#gnawing and biting and worrying

[rookamell]

[sugarcoatedrattrap]

[moomeecore]

me: god, i just need the ending to activley acknowledge that simon & bettys relationship is unhealthy!

f&c: ok *somehow acknowledges the unhealthiness of the relationship in an over simplified way that does not at all properly encapsulate the complexities of it *

me: hwuh. how... how did you...???

[trenchcroats]

One day I will have a binder. One day I will come out to my parents. One day I will be comfortable in my own skin. One day-

[dollgxtz]

A Dragon's Claim

Word Count: 10.9k

Tags: dragon!sylus x fem!reader, smut, cunnilingus, breeding, creampies, biting, slight injury, some bleeding, primal kink, courting rituals, mating rituals, sylus has two cocks :333

Summary: Sylus begins to act strange and you think he may have caught some sort of illness. He's strangely warm, irritable and eating more. However this "illness" turns out to be more intense than you could have ever imagined... (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )

"You're wrong," he murmurs, voice husky and edged with something raw. "You’re fertile. I can smell it on you." You freeze. His lips ghost just beneath your ear as he continues, tone smooth and reverent. "Your scent is different now—sweet, ripe, like fruit at the peak of bloom. The warmth of your skin, the rhythm of your pulse...your body sings to mine in ways you cannot hear. But I do." His hand tightens at your waist, possessive, anchoring you to him like you might drift away otherwise. The heat in his eyes is no longer just desire—it is intention, it is instinct honed over centuries, it is him answering a call your body didn’t even know it had made. "You're ready. Now," he growls, the final word laced with a quiet sort of reverence, as if he were speaking a truth ordained by something far older than either of you.

AN: Okay so, this fic was SO fun to write I may have gotten a little carried away hehe. This was a little bit out of my comfort zone but I am so happy with it!! Plus it was about time I did a oneshot for dragon!sylus. After what he went through he deserves as many babies as he wants ;(

Enjoy!!

Sylus had been unusually irritable lately, and it wasn’t just in the way he grunted or snapped when spoken to—it was in everything. His eyes seemed sharper, flicking around like he was constantly on edge, and his tail, which normally lay relaxed behind him, had developed a twitchy, agitated flick. He wasn’t acting like the level-headed fiend you’d come to know and love.

Even he seemed aware of the shift; there were moments he paused mid-sentence or mid-motion, as if catching himself acting out of character. When he returned to the cave after hunting, he couldn’t seem to keep still. He paced the stone floor in restless circles, ran his claws along the wall, muttered to himself under his breath. His whole body seemed to vibrate with pent-up energy, with something unspoken roiling beneath the surface.

His appetite had doubled, maybe even tripled. He devoured whatever meat, vegetables, or fruit he managed to scavenge or hunt for the both of you, sometimes not even bothering to sit down before tearing into it. He would eat so quickly it was like he hadn’t tasted food in days, and when he was done, he still looked unsatisfied. It was primal, instinctive, like something inside him was demanding more than he could give it.

And then there was the heat.

He’d started to feel noticeably warm to the touch, which was strange for a reptile. The first time you noticed it was when he brushed past you, and you flinched, startled by the heat radiating off his skin. Since then, it had only intensified. Whenever he hugged you, lingered too close, or let his fingers graze your arm, you felt it—his body running hot, almost feverish. It was unnerving. And his touches had changed too. They weren’t violent, but they carried a kind of hunger, an urgency that hadn’t been there before. He gripped a little tighter, held on a little longer. Like proximity alone wasn’t enough to settle whatever storm was brewing inside him.

It worried you terribly. Was he getting sick? Could dragons even get sick? The question gnawed at your thoughts, carving out little pits of anxiety in your chest no matter how often you tried to push it away. The heat that seemed to bleed from his skin, the sharp glint in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, the unpredictable mood swings and restlessness...it all felt off. Like something inside him had shifted, and you didn’t know if it was something natural or something dangerous. You'd never seen him like this. He wasn’t just irritable, he was volatile. Every movement held tension, like he was wound too tightly and one wrong word might snap him in two.

You knew better than to voice your concerns aloud. Suggesting he try any kind of human treatment would go over about as well as trying to leash a wildfire. He’d scoff, roll his eyes, and brush you off with a dismissive sigh. Sylus was proud, fiercely so. Stubborn as a stone wall, and not exactly someone who tolerated being fussed over. An illness? He'd laugh at the implication.

Still, you couldn’t just sit back and watch him burn from the inside out.

So the next time he finally dozed off—after hours of pacing, mumbling under his breath, and tossing scraps into the fire like they’d wronged him personally—you waited until his breathing evened out and his face slackened. He lay sprawled out on the nest of furs you’d both piled near the hearth, the orange firelight casting shadows across his angular features. One arm was thrown loosely over his chest, the other curled slightly beside him. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm that looked almost peaceful. Almost.

You moved with painstaking care, the cool, damp cloth in your hand trembling slightly from how tightly you gripped it. Your feet barely made a sound against the stone floor as you approached, every step deliberate. When you reached his side, you crouched slowly, heart hammering so loudly you were sure it might wake him before you even got the chance to touch him. You leaned in, gently pressing the rag to his brow, hoping the cold would cut through the heat pouring off of him like he was lit from within.

For a brief moment, you felt relief. He didn’t stir. Maybe, just maybe, he would sleep through this.

But then something shifted.

Without warning, a firm pressure clamped around your wrist. You gasped, flinching, and the rag slipped from your fingers. Your gaze dropped, heart stalling in your chest, as you realized his tail had slithered around your arm in one smooth, silent motion. Like it had a mind of its own.

His eyes snapped open a second later, glowing faintly in the dim light, red pupils slitted and sharp. He looked at you without blinking, like he’d known what you were sneaking up on him the entire time.

"And what exactly do you think you're doing?" he murmured, voice husky with sleep and something else—something darker. There was a flicker of amusement there, curling at the corners of his lips, but beneath it was something far more intense. Possessive. Primal. Like he wasn’t just waking up, but awakening to something deeper.

You swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry. Your heart thundered against your ribs like it wanted to escape.

You opened your mouth to answer, but the words caught in your throat, stuck somewhere between nervousness, concern and something you couldn’t name.

"I'm helping you, silly. You're sick," you mumble, voice soft but threaded with a note of stubborn concern. Your lips purse, irritation flickering across your features as you glance down at the thick coil of his tail still looped possessively around your wrist. "Now let go of me," you add, trying to sound firm despite the tremor in your voice.

To your surprise, he does. The tension releases almost instantly, the pressure around your wrist vanishing as his tail retreats. You exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, rubbing at your skin where the warmth lingered.

"I am not unwell," he says after a pause, voice rich and steady, threaded with an unmistakable certainty. "Only mortals burn with fever."

You frown, eyebrows drawing together in quiet frustration. "Yeah, but... you've been acting really strange lately," you reply, your voice lowering, touched now with genuine worry. "You’re restless, snappy, and you never eat this much. I just...I want to make sure you’re okay. That you’re not hurting."

The confession slips out before you can think better of it. You stare at him for a moment longer, searching his unreadable expression for some crack, some tell that might confirm or deny what your instincts have been screaming.

And then you move, slow and tentative, inching closer to him as if drawn by an invisible force. When you rest your head lightly against his chest, you feel the heat radiating off him in waves, hotter now than it had been earlier. His body is solid beneath you, unmoving, as if he’s forgotten how to breathe. The sound of his heartbeat thuds against your ear, rapid and deep, like a distant drum.

You think, for a moment, that he might relax.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, his entire frame stiffens. There’s a flash of tension through his shoulders, and then his tail moves again—but not with the idle instinct of before. It wraps around your waist in a slow, deliberate spiral, the grip firm but not cruel. He lifts you effortlessly, his strength startling in its subtlety, and then plants you down several feet away from him.

You blink, stunned, arms still half outstretched in the air where you had been.

The new distance between you is not just physical. It feels like a chasm, sudden and inexplicable, heavy with all the things he won’t say. You sit in silence for a heartbeat too long, the echo of his rejection ringing in your chest like a hollow bell.

He avoids your gaze, eyes cast to the fire, jaw clenched tightly.

"Hey! You can't ju—" you begin, voice raised in disbelief, frustration bubbling over—but the look he gives you stops you dead in your tracks. It's not angry or loud, but it carries a quiet authority that slices through the air like a blade. His eyes flash with a warning, cold and unreadable.

