire, that’s all they care about.

Helion turns the conversation to imports on wine for a while after that.

I feel myself slipping back into my hollow shell. My voice escapes me, buried with my powers until I feel nothing. Until the words fade in and out of my ears, eyes vacantly held on a spot on the wall. They talk around me like I’m not here, like it doesn’t matter that I’d ever left. Unaware that all of their problems are so petty and stupid when there are bodies of desperate men rotting in the street as we speak.

I want to see this whole damned Empire burn.

My thoughts remain on this one point for so long I don’t notice time slipping away until Father announces the meeting over and waves us all out.

My movements feel stiff as I finally stand. How long have I been clenching my shoulders? My teeth?

Azriel follows, chest against my back, as I move robotically towards the exit, and dart into a quiet adjoining hall. Father will be around shortly, it is not like him to let me escape without further incident, but I just need a moment to take a breath.

“How do you do this?” I whisper as the door shuts behind us. “How do you not explode every time they fucking speak?”

Azriel puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me around to face him. “Usually I imagine how it will feel to drive my blade through Hybern’s throat.”

This close to him I’m eyelevel with his collarbone. I have to look directly at the collar around his neck; the skin beneath pink from being rubbed raw over and over again by the iron. My hands reach for it instinctively, as if I have any power to take the pain away.

“But lately…” he shakes his head as one hand leaves my shoulders to catch my wrist as I fiddle uselessly with the collar. It’s not coming off without a key and I have nothing in my arsenal to make it easier to carry.

Useless once again.

“Lately I just worry that he’d take it out on you, if I stepped out of line, and I can’t risk that.”

The raised edges of his scars are a stark contrast to the soft, smooth skin of my wrists. I have no battle scars, no obvious signs of my Father’s abuse; my skin is unblemished and soft in a way that reminds me exactly why Cassian said I was a pampered princess. I’ve never had to do anything this hard. Never had to fight for what I wanted.

“It’s not like I don’t deserve it,” I blurt and he reels back a step like I’d hit him.

“Don’t talk like that,” he snarls.

“Cassian was right about me,” I return. “I’ve never had to work for anything in my life. I’ve never stood up for anything. I always shut up and shut down and look the other way. I should have done something before. I should have done something now!”

“You are doing something,” he says carefully, hazel eyes darting to the door, conscious of where we are and who might be lurking just outside.

“Not enough.”

He steps back into my space so he can cup my cheek. Damn me and my fragile resolve but I lean into that gentle touch like it’s my lifeline. He’s so warm and comforting and that broken, touch starved thing in me leans in like a moth to flame, so desperate for even a hint of affection. I hate myself for it. Hate that this is all it takes for me to take a breath.

“We have to take it slow,” he bites out. “We have to move carefully. We are under so much scrutiny. I know that it is hard, but you did exactly what we need you to do today. You have played your part. The time for action will come later.”

“I feel useless,” I confess.

“Hate to drag up bad memories, but you killed a guy last night,” he counters. “That’s far from useless.”

“That needed to be done.”

“So does this,” he assures.

I sigh and lean my head down against his chest. His heartbeat is steady and even against my skin. Breath warm against the back of my neck. I wish I could melt into him, let him consume every bit of my being until there was nothing left of me.

Azriel wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me flush against his chest. My body short circuits, frozen for a moment as I try to comprehend what he’s doing. I don’t remember the last time somebody hugged me. Yes, last night he’d slept with an arm around me, but that is different somehow. I don’t immediately know what to do with this. Last night had a purpose, I’d needed the security to sleep. This was in comfort. And no one had comforted me like this in years. Not even Anise when my Mother had died.

His embrace is all encompassing, strong arms tight around my middle. Something in me cracks open and tears pool in my eyes as I slowly work up the courage to wrap my arms around his middle, conscious of where his wings sit in the middle of his spine.

The bond hums in approval, or maybe that’s his shadows, more of them than the one curled around my ear move to caress my arms and back.

A breath stutters out of me, trapped by the lump in my throat.

“We will beat him,” he promises into my hair, lips brushing the top of my head. “I can take a few punches on the way to that victory, Princess.”

I tighten my grip around his waist. “Not if I turn them to mist, you don’t.” The words are comically muted by his shirt, but they draw a chuckle from him all the same. The sound is rich, like melted chocolate and I’d do anything to hear it again.

“Vicious, little thing,” he tuts.

I work up the resolve to pull my head out of his chest so I can look up at him. “I’ll be whatever you need me to be.” Whatever it takes, no matter the cost, I will see this collar off him, all of them; I will see his people free.

He practically has to duck to look me in the eyes at this angle, but that intense hazel gaze goes straight to my mouth. Heat flashes down the bond, a glimmer of desire so intense I’d think I might have imagined it were it not for the way his tongue darts out to run over his own full lips. It feels as if we share a breath, a heartbeat. I meant the words in a very literal sense, for the sake of this mission, but I think I might mean them in other ways too.