"Silence, love. Sleep on the other side of the cave tonight," he says, each word deliberate, clipped. There is no room for negotiation in his tone. It’s final. Commanding. His eyes close again, as if your protest doesn’t deserve his attention. Like the matter is already settled in his mind.

The dismissal stings more than you expect.

It hits like a slap, raw and disorienting. You reel back a step, mouth parting slightly as you try to process the flood of emotion that crashes down on you all at once. Hurt. Confusion. Anger. They churn in your chest, thick and suffocating. What the hell? All you had done was try to help. You had stayed up, watched over him, worried yourself sick, and this was how he repaid you? By pushing you away like a child being told to go to their room?

Ugh. Stubborn. Always so impossibly, frustratingly stubborn.

Your jaw tightens as the ache behind your eyes starts to burn. He didn’t get to do this. Not after everything. If he thought you were just going to walk away, tuck yourself into the far corner of the cave like a scolded pet and let him suffer in silence, he clearly didn’t know you as well as he should.

Because humans don’t give up on the ones they love.

"Sylus!" you bark, louder this time, anger sharpening your voice. You stomp across the stone floor toward him, every step punctuated by the slap of your feet and the pounding of your heart. "You know I’m not doing that! I’m not going to just curl up in the corner like you didn’t just say that to me!"

He says nothing, but you can see his jaw twitch. That slow, deliberate breath leaves his nostrils again—heavy, controlled. Tired. Still, he doesn’t open his eyes. Doesn’t look at you. It’s like he's deliberately trying to sever whatever invisible thread connects the two of you.

You press your palms into your thighs, trying to ground yourself, fighting the overwhelming desire to scream. "What is wrong with you? Just talk to me! Look at me! Say anything!"

But all you receive is silence. Stubborn, infuriating silence.

Your fists tighten at your sides. The cold cavern air suddenly feels stifling.

Fine. You could be stubborn too.

Without thinking, you finish crossing the cave, heart pounding loud enough to drown out your better judgment. Every step echoes with stubborn purpose as you close the gap he created between you. You don't hesitate. You don’t ask. You simply act—climbing over him, swinging a leg across his large body, and settling yourself squarely atop his waist. The furs beneath you shift and rustle, but he doesn’t stop you. His brow furrows slightly, the only sign he even notices, but otherwise, he remains infuriatingly still.

Still silent. Still distant.

You lean down slowly, hands braced on either side of his torso, and fix your gaze on his face, searching for some flicker of emotion—anything to tell you he’s still there beneath the silence. The heat rolling off of him is overwhelming up close, like standing too near a smoldering hearth. It curls around you, prickling your skin, quickening your breath. The air feels thick, heavy with unspoken things.

"Sylus..." you murmur, your voice low, raw with feeling.

No response.

"Sylus! I know you can hear me!" you bark, sharper now, frustration rising with each second he continues to ignore you. Your heart twists painfully.

Still nothing.

You sigh, the sound long and defeated, your chest aching with the weight of his silence. Carefully, gently, you lower your forehead to his, hoping maybe the closeness will shake something loose. His skin burns beneath yours, unnaturally warm.

"I just want to know what’s wrong with you," you whisper, voice so quiet it nearly disappears in the cavern's stillness. "Guess your species are terrible communicators."

Still, he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t open his eyes. But you feel it—something in him coiling tight, like a rope being pulled taut. He may be still, but he’s not unaffected. Something inside him is shifting, stirred by your proximity, your touch.

Acting on instinct and desperation, you close the small distance between your mouths and press a kiss to his lips. It’s meant to be fleeting, a soft reassurance. But it lingers. Longer than it should. Your lips stay, pressed gently to his, drawn in by the heat, the subtle shape of his mouth, the restraint that pulses beneath his immobility. Your eyes slip closed as your hands move—one cupping the side of his jaw, the other resting on his chest, feeling the erratic beat of his heart.

Then you feel it. A breath. Deeper. Shakier. His chest rises and falls faster.

And in a blink, the world flips.

One moment you’re above him, tethered by warmth and hope—the next, you’re on your back, the furs catching your fall as a gasp escapes you. "Ah!" The air leaves your lungs in a rush. Your eyes fly open to find him hovering above you, strong arms braced on either side of your head. His large body cages yours in completely, heat surrounding you like a second skin.

His eyes are open now. And they are glowing.

There is something feral in his expression—not cruel, but ancient and wild and hungry. His gaze drags across your face with a depth that makes your breath hitch. Every inch of him is tense, restrained, as if holding back something that wants very badly to be unleashed.

He still hasn’t spoken.

But he is no longer ignoring you.

"You're making it very difficult to control myself, love," he growls, his voice like gravel softened by heat, thick with restraint and something darker coiled beneath it. The words roll over your skin just moments before his lips do. His breath fans against your neck—a warning, a promise—before he dips his head, and you feel the sharp, precise puncture of his teeth sinking into your skin.

This isn’t a playful nip. This isn’t a teasing show of dominance. His bite breaks the surface, deliberate and deep. You feel the sharp pain bloom instantly, a white-hot flash that steals the breath from your lungs. A gasp escapes you—startled, raw—and your hands fly up to clutch at his shoulders. Your fingers dig into him as your back arches against the sensation. Warm blood trickles down your shoulder, and your skin tingles where it flows.

You weren’t unfamiliar with Sylus's biting. He'd always had a possessive streak that came through when things turned intimate or emotional. But this—this felt different. It felt desperate. Like he was trying to root himself in you. Like something inside him was slipping, and you were the only thing keeping him from losing his grip.

His mouth lingers at your neck, his lips now parted just slightly. You feel the tremor in his breath before his tongue slips out and glides across the bite. Slow. Deliberate. He licks away the blood he’d drawn, and the pain dulls under the hot, wet press of his mouth. In its place comes a deep, spiraling heat that blooms low in your belly, tightening your grip on him.

"S-Sylus..." you breathe, barely able to form the words. Your voice trembles. "If you were just...er, in need—you know I would've helped you ages ago."

Still, he doesn’t answer.

You feel the way his body stiffens slightly against you. His hand slides up along your side, slow and controlled, as though he’s still deciding what to do with the storm inside him. Then, he leans in again and presses his lips gently to your neck, just beside the wound. This time, the touch is less claiming and more conflicted—like he's trying to soothe something in himself rather than stake another claim.

He stays there for a long moment, breathing in the scent of your skin, your blood, your closeness. You feel the tremble in his chest where it presses against yours, the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitch as though resisting the urge to hold you tighter. The cavern feels impossibly still around you, as if the very walls are holding their breath.

At last, he lifts his head. His eyes meet yours, and for the first time tonight, he looks completely unguarded. They glow faintly, with a trace of something wild, but it’s the emotion in them that catches your breath—raw, aching, afraid.

"It's more than that," he says, his voice rough and frayed at the edges. Not defensive. Not ashamed. Just...honest. Like every word costs him more than he knows how to show.

You stare at him, heart hammering, throat tightening.

Oh no. It's bad news, isn't it?

The thought slams into you with the force of a crashing wave, stealing the air from your lungs. You blink rapidly, trying to keep your vision clear, but the sting in your eyes wins. Tears begin to well, hot and fast, blurring the edges of your world as your chest tightens with dread. Something in his voice, in the way he looked at you—it had to mean something terrible. Something irreversible.

"What is it? Please tell me you're okay!" you blurt out, your voice cracking and shaking as panic rises up your throat. Your hands cling tighter to him, desperate and trembling, fingers curling into the fabric of whatever covers his back. As if somehow, your grip could keep him from slipping away. As if love alone could hold back whatever awful truth he was about to reveal.

Sylus blinks, visibly startled by your sudden burst of emotion. The intensity in your voice clearly catches him off guard. His eyes, once glowing with wild tension, soften slightly. His expression shifts—no longer hard and guarded, but touched with a flicker of something else. Something gentler.

Wordlessly, he draws you closer. His arms wrap around you more securely, with purpose now. Not to restrain, but to reassure. His hands press to your back, his warmth enveloping you like a cocoon. His voice, when he finally speaks, is low and deliberate. A slow drag of velvet.

"No need to fret," he murmurs. "All is well."

You pull back just enough to look up at him, eyes wide, your breath caught halfway in your lungs. Your heart pounds in your ears. There’s a moment of suspended silence where you brace yourself for the real answer.

"It's just mating season."

You freeze. Your body goes still, and your mind... blanks.

Of all the explanations you had been preparing for—a curse, an ancient affliction, some kind of irreversible breakdown of his control—that had not even crossed your mind.

Mating season?

You blink once. Twice. And then the realization crashes over you, dragging with it a rush of relief and a sudden, absurd clarity. The heat, the irritability, the pacing, the biting, the overwhelming hunger—both physical and something deeper. It all made sense now. It fit together like puzzle pieces you hadn’t realized you were holding.

You let out a breathless huff, lips parting as the tension begins to unravel inside you.

And then you laugh.

A full, startled, ridiculous laugh bubbles up from your chest and bursts free before you can stop it. It catches you completely off guard, but you can’t hold it in. The absurdity of it all—the sheer contrast between what you imagined and what it actually was—breaks something loose in you.

You double over slightly, pressing your forehead into his collarbone as your shoulders shake with the sound. It’s laughter born of relief, disbelief, and the strange, heady rush of realizing everything isn’t falling apart.

Sylus stares down at you in silence, his eyes narrowing slightly. Clearly, he doesn’t find your reaction particularly amusing. If anything, his expression deepens into a look of resigned irritation, as if this wasn’t quite the response he expected.

But still, he doesn’t pull away. His arms stay around you, anchoring you to him, the heat of his body steady and real. His tail curls lightly around your leg, a quiet, instinctive motion. Protective. Possessive.

And despite the glare he levels at the top of your head, there’s no real venom behind it. He lets you laugh, lets you melt the fear from your chest with every shaky breath, until your voice begins to soften again.

Eventually, you lift your head, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand.

"Is something humorous?" he asks, his voice low, edged with a faint note of offense, though there is no true malice behind it. His eyes narrow slightly as they study your face, as though trying to decipher the cause of your sudden laughter. But even in his quiet suspicion, his arms never loosen their hold around you. If anything, he draws you closer.

You shake your head quickly, the laughter dying in your throat as a rush of guilt creeps in. "Honestly, you had me scared" you say, your voice softening, breaking slightly at the end. "I really thought you were going to die on me."

That doesn't seem to ease him. He exhales through his nose in a deep, low grunt—not dismissive, but something closer to acknowledgment. The sound vibrates against your body, a warm, strange comfort. Then, with a fluid, instinctive movement, he adjusts your positions. His strength is effortless as he shifts, guiding you until you're lying beside him on the furs, your body drawn into his larger frame like a puzzle piece clicking into place.

His arm curls around your waist, securing you against his chest. It isn’t just for comfort—there is something possessive in the gesture, protective, as if he’s anchoring you there by will alone. The heat of him envelops you entirely, bleeding into your limbs until the cold stone floor feels like a distant memory.

"Does this mean..." you begin, your voice barely more than a whisper. But the thought drifts before it finishes, scattered like leaves on the wind. You have so many questions tumbling through your mind: What does this mean for him? For you? Is this temporary? Instinct? A sign of something deeper? But they all blur at the edges, softening under the pull of exhaustion.

Your body is finally registering the toll of the night. You had stayed up far too late, keeping vigil while Sylus paced, brooded, fought himself in silence. You hadn't let yourself rest until he did. Now, the weight of sleeplessness pulls at your limbs like gravity, and your eyelids feel impossibly heavy.

Outside, the first blush of morning glows gently. Sunlight begins to pour through the narrow cracks in the rock that serves as the cave’s natural door. The pale beams stretch across the stone floor like golden fingers, warming the air with soft radiance. The quiet sounds of the wilderness beyond stir faintly, muted by distance—birds beginning their morning calls, wind rustling through high branches.

Sylus doesn’t answer your unfinished thought. He merely presses closer, lowering his head to the crook of your neck. His breath fans across your skin in slow, even waves, and the low, rhythmic sound that rumbles from his chest is unmistakable. A purr. Deep and velvety. Content.

The sound settles into your bones, a vibration that eases the tightness from your shoulders and lulls the last frayed edges of fear from your heart. There is something incredibly grounding about it—like being cradled by the earth itself. One of his hands rests on your waist, fingers spread, as if silently promising that you are safe, that he will not let go.

You close your eyes, breathing in the scent of smoke and warmth and him. Despite the adrenaline, despite the questions that remain unanswered, your body begins to let go. Your thoughts drift. His purring fills the quiet like a lullaby spun from heat and breath and unspoken devotion.

Sleep takes you gently.

And you surrender to it, wrapped in Sylus’s arms, as the light of a new day filters through stone and silence alike.

As the days passed, you began to notice other, more subtle changes in Sylus's behavior—the kind of shifts that spoke not just of mood, but of instinct, of ritual. Of purpose.

It started gradually. At first, it was the gifts. Sylus had always brought you little trinkets here and there—a gleaming stone from a riverbed, a silver ring once forgotten in the ruins of some fallen estate, or a flower pressed flat and preserved between scraps of parchment. But now? Now he returned from his ventures with arms full of treasure.

You began to receive things that looked as though they had been pulled from the vaults of kings. Gemstones the size of your knuckles. Necklaces heavy with gold and set with fire-bright opals. Crowns, actual crowns, one with a missing jewel that he promised to "replace shortly." Delicate filigree bracelets and earrings of such craftsmanship that you wondered if they had come from the hands of mortals at all.

You accepted them, of course. How could you not? They dazzled the eye and stirred something deep within your chest—awe, gratitude, wonder. And then there was the way Sylus looked at you when you accepted each piece. The way he watched your reactions with quiet intensity, hunger and satisfaction warring in his gaze as your fingers traced the contours of every offered treasure.

"Is this suitable to your liking, beloved?" he would ask, voice a rich hum in your ear. There was always a thread of tension in his tone, a need that ran deeper than pride.

You’d smile and nod, sometimes laughing softly at the extravagance, sometimes whispering thanks as you leaned into his warmth. That always seemed to satisfy him. His shoulders would relax, his tail would curl in closer around you, and a low purr would rumble from deep in his chest.

And the gifts didn’t stop with jewels and gold.

His hunting habits changed too. Where once he had returned with modest catches—a brace of rabbits, a string of fish, the occasional deer—now he came back with trophies that left you reeling. Massive elk, towering wild boars with tusks the length of your forearm. Game that would feed you both for weeks. And then, one evening, he returned dragging behind him the largest bear you had ever seen.

Its massive body sprawled across the cave entrance like something out of legend. Thick fur matted with snow and blood, claws that could gouge stone. You stood frozen in the firelight, staring at it, unsure whether to marvel or panic.

Sylus merely stood beside it, chin slightly raised, one clawed hand resting on its flank like a proud hunter presenting a trophy.

"For you," he said simply, as if it were nothing.

You had blinked at him, stunned. "Sylus, I...I don’t even know how to cook that."

He grinned, utterly unbothered. "Then I will learn."

The gifts. The feasts. The constant nearness. The careful watching of your every reaction. You had thought it was simply Sylus being more open, more affectionate in the wake of your recent closeness.

You were trying not to overthink it. Truly, you were. Every part of you wanted to believe that all the changes were just instinct, affection taken to a slightly obsessive level. You’d chalked up the treasure hoarding, the feasts, the increased proximity, the way he hovered just a little too closely sometimes—all of it to simple fondness. Maybe even a primal form of love. But nothing could have prepared you for what awaited you after returning from a brisk walk one particularly chilly afternoon.

The moment you stepped through the threshold of the cave, you froze in place, heart lurching with confusion.

Sylus had completely transformed everything.

Gone were the scattered, mismatched piles of pelts, the half-organized piles of gold, the signs of his usual indifference to comfort or aesthetic. In their place was something deliberate. Thoughtful. Nest-like. The entire back of the cave had been cleared and restructured, centered around an enormous bed of furs that had been meticulously arranged. It looked almost ceremonial in its care.

The old sleeping area had been expanded, padded with thick layers of fur and hide—including the bear pelt from the beast he had dragged home days ago. It now lined the center of the nest, skinned, cleaned and softened into a thick, luxurious base. Softer animal hides had been layered on top, and the perimeter was reinforced with woven branches, dried moss, and feathers, creating a barrier of warmth and comfort.