He leans in and I feel his heartbeat stutter in his chest. Or maybe that’s mine. I cannot tell us apart anymore. What is him and what is me is suddenly very intertwined.

In contrast to the firm planes of his body, his lips are sinfully soft as they brush tentatively over my own. I lose all sense of time and reason as I lean up on my toes to close the distance between him, to finish the kiss.

And then the door to the hallway opens.

Time comes in a blazing rush and I suddenly remember where the hell we are as we jerk away from each other like we’d been thrown.

Eris saunters in with his thumbs looped in the golden belt around his trim waist, grinning like a cat. There’s no way he didn’t see us.

“There you are,” he purrs. The shadows of this hidden servant’s hall suit him, bathe his sun kissed complexion in dark hues that make his amber eyes glow like coals. There’s a shade of gold dust in his unbound auburn hair. Everything about the Autumn heir seems to glow, even in the shadows of the world. “I had a feeling you’d be hiding in one of these secret places. You always did like them better.”

I don’t know how to explain myself. I just start smoothing my hands over my skirts, trying to find some semblance of control as my head spins. He can’t tell anyone what he saw! Azriel’s dead if does.

“Just needed to collect my thoughts,” I say, voice uneven.

Amber eyes flick to Azriel and roam over him slowly. I can’t tell if it’s admiration or that look Eris sometimes gets as he decides how much of a challenge a fight would be. Honestly, both those looks are pretty much the same. Eris has always toed the line between flirting and fighting.

“And his?” It’s teasing, not judgment, that much I can tell, but by the way Azriel’s wings open and shut behind him with a snap says he doesn’t share the understanding.

“Eris,” I warn.

He shrugs as he comes to stand in the space Azriel had just held. I don’t miss the snarl that flashes across my mate’s features, or the way his hands clench and un-clench at his sides. He can’t do anything to Eris, not without risking his head. He knows it just as much as Eris does, which is why the male keeps stepping into my space, testing what he can get away with.

“Relax,” Eris tuts. “Who am I going to tell?”

“You want me to make a list?” I retort.

Eris shakes his head, long locks of hair kissing his high cheekbones. “Now now, what fun would that be?”

Fun. Eris might be a bastard, but he is not cruel like his father. Beron would sell out his own mother for a chance at power, but Eris? Eris likes to play cat and mouse. He likes to collect secrets and trade with them. His influence in the court is strong not because he’s paid for it, but because he knows enough to get people to move in the ways he wants without having to lift a finger. Crafty and cunning as a fox; he’s dangerous, but he’s not an enemy, not yet.

“What do you want?” I sigh.

He grins, teeth perfect in his face. “I heard you’re looking for a husband?”

Azriel actually growls at that, stalking towards, shadows slipping out from behind his wings.

Eris rolls his eyes at him before turning back to me. “Have you decided on one yet?”

The obvious dismissal, or perhaps the blatant disregard to the danger he’s in, makes me pause. Why is he playing with fire like this? Is he really that confident Azriel won’t rip his head off his shoulders?

“I’m not on the decision committee,” I say, but I keep my eyes on my mate, a hand raised in his direction, silently begging him not to do something stupid.

The gaze that was so focused on my mouth just seconds ago drops to my hand and he stills, teeth clenched so hard I can see a tick in his jaw. A shadow snaps angrily behind him, like they’re fighting the grip he has on them.

“I should think your word would have some sway,” Eris muses.

He can’t be serious? “You want to marry me?”

“Most females swoon under such an implication,” he starts.

“I thought you preferred males?” I counter.

He grins at that and I am not so blind that I don’t understand why people swoon when he gives them a few seconds of his undivided attention. “I don’t discriminate.”

We’re getting off subject.

Azriel may have allowed me to call him off the attack, but that doesn’t stop him from taking up his position at my back again. The rise and fall of his chest as he tries to steady his breathing is hot and heavy against me, I’m suddenly very well aware of his size compared to mine. The thin line of his restraint is fraying, worse than it was in the Council Chambers.

“Fine, I will pose the suggestion to my Father.”

The bond flares with an anger so hot it seers my insides. I can practically taste Azriel’s rage as it floods down the tether between us.

“Good, then this will be our little secret, won’t it?” Eris purrs, smug expression shot in Azriel’s direction.

Gods they’d kill each other if I wasn’t physically standing between them.

“Yes,” I concede. How has this day gotten so far away from me?

He slides his thumbs back in his belt and strides towards the exit on the other side of the hall. “Oh,” he throws over his shoulder, “by the way, you’ll want to ask for Kallias’s Orc in the arena. It’d be the best match-up for your little pets.”

Azriel is shaking at my back, shadows unfurling from behind his wings like snakes, bathing the room in darkness as Eris opens the door.

“I look forward to our future, Highness.”

Azriel explodes as the door shuts behind Eris, shadows lashing against the walls so hard the lights flicker. His wings snap open, apex talon striking the wall and leaving an angry slash in the paint. His chest rises and falls rapidly, breath rasping out of him like he can’t get air in fast enough.