It wasn’t just for practicality. It was beautiful.

There were little details everywhere. Smooth stones from your favorite riverbank placed in a pattern near the fire pit. Bits of dried herbs—the ones you loved for tea or the scent they gave when burned—tucked into the seams of the bedding. A string of beads you thought you’d lost was now nestled between two thick furs, as if it had been intentionally displayed.

You stood there for several seconds, mouth slightly open, completely unprepared.

"Sylus..." you breathed, your voice caught somewhere between awe and bewilderment. "What’s the meaning of all this?"

He looked up at you from where he knelt, smoothing out the bear fur with surprising tenderness. His expression was completely unreadable. Calm. Focused. As if this were the most natural thing in the world. "You were shivering at night," he said simply. "This will keep you warmer."

That might have been enough for anyone else. Practical. Logical. An easy excuse.

But his eyes told a different story.

He watched you too closely. Not just to gauge your reaction—but to savor it. There was something ancient and yearning behind the glow in his eyes, something that vibrated in the silence between his words. He was waiting. Not for your thanks, but for your approval.

Noticing your lack of response, Sylus's expression begins to shift. The warmth in his eyes dims, replaced by something sterner, more guarded. His tail flicks once behind him—a sharp, agitated motion that echoes his growing unease. He straightens his spine, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

"Do you not like it?" he asks, his voice quieter now but unmistakably tense. There’s something beneath his words that makes your chest tighten—disappointment, certainly. But also something rawer. Doubt. Hurt. The faint tremor of vulnerability from someone unaccustomed to feeling exposed.

Your eyes widen, and guilt rises quickly in your throat. You hadn't meant to be silent for so long. You were simply overwhelmed—by the effort, by the meaning behind it all. But now, seeing the shift in his posture, the way his eyes avoid yours, you realize how that silence must have come off.

You quickly close the space between you, reaching out instinctively. Your hands lift to cradle his face, palms warm against his heated skin. You guide his gaze back to you, gently but insistently, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. His eyes flicker up to meet yours, searching your face as though still bracing for rejection.

"No," you say softly, firmly, your voice thick with emotion. "I love it. I really do. It's beautiful. I just...I don’t understand why. You don’t have to do all this. The gifts, the meat, the rearranging—I was already happy. I was perfectly content with how things were before."

Sylus doesn’t recoil. Instead, he leans into your touch just slightly, as though the reassurance eases something deep in his chest. The tightness in his shoulders begins to uncoil, and the tension etched into his brow softens. A quiet exhale escapes him, almost inaudible.

"You laughed," he murmurs after a moment, his voice roughened by something too ancient to be called simple sorrow. "When I spoke of mating season. I assumed then that you deemed me unworthy as a mate—ill-fitted to claim or keep one such as you."

You blink, taken aback. The memory of that moment resurfaces—your burst of laughter, the disbelief, the release of tension you hadn’t realized he was carrying so heavily. It hadn’t been mockery. But now, you see how it must have been received by someone like Sylus—a creature whose understanding of humor, especially human levity in the face of instinct, is limited by centuries of solemn tradition and a worldview where gestures hold more meaning than words. 

"So...the jewels? The meat?" you ask gently, your voice cracking slightly as realization begins to sink in.

He lets out a low, almost frustrated huff, glancing to the side. His tail curls around one of your ankles without thought, anchoring you to him in a quiet, possessive motion. "To prove I can provide for you," he says simply. "And for our offspring that I hoped you'd bear."

The words hit you like a wave, your breath catching in your throat. Your heart swells and shatters at once, a knot forming deep in your chest. He really wanted a baby with you? To form new life? With you??

Because that was it, wasn’t it? This powerful, ancient creature—so feared, so composed, so unreadable to others—was doing everything in his power to show you his worth. Not by demanding your affection or asserting his claim, but by showing you how he could build a life around you. Make a place for you. Prepare for a future, one you hadn’t even considered yet.

He had rearranged his entire world to make space for you in it. Courted you to prove himself just as many of his species had done with their mates.

You looked at him now with new eyes, your throat tightening as you caressed the edge of his jaw.

"Sylus...you don’t have to prove anything to me. I never doubted your strength. I never doubted you for a single second. Sometimes humans laugh when we feel relieved. That's all."

You notice that he seemed to perk up ever so slightly, though his expression remained unreadable. His posture straightened by a fraction, the glow in his eyes shifting with something new—not quite relief, but intrigue. A subtle ripple of tension unwound in his shoulders, though he tried to mask it.

"Mortals laugh when they feel better?" he asked, voice low and gravelly, as if the question itself was unfamiliar. There was a curious tilt to his head, the tone almost scholarly—as if he were cataloging your species' behaviors like one would study a rare flame.

You nodded, giving him a gentle smile. "Yes. Laughter is...a release. I wasn’t mocking you, Sylus. I was relieved. It meant you weren’t dying. And...I think you would make a wonderful mate. And father. To our baby."

His grip on you suddenly shifted, tightening with sudden purpose. Not in a threatening way, but in a way that grounded you firmly against him—possessive, almost reverent. His pupils expanded rapidly, red irises eclipsed by black. A primal heat surged behind his gaze, burning steady and intent. You felt the growl in his chest before it even reached his lips, a low, rumbling vibration that poured through your body like a tremor.

"Then...you accept?" he asked slowly, the words thick with restrained emotion. "You will take my seed into you? You would bear my offspring?"

Your heart skipped a beat—no, several. Blood rushed to your cheeks, and you could feel your pulse hammering in your throat. He said it with such conviction, with none of the coy hesitations or evasive phrasing you were used to. Just truth. Raw and full of meaning. The ancient kind of promise that didn’t ask, but waited.

You hesitated, swallowing hard. "I mean...I do have my doubts," you admitted, fingers curling against his chest. Your fingers graze the edge of his scales. Your voice trembled slightly under the weight of his gaze. "I don’t think I’m strong enough to carry children of yours. Dragons are...different. Your children, they’d be massive, wouldn’t they?"

You tried to laugh. It came out tight, nervous. A shaky sound that barely carried.

But Sylus didn’t laugh. He didn’t smile. Instead, something deeper flickered behind his eyes—a hunger, yes, but also certainty. Purpose. Legacy.

A low, pleased growl rolled from the depths of his chest, his breath warm against your skin. You gasped as you felt his tail move, the strong, silken muscle winding slowly up your leg. It caressed your skin with practiced control, the movement deliberate. Purposeful. The hem of your dress lifted inch by inch under the teasing weight of his tail.

"Nonsense," he growled, and this time his voice was like smoke and stone. "You are more than capable. I would never choose a mate who was not capable of the task. Your body, your spirit, your frame—they are all sufficient. More than sufficient."

His claws ghosted over your hips, drawing you in closer, like a hunter gathering something sacred. You felt the heat of him, not just his body but his intent, his longing, the centuries of instinct that pulsed just beneath his skin.

"I'm not even sure if it will work..." you murmur, your voice laced with uncertainty. "Humans only ovulate for a short time. If that window's already passed—"

Sylus moves before you can finish. His body leans into yours with quiet purpose, and in an instant, the air shifts between you. His breath ghosts over your neck, warm and steady, and you shiver as his nose traces the delicate line of your throat. The movement is slow, deliberate—not just intimate, but instinctual. He inhales deeply, the sound low and resonant like something ancient stirring in his chest. The rumble that follows isn’t quite a growl, but it thrums through you like thunder beneath the earth.

"You're wrong," he murmurs, voice husky and edged with something raw. "You’re fertile. I can smell it on you."

You freeze.

His lips ghost just beneath your ear as he continues, tone smooth and reverent. "Your scent is different now—sweet, ripe, like fruit at the peak of bloom. The warmth of your skin, the rhythm of your pulse...your body sings to mine in ways you cannot hear. But I do."

His hand tightens at your waist, possessive, anchoring you to him like you might drift away otherwise. The heat in his eyes is no longer just desire—it is intention, it is instinct honed over centuries, it is him answering a call your body didn’t even know it had made.

"You're ready. Now," he growls, the final word laced with a quiet sort of reverence, as if he were speaking a truth ordained by something far older than either of you.

Your breath catches, your face flushing as your heart pounds against your ribs. You can feel the heat rising in you, pooling low, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

You search his face for doubt, but find none. Only certainty.

So, you were ovulating, and he could smell it—and worse, he wasn’t just aroused by it; he was called by it.

You feel your nerves ease, if only a little. Sylus was dependable—fierce, steady, and impossibly sure in the way only something ancient could be. For all his intensity, he had never once let harm come to you, had never faltered in his protection. And now, with the weight of everything shifting between you, that truth brought the smallest measure of calm. If he said he would keep you safe, you believed him. If he said he would protect the life growing between you, you knew it to be a vow etched in something deeper than words.

The idea of having a baby had once seemed distant, more fantasy than reality. Something soft and quiet that belonged to another version of your life, another world entirely. But now? Now it felt inevitable. Natural. Fated. Like every step had led to this moment, and all that was left was to lean into it.

He wanted this with you. You could see it in everything he did: the nesting, the offerings, the way he curled around you at night like a guardian warding off the dark. His every action had been leading here, even if you hadn’t recognized it at the time. And though nerves still fluttered in your chest like a thousand wings, the deeper truth remained. You wanted it too. You weren’t entirely prepared, not yet, but you were ready to say yes.

You looked into his eyes, your heart thundering, and gave a small but certain nod. "Okay. I accept."

Those three words changed everything.

It was as if a switch had been flipped inside him, something primal and powerful released from its cage. You barely had time to react before he swept you off the ground with effortless strength. You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders as he cradled you against his chest, his expression focused, almost reverent. In mere seconds, he had crossed the room and laid you gently down on the massive bed of furs he had so meticulously prepared—his gift to you, his offering.

The nest was impossibly warm, soft and inviting, wrapping around your back and shoulders like it had been waiting for this moment. You could feel the heat of his body above you, the power in his frame held taut just beneath the surface. He hovered for a breath, eyes raking over you, and then his tail moved—snaking up one leg, coiling slowly with deliberate grace.

The fabric of your dress tightened as his tail looped beneath it, and you barely had time to gasp before you heard the slow, purposeful sound of it tearing. With practiced precision, his tail shredded the fabric, beginning to peel it away from your body with a hunger that had been restrained for too long. Each thread undone was like a silent declaration: mine, mine, mine.

You felt a rush of cool air against your skin, and your breasts were exposed to his gaze. You could sense his eyes on you, drinking in the sight of your bare skin and hardened nipples, you felt a shiver run down your spine. Your breasts bounced slightly as you shifted, and you could feel his gaze following the movement, his eyes hungrily taking in every detail.

You instinctively tried to shield yourself, your arms moving to cross your chest, but he was quicker. His tail wrapped around your wrists with gentle but unyielding strength, keeping you exposed beneath him. Vulnerable. Claimed.

He leaned in closer, breath hot against your skin, and you felt it hitch as he studied you like something sacred. There was a deep rumble in his chest, not quite a growl but something more ancient—a sound of possession and awe.

"This will not be gentle," he murmured, voice low and rough like gravel smoothed by fire. "But do not fret. I will take care not to hurt you, beloved."

His words settled over you like a brand, searing into your skin. There was something sacred in them, a promise forged not in softness, but in strength—and devotion.

And the way he said it, with such conviction and tempered need, made your breath stutter and your fear crumble, replaced with something far more powerful:

Desire. Acceptance. Surrender.

His voice was a low rumble, "I want to see you. All of you." His eyes met yours, seeking consent, respectful despite the fierce hunger within. You nodded, your heart still pounding, but the fear was gone, replaced by a strong lust you didn't know you had.

He reached for the remnants of your dress, his touch gentle yet firm as he pushed the rest of the fabric off you. It slipped down your body, leaving you bare except for your undergarments. His breath hitched, his gaze roaming over you, worshipful and hungry.

"You're beautiful" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Like a dream I never dared to have." He leaned down, his lips met yours, a soft, tender kiss that belied the intensity of his gaze. It was a question, a request for permission to explore further. You responded, your body melting into his, your lips parting to deepen the kiss. He tasted of smoke and spice, a heady combination that made your head spin. His claws, those large, warm claws, traced the curve of your neck, your shoulders, your breasts, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

You gasped, breaking the kiss, your body arching into his touch. He smiled, a slow, predatory smile that sent shivers down your spine. "I want to hear you," he whispered, his breath hot on your ear. "I want to hear every sound you make, every gasp, every moan." He captured your mouth again, his tongue delving in, exploring, tasting. His hands continued their journey, tracing the curve of your waist, your hips, the soft flesh of your thighs. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your undergarments, pulling back to look at you.

He slid the underwear down your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. You felt a shiver of anticipation and vulnerability, but the heat in his gaze, the raw desire, kept you from feeling exposed again. He stood up, his tail unwrapping from your waist, and you missed the contact instantly. But he was back in a moment, his hands on your knees, gently pushing them apart.

He knelt down, his gaze still locked with yours, and you felt a jolt of surprise and excitement. His rough claws traced up your inner thighs, his touch feather-light, sending shivers through you. You could feel the heat of his breath on you, and you squirmed, your body aching with anticipation. He smiled, a slow, knowing smile, and leaned in.

His long tongue found your aching bud, hot and wet, and you gasped, your body arching off the pile of furs. He made a sound, a low growl of pleasure, and the vibration sent waves of sensation through you. He gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he explored you, his tongue and lips driving you to the edge. You could feel the pressure building, your body coiling tight, and you grasped the furs beneath you, your knuckles turning paler.

"Thank you for agreeing to give me the gift of new life" His gaze held you captive, even as his tongue continued its torturous, delightful dance. You felt a flush spread across your body, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and arousal.

But you didn't look away. You held his gaze, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your body writhing with each flick of his tongue. He groaned, the sound vibrating through you, pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel it, the pleasure building, coiling tight like a spring ready to snap. "Sylus," you gasped, his name a plea on your lips.

He growled in response, his fingers digging into your thighs as he redoubled his efforts. The room spun, the golden light blurring around you. Your body tensed, every muscle coiled tight, and then, with a cry, you shattered. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, drowning you in sensation. You felt Sylus's claws on you, steadying you, his tail wrapping around you, holding you close as you rode out the storm. When the world came back into focus, you found yourself cradled in Sylus arms, your body still trembling with aftershocks. He was looking down at you, his eyes soft with concern and something else...a deep, profound satisfaction.

As you finally noticed the absence of his usual belt, your eyes widened in shock. There, at you waist, were not one, but two substantially sized cocks, side by side, both throbbing with desire. You could've sworn he only had one before?? A wave of heat rushed to your face, and you felt a surge of panic. You tried to wriggle free, to create some distance, but Sylus's grip only tightened. He growled, a low, primal sound that sent shivers down your spine, as you managed to shift into a crawling position. But your brief moment of triumph was short-lived.

With a swift move, he grabbed you around the waist, pulling you back towards him. You could feel his hot breath on your neck as he forced you face down onto the soft furs, his body pressing heavily against yours. "You cannot run from this," he rasped, his voice thick with lust and determination. "Be still." The fear that had been lurking within you surged back, filling every fiber of your being. You knew, with a certainty that was both terrifying and exhilarating, that there would be no escape. Not this time. Not until he had marked you, claimed you, bred you. His need was too great, his desire to leave his seed within you too strong to change your mind now.

As Sylus began to push his first cock into you, you felt a searing pain and a sense of being stretched to the limit. You realized, with a jolt of fear, that he hadn't been lying when he said this wouldn't be gentle. His cock was like a battering ram, forcing its way into your tight pussy with a ferocity that left you breathless. He let out a fierce growl of pleasure, pushing himself as deep as he could possibly go inside your walls.

He pumped feverishly, his hips moving with the strength and power of a beast. You groaned, your voice hoarse and barely audible, as your pussy was forced to take the pounding he was giving you. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure that left you gasping for air and gripping the fur beneath you.

His cock was huge, and it felt like it was tearing you apart, stretching your walls to the limit. You felt like you were being ripped in two, your body struggling to accommodate the size and strength of his thrusts. But Sylus didn't seem to care, his face twisted in a snarl of pleasure as he pounded into you with reckless abandon.

You were at his mercy, unable to escape the torrent of sensations that he was unleashing on your body. Your mind was a jumble of pain and pleasure, your body torn between the pain of his thrusts and the thrill of being taken by a creature so powerful and dominant. You felt his second cock rubbing itself between the rounds of your ass.