I spin to face him, taking his face in my hands. He has to get this under control or someone else is going to come running down the hallway. “Azriel-”

“No,” he chokes out, scarred hands gripping my wrists like a vice. “You can’t!”

Panic floods down the bond so fast it sweeps away all that rage like a tidal wave, ice filling my veins. I’m losing him and fast.

“You can’t!” He repeats and the ground shutters beneath his feet.

I panic, worried about who else might be close enough in the hallway to hear, and do the only thing I can think of to get his focus back: I surge up on my toes for leverage and press my lips against his. It’s messy, and not at all how I wanted this to go, but it does the trick. His shadows still, their hissing cut off like they’re trying to wrap their ethereal heads around what just happened. The ground stops shaking.

Azriel’s eyes widen, hands un-clenching. For a moment he freezes, just as I had when he’d hugged me a minute ago. And then he’s on me, hands tangling in my hair, pushing me back against the wall as his lips slide over mine. His tongue lashes behind my teeth, desperate and hungry. He kisses like a male starved, like he’s trying to get the very air from my lungs. He loops an arm beneath me and lifts, a shadow helping guide my legs around his waist as he kisses me again and again and again.

Now we’re going in the wrong direction again. This is not the place for this!

Mother help me, I’m not sure I have the control to tell him that though. Especially not as he pulls away for the briefest of moments, eyes so dark they’re almost all pupil, nostrils flaring.

“Mine,” he growls, dipping his head to press hot, open mouth kisses along my jaw and neck.

Shit! I knew going into it that our growing proximity, and maybe the fact that we’d both acknowledged the bond last night was going to start causing some problems, but I didn’t think it would be this bad this fast. I didn’t think I’d have such a hard time trying to think rationally about it either.

We have to stop. We have to get back out there before this situation gets worse than it already is. But my body doesn’t seem to know that. Hell, the bond doesn’t seem to know that. It purrs and glows between us, warm and bright in the contact of our bodies.

My fingers tangle in the thick locks of his hair as he nips at the juncture of my neck and shoulder. If I’m lucky, the neckline of my gown might just cover any mark he’s leaving. Maybe.

“Azriel,” my body arches into every kiss. My skin is on fire. I need more. I need him everywhere. I don’t know if his name on my lips is an admonition or plea.

His hips rock unconsciously against mine, searching for friction, and holy gods is he hard! My mouth falls open at the contact, even with the layers between us, he’s bigger than I imagined he would be.

Azriel’s lips trace back up my neck. “My mate,” he murmurs into my skin. I’m losing him to the bond, to his instincts, the primal aspect the nymphs warned me about taking over. I want it to. I want to know what would happen if the immaculate control he’s held since I met him were to slip, but I can’t. Not here. The door feels like it’s suddenly made of paper, as if anyone could walk by and see us through it.

No one will be as forgiving as Eris.

The thought is sobering, like a bucket of ice water in my veins. We can’t do this here.

“Azriel,” I start and he groans into my neck, hips rocking into me once more as if I’d said something dirty and not simply his name. The sound makes heat shoot right down to my core and I clench my eyes tight to try and ground myself. One of us has to be in control here. I don’t know for the life of me how that ended up being me.

“We have to stop.”

His lips find mine again, desperate and needy and he moans into my mouth like this is the best thing he’s ever had. “Don’t,” he begs. “Don’t offer to marry him.”

I glide my fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, kissing my chin, the corners of my mouth, everywhere he can reach like he just can’t stop himself. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I should have been listening for the door. I shouldn’t have gotten us caught.”

The words fall like he can’t stop them. “I’ll find a way to get around it. I’ll deal with him. Let me deal with him. Don’t…” he shakes his head, goes in for another desperate kiss. “Please. You can’t do this.”

I cup his cheek in my hand and he tilts his head to kiss my palm. “Eris is a snake-” his gaze darkens when I say his name, shadows hissing angrily. “But for now, let’s not make an enemy of him.”

His teeth flash angrily, a growl rumbling up his chest. Heat flares between my legs at his outright possessiveness. Still, I force myself to unwind my legs from around his waist and he, begrudgingly, sets my feet back on the floor. The ache between my legs is uncomfortable. The bond feels like it whines at the loss of contact.

“No decisions have been made,” I promise. “Besides, hearing me suggest it might turn my Father away from the idea entirely. At least, to that end, I can’t say I didn’t try.”

Azriel’s hands leave my hips to fix my rumbled skirts in an attempt to collect himself. He looks a mess! Hair disheveled, lips kiss swollen, eyes dark. I doubt I look any better. “Nothing is happening today.”

“I won’t let anybody take you from me,” he vows.

My heart clenches in my chest and I can’t stop myself from placing one last, gentle kiss on his lips. He chases after me once more like we weren’t just aggressively making out. We’ll have time for more later, when it’s safe. When nobody can take him from me.

I grip his scarred hand tight and place it on my chest, over my heart, in promise. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to make sure no one takes you from me either.”

I mean it. No matter what it costs, no matter what deals I have to make, this male is mine. No one in this damn Empire is going to take that away from me.

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

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