As Sylus continued to pump into you, his face twisted in a snarl of pleasure, he leaned in close and whispered in your ear.

"You'll never want for anything, beloved," he growled, voice low and reverent, thick with the weight of promise. It wasn’t just a statement. It was a vow. An oath carved from the bones of instinct, older than memory and heavier than gold. His breath was hot against your neck, his words brushing over your skin like fire.

"Not once," he continued, a possessive rumble threading through each syllable, "not once you're full with my children."

There was no shame in his tone, no hesitation. Just certainty. Purpose. He spoke like a dragon made flesh, a creature built for legacy, for claiming, for protecting what was his with unrelenting devotion. His hand traced your side as he spoke, the motion slow and reverent, as if feeling the space where new life would soon grow.

"Yes...yes give me as many children as you want Sylus, I want them all..." you begged, feeling yourself beginning to drool into the furs.

Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it seemed to have a profound effect on Sylus. His eyes flashed with a fierce light, and his face twisted in a snarl of pleasure.

Without warning, he pulled his cock out of you, the sudden withdrawal leaving you feeling empty and uneasy. But before you could even catch your breath, he flipped you around, his hands grasping your hips and pulling you back onto his cock. You felt him shove his cock balls deep inside you once again, the sudden invasion making you gasp with shock and pleasure.

You were stretched to the limit, your body struggling to accommodate the size and strength of his thrusts. But Sylus didn't seem to care, his face twisted in a mask of pleasure and desire. He pumped into you with a fierce intensity, his hips moving with a rapid, pounding rhythm that left you breathless and gasping. You felt his second cock sliding in harmonious rhythm across your stomach as he continued to pump the other inside you.

Sylus's movements grow frantic, each thrust more desperate than the last. The heat builds between you, an unstoppable force that drives you both to the edge. His breath hitches, and you can feel the tension coiling in his muscles, ready to snap.

With a final, forceful thrust, he slams deep inside you, a low groan ripping from his chest as he cums. The heat floods into you, a searing wave of release that leaves you both gasping. As he rides out the last pulses of his climax, he leans forward, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. The bite is sharp, claiming, sending a shock through your body that mingles with the aftershocks of his release.

You're both slicked in sweat, your chests rising and falling in a staggered rhythm as you cling to each other, trembling and utterly spent. The cave around you is dense with heat and the scent of exertion, the air thick enough to drink. Your skin is flushed, tingling, every nerve alight from the intensity of what has just passed between you. You feel the large amount of cum he shot inside you begin to spill out, making your thighs stick together. It’s hard to tell where your body ends and his begins—his warmth wraps around you like a living cocoon, steady and ever-present.

Every breath you take is his, pulled in from the narrow space between your mouths, and every exhale becomes a shared offering. His body is heavy over yours, enveloping, protective. You’re still reeling, caught somewhere between bliss and disbelief, when Sylus leans down and claims your lips in a kiss—fierce, unrelenting, yet reverent. It isn’t rushed. It’s deep, meaningful, and possessive in a way that leaves your heart pounding anew.

"Can you help me up?" you whisper, voice trembling, your limbs aching with fatigue. You lift a shaky hand, fingers brushing the fresh mark on your shoulder. The skin there is tender and warm, a physical memory of him etched into your flesh.

Sylus pulls back just enough to look at you, a small smile touching his lips. There’s affection in his gaze, but it’s layered with something else—something feral, possessive, unwavering. You blink at him, puzzled by the look he gives you, your breath catching as your body anticipates an answer.

"We aren’t finished, beloved" he murmurs, his voice like a caress wrapped in iron. The timbre of it thrums through your bones. He motions to his other member, still throbbing with need on your stomach. "I still have seed stored. I told you this would not be brief. We won’t be done until I am certain—utterly certain—that my seed has taken root."

The words wash over you like a second wave of heat. You feel it building again—not fear, not even hesitation. Just the slow, inevitable rush of anticipation. Your breath shudders as he presses closer once more, and the look in his eyes makes your heart stutter. He is so sure. So devoted. So...inescapably yours.

This isn’t just instinct anymore. It isn’t mere biology. It’s a vow, an offering, a claiming that comes from something sacred and ancient within him.

And as his lips brush against your throat, his tail curling possessively around your thigh again, you know one thing for certain:

Sylus isn’t finished.

And this becomes abundantly clear as he pushes his second cock inside you.

The next two days blur together in a haze of heat and aching limbs. Sylus is relentless—a creature driven by instinct and obsession, bound not just by desire but by an instinctual need to claim and secure what he now considers his. The cavern is filled with the sounds of breathless gasps, low growls, and the slick sound of bodies tangled in devotion and purpose.

There is barely a moment to rest. He presses into you again and again, each time with a ferocity that leaves you trembling, breathless, dazed. He rarely lets you catch your breath before pulling you close once more, whispering possessive promises into your ear, vowing over and over that he will not stop until he knows that his seed has taken root.

Still, there are brief breaks. Moments when he leaves to hunt, returning with food to replenish your strength. He never brings back just a meal—he returns with offerings: rare fruit, tender meats, things he’s sure will sustain and strengthen you. His eyes scan you for any signs of weakness, worry carved into the lines of his face even through the veil of lust that constantly clouds him.

One such time, you had tried to redress yourself, more out of instinct than shame. But when he returned and found you clothed again, his eyes darkened, the low sound of displeasure vibrating in his chest. He had stalked over to you, roughly tearing the garments off of your body, scattering them on the stone floor in pieces.

"Sylu-"

"No," he murmured, his voice low and rough, "You are to remain bare for me. Ready. Always."

And with those words, he had taken you again roughly, until the floor was soaked in his cum, as if to remind you that your body was his haven now—a vessel for something sacred. And this continued hourly, even when you had just awoken from a nap. He simply would spread your legs and begin pumping himself inside you. You welcomed this of course, figuring he was just following what his instincts were telling him to do.

Eventually, his frenzy began to slow. The fire that had once consumed him now burned low and steady, replaced by a quieter, more reverent form of devotion. Weeks passed in a blur of rest, warmth, and gentle touches, and then came the shift—he began to note that you smelled different. His sharp senses detected it before you felt a thing. He would murmur it against your skin, nose pressed to your neck or your belly, voice thick with wonder.

"You carry new life," he’d whisper.

At first, you rolled your eyes and laughed it off, teasing him for being so certain. You didn't want to get your hopes up. But soon, you began to feel it too—a flutter, faint and flickering like butterfly wings deep within. The first time it happened, you froze, a hand going instinctively to your belly. Sylus noticed immediately, his head snapping up, eyes wide.

"Did you feel it?"

You nodded slowly, hand still pressed to the gentle curve of your stomach. He was elated. Absolutely overcome with joy. He knelt before you and kissed your belly with a soft, contented purr rumbling from deep in his chest, his tail wrapping protectively around your ankles.

True to his word, he kept his promise. You never wanted for anything. He hunted only the best for you, brought the juiciest fruit, the most nourishing roots. He prepared meals with painstaking care, even if he didn’t eat most of it himself. When your back ached or your feet swelled, he massaged you with surprising tenderness, his large hands easing every knot and tension from your tired limbs. At night, he curled around you like a shield, his wings a blanket of protection, whispering soft things in a language you didn’t always understand.

Eventually, your clothes grew too tight to wear. Your belly swelled gloriously with life, and you gave up trying to force yourself into fabric that no longer fit. You wandered the cave freely, naked and glowing, your hands always resting protectively on your rounded stomach. Sylus didn’t mind in the slightest. He thought you looked divine.

Even in the later stages of your pregnancy, when walking made you tired and your body ached from the weight of his child, he still looked at you with hunger in his eyes. He remained ever ready to take you, though now with more patience, more gentleness to not hurt you or the baby. His touches were slow, reverent, his need no less intense but guided now by something softer—an unshakable adoration.

To him, you were more than his mate.

You were the future of his lineage. A living miracle he worshiped with every breath.

He was awoken one morning by the soft, fragile sound of you whining beside him—a breathy, instinctive noise that sliced through the quiet like a blade, shattering the peace of dawn. Instantly, he was alert, his senses snapping into sharp focus. In one smooth, practiced motion, he propped himself up on one elbow and leaned over you, red eyes scanning your body with fierce, frantic protectiveness. His hands hovered inches from your skin, as though afraid to touch and yet desperate to find the source of your distress.

When he found no visible wounds, he moved lower, his tail curling around your leg and lifting it gently. What he saw next made him still completely—and then smile, slow and reverent. A sheen of clear fluid glistened at your thighs. His chest swelled with emotion, and a warm, knowing glow filled his gaze.

It was time.

His breath caught in his throat, and the world seemed to narrow around this one miraculous truth. He leaned down, pressed his forehead to yours, and gently shook you awake, voice husky with emotion. "Wake, beloved," he murmured. "The hour is upon us."

What followed was the longest, most grueling day and a half of your life. The cave became a sanctuary of primal sound and sacred pain—the sharp edge of your cries echoing off the stone walls, the slow, rhythmic cadence of your breathing, and Sylus’s steady, grounding presence through it all. The space that had once been a den of passion now transformed into a place of birth and bond, of new beginnings.

He had prepared for this, of course. He always did. A nest of soft animal pelts had been lovingly arranged just days prior, thick and warm and perfectly layered to support your aching, straining body. You lay upon them, your skin damp with sweat, hair plastered to your temples, your belly tightening again and again with each new contraction. The pain was searing, unforgiving, your body fighting for every inch of progress.

And Sylus never left your side. Not for a moment.

He positioned himself behind you, his body acting as both cradle and shield. His larger frame curved protectively around yours, arms curled reverently over your middle, claws softened and carefully restrained so they wouldn’t harm you. He rubbed slow, grounding circles into the swell of your belly, the weight of his presence a balm against the storm.

His lips brushed your shoulder often, murmuring affirmations and praise, voice a low, calming purr that vibrated through your bones. His tail coiled gently around your thigh, anchoring you when you trembled. Whenever you cried out or whimpered in agony, he was there—not panicked, not shaken, but steady. Fierce.

"Breathe, my love," he whispered again and again, the words threaded with admiration. "You’re strong. So strong. You were made for this."

There was never a flicker of doubt in his eyes. He watched you with awe, holding space for your pain and your power, never wavering. His devotion took on a quiet intensity, every touch purposeful, every breath synchronized with yours. When you broke down in tears, sobbing through another wave of pain, he kissed your temple, held your hand, and wrapped you tighter in his warmth.

He treated you like something sacred—not just the mother of his child, but the miracle who bore his legacy. There was reverence in the way he touched you, in how he shifted with you through every hour, how his purring grew louder as your contractions deepened. You were his whole world in those moments, and he made sure you felt it.

As the hours stretched into exhaustion and time lost all meaning, he remained your constant.

And when the sharp, piercing cry of a newborn echoed through the cave, Sylus felt the breath leave his lungs entirely. The sound struck him like thunder, powerful and sacred, and his eyes locked on the sight before him: you, cradling the small, wriggling form against your chest. You were slick with sweat, flushed from exertion, but your smile—soft, exhausted, and full of wonder for your new baby—was the most radiant thing he had ever seen.

He moved toward you reverently, as if approaching something divine. But as he leaned in closer, a deep instinct stirred within him, passed down through countless generations. His tongue flicked out ever so slightly, and his body tensed with the urge to clean the newborn himself—the way his kind had always done.

You caught the motion and gave him a knowing look, gently placing a hand on his cheek. "No licking," you whispered with a tired laugh. "That’s not how we do it."

It took some convincing, his instincts hard to quiet, but he eventually yielded, watching with wide-eyed fascination as you showed him the human way. Warm cloths, gentle strokes, soft murmurs of comfort.

He knelt beside you, silent and attentive, absorbing every detail.

And though he did not get to perform the ritual of his bloodline, he found something just as profound in learning yours.

Together, you welcomed new life in a way that blended two worlds into one.

[4ruits]

you like to sit outside on hot days. dressed in a bikini around the pool as you sunbathe. you usually have a book in your hand, pages open as you engross yourself in a world outside of reality. or you're sitting around in a bikini with a bowl full of mangos waiting to be devoured.

today, you're doing the ladder.

with the pool chair carefully adjusted, you soak in the heat as you grab your third mango, humming pleasantly as you bite at the skin and use your teeth to reveal the golden beauty inside. this habitual experience in the summer became one of your favorite pastimes whenever you'd see a bunch of ripen fruit resting on the ground, waiting to be gathered.

you'd wait until your designated mango bowl was filled with at least eight of them before you'd feast on the fruits. typically, on days like these your husband would be at work or finding refuge inside, but more and more often now he'd find himself seated next to you, pretending to be occupied in a book when in reality, all eyes were on you.

gnawing at the hairy seed on one mango, the juices drip down your cheek and your neck all the way to your chest, staining your white bikini top. and you can feel nanami's eyes on you all throughout. you giggle, finally glancing at the man as his coffee-colored eyes are now shamelessly staring.

"what's the matter?"

"oh, nothing," nanami shakes his head, glancing back at his book before you again. he closes it and swings his feet over to sit up straight, now directed right towards you. "i just love mango season."

you snort, rolling your eyes. "really? well, i never see you eating them."

"don't need to," he crosses his arms. "i'm enjoying enough of it right now."

"what──" just as you furrow your eyebrows, you snort in laughter. "oh, you sick dog."

he chuckles. "i'm glad you quickly got it."

kicking your foot out at him in jest, you giggle before feeling his large palm grab at your ankle. he leans forward to grab the edge of the seat and pull it closer to him. eyes widening as your heart starts to race, you're rendered speechless, only able to mutter out, "oh..."

dropping your ankle, he pulls you close to him, forcing you to forget the fruit and kiss him.

he doesn't care about your stained and sticky body, pulling you on top of him as your previously occupied hand goes to travel to the nape of his neck. his mouth is quick to travel and latch onto the sweet path of mango juice down to your cleavage. your sweet moans further stir his cock as he grinds against you, hands falling at your waist to feel more.

nanami pulls at the strings of your bikini bottoms before they fully loosen and you're exposed. grateful for the fencing around the property, he doesn't have to worry about prying neighbors. his tongue tickles your skin, making you giggle before he stops at the hump of your breasts.

your top is the next to be gone when he asks, "why eat the fruit when i can just get to taste it on you?"

completely bare on top of your husband, you press yourself against him and reach for the hem of his swimming trunks to explore undearneath. holding onto his girth, you pull it out and align it with your entrance. he breathes into your skin, "take it easy," as you sink down on his cock. mouth falling agape and eyes closing shut as you take in every inch, you feel nanami's mouth back on your skin when your eyes flutter open.

"yeah," you breathe. "i think i love mango season, too."

[robo-writing]

Cockwarming with Logan is one of those ideas that sound good on paper, but could never work in reality. Listen up, and I’ll tell you why. (18+)

The heat of you enveloping him is nirvana itself, your hands on his body sending him to cloud nine. They linger on his chest, pawing, caressing, blazing a trail from his collarbone to his face, nails burying themselves into the darkened locks as you stare at him with nothing short of pure adoration.

“Feel good?” You ask, and he’s so drunk off you that he can only bring himself to nod, breath hitching when your hips circle themselves in his lap. Your laughter is nothing short of melodic, pressing yourself into the broad length of his chest.

He feels everything like this—the heat of your nude body against his, the scent of your body wash, your shaky breaths—every sense on overdrive. It’s there you sit, unmoving, unwavering, every movement causing your pussy to clench around him, and in turn, makes his chest rumble appreciatively.

“Should listen to you more often,” Logan mumbles, biting his lip at the feeling of you nibbling at his neck. “Just full of bright ideas, ain’tcha?”

“Full of a lot of things,” you sigh, and the sound makes his cock twitch.

But, there’s something missing.

Your quiet whimpers, your doe eyes staring at him from above—the way your pussy clenches in response to every touch, pulsing around his cock—it’s good, but it’s not enough.

Tugging at him, an itch he can’t scratch, it gnaws away at his mind until he finds himself searching for more, and the realization hits him like a wave.

It’s patience he lacks, an epiphany that has his lips curling into a smirk. It’s a lesson soon learned when his fingers dig into your hips and lift, surprise evident on your face. His downfall, as with most things, is his lack of patience. When it comes to you, he could even go as far to call it greed.

“Logan?” You ask, not a word given in response. His palms run up your back, large digits squeezing at your flesh, and yet the feeling does little to settle the sudden flare of nerves that build in your core. The calm before the storm, the impending sense of doom, women’s intuition—or maybe it’s because you’ve become intimately familiar with the devious smile that spreads across Logan’s face.

“Logan? What are you—“

You’re soon cut short, interrupted by the feeling of him slamming you back onto his cock, your short gasp making ego soar to new heights.

“Sorry doll, change of plans,” he grunts, bouncing you on his lap without a care in the world. The sudden change of pace has you scrambling for purchase, hands clamoring around his neck as you struggle to keep up.

“Logan, wait—ohmygod—“ you whine, and the sound is like music to his ears. His attempt at soothing your worries is his hand sliding across your ass, the sharp sting of it making you jump, but lucky for you Logan’s there to pull you back onto his cock.

Up, down, up, down. A constant rhythm that finally satiates the beast within him, the dull thud of skin on skin enough to have him melting into his chair, a wave of content spreading through every vein of his body. In contrast, you feel your own becoming more tense by the second; toes curling, breath caught in your throat, an incomprehensible string of noises leaving your lips as Logan watches with bated breath.

He tuts at you, the sound nothing short of mocking. “No runnin’ away sweetheart, this was your idea.”

“Not like this,” you moan, hiding yourself in his neck. “Wanted to relax…”

Your voice trails off, unable to speak when Logan’s practically fucking every rational thought from your head. Slowly but surely, any idea of protest is drowned out by the heat that burns inside of you, a dull ember that builds into a blaze, unable to focus on anything that isn’t Logan or his cock grinding inside you.

You can hear his laughter bellowing deep within his chest, amused at your brainless state, right before he quickens his pace. “Trust me sweetheart, I’m real fuckin’ relaxed right now.”

[n1xxi3]

I have officially lost the privilege to tell people I don't bite when I meet them. Because I 100% do.

[shawtuzi]

♱ FEELZ ft. choso kamo ♱

summary: after months of desperate searching, choso finally finds the perfect roommate! you cook, clean up after yourself, and best of all, you happen to be the prettiest girl he’s ever seen in his life. your only flaw? a gnawing bloodlust that increases tenfold whenever you’re around him because of his rare blood type.

wc: 18k cw include: sfw-roommates to lovers?? kinda??, mentions of reader killing people (she be hungry she’s just a girl!), mentions of blood, side character death, they’re so down bad for each other but for diff reasons, reader has a bit of an oral fixation, nsfw- lots of kissing, switch!choso, fondling, biting, a smidge of blood play, dry humping, oral f&m!receiving, SMIDGE of foot stuff, choso has an abnormally huge dick, riding, backshots, reader drinks choso’s blood during, marathon sex, abrupt ending IM SAWRYYYY I GOT TIRED >:(

‘ they say home is where the heart is, you’re the reason mine is beatin’. ’

“i’m sorry i had to schedule us meeting on such a crappy day, but i’m glad you were able to make it! what did you say your name was again?”

“y/n, my name is y/n. it’s very nice to meet you, choso.” you extended your manicured hand out to his, a small smile lifting at the corners of your lips. choso graciously enveloped your hand in his, giving it three slow shakes before awkwardly clasping his hands together.

he was handsome, intimidatingly handsome. the kind of handsome that would make you do a triple take if you ever saw him walking down the street. he was a big man. no shorter than six feet with broad shoulders to match. his eyelids were smudged with black liner, and right above the medium size scar on his nose was a bridge piercing. he had a few other piercings; a stud in his nose, snake bites, and if you paid close enough attention you could see a tongue ring.

as handsome as he was though, he had a sort of anxious aura surrounding him. he was nervous, but why?

“i don’t mind the rain, even when it gets like this. i like the smell that it leaves afterwards.” your eyes crinkled together in a smile which he returned happily.

it was silent for a few moments before choso finally spoke up. “sorry. i suppose you’re waiting for me to get the conversation going,” he chuckled breathily, resting his hands on the table. you hummed, giving him a curt nod while taking a sip of your tea.

“we’ve already gone over what’s in the apartment and rent, and all that other good stuff. what i really wanted to meet up to talk about was your boundaries, and other things you feel i should know about yourself.”

for such a big man he had the most gentle voice, and the kindest eyes as he spoke to you.

“well, i think we can both mutually agree on staying out of each others rooms, and toiletries. i take pride in being a good cook, so i don’t mind ever whipping you up something if you’re hungry. i’m good at picking up after myself, and you seem like the kinda guy who does the same so i don’t think that’ll be an issue. um, i would say i’m more on the introverted side, so you don’t have to worry about me having guests over.”

the more you spoke the more you could see choso visibly relax. you were saying all the right things, especially the part where you mentioned not having guests over. it’s not like choso didn’t have friends over from time to time, but my mans enjoyed the solitude of a quiet home very much.

“w-well that’s . . . that’s great! i know that’s like the bare minimum a person can ask for, but you have nooo idea what kinda nuts i’ve had to deal with.” he trailed off with a chuckle, and when you joined him in laughter he couldn’t notice how nice your smile was. you had the cutest little canines.

“i cook as well, but i wouldn’t say i’m the best, heh. i mostly work from home, so i’ll be home most of the day. i do have company over sometimes, but it’s just a couple of friends and my brother—if it would make you more comfortable i could try to let you know when they come over?”

sweet and thoughtful.

with a small shake of your head you said, “that won’t be necessary, but it’s very thoughtful that you’d offer. please continue.”

“ah, the only other thing is my gaming habit. i try to be quiet, but if i’m ever too loud please don’t hesitate to say something.” you couldn’t help but giggle. you didn’t take him for much of a gamer.

finally you bit the bullet and asked the question that’s been on your mind since he sat down. “have you ever roomed with a girl before?”

“ . . . ”

you could hear the way his heart picked up at your question. the faint blush on his cheeks was also a dead giveaway that he has, in fact, never shared a living space with a woman. “um, no. no i haven’t, b-but i promise i won’t be weird or anything like that. i’ll always respect you and your privacy, honest!”

the jangling of your gold bracelets caught choso’s attention as you rested your chin on your palm, a playful grin on your lips. “you’re real cute y’know that?”

this had choso smirking, the blush on his cheeks growing deeper. “yeah i’ve heard that once or twice. don’t let the looks fool you, i suck at talking to women no matter who it is,” he chuckled, eyes flitting to the rings on his fingers.

after a little more talk about your living situation, you and choso made some small talk. he told you a little about his job, and some stories about him and his brother when they were kids. you were pretty vague when it came to talking about your life, but choso didn’t seem to notice—mostly because you didn’t give him a chance to think before you were asking him another question about himself.

“it was so nice meeting you, y/n. i really look forward to being roommates. if you have any questions before your move-in day please feel free to reach out.” choso reached his hand out for yours, and to his surprise your hand was ice cold.

when his eyes flicked back up to yours, you had a look on your face he couldn’t quite decipher. you were smiling, but something just felt . . . off.

ah, he was all in his head again. you seemed like a nice girl, a normal girl. you had no criminal background as far as he knew, and after stalking what little socials you had, he didn’t get any kind of serial killer vibe.

you’d be the perfect roommate. you had to be!

“it was nice meeting you as well, choso! i’ll see you on the first.” and with that you parted ways.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

‘ breaking news ! another dead body was found in an alleyway by two citizens early this morning. the couple described the scene as ‘horrific’ and ‘nightmarish’. like the other four corpses previously found, the body was drained of all blood and was missing its head, arms, and its entire lower half. police are encouraging citizens to follow the ten p.m curfew, but there have been talks of enforcing this curfew rather than having it as a suggestion . . . ’

the tv clicked off, leaving nothing but a black screen. nanami let out a long sigh through his nose before slowly turning his head towards you. “are you being sloppy on purpose or are you just that dumb?”

you lips quirked up in a grin, “calm down. it’s not like they’re ever gonna figure it out who’s doing it all, and besides, a ten p.m curfew? in new york city? please. plus, i’ve decided to take a break for a little while, i’ve found a new roommate and i need to settle in.”

if looks could kill your heart would surely have a stake through it by the way nanami was looking at you. his usually handsome face was twisted into a deep frown, and if you weren’t scared of him quite literally breaking every bone in your body, you’d laugh at him.

nanami was an old friend of yours, but not really a friend at all. he was hired to watch over you by a very old, irritating, and invasive counsel that you despise with every fiber of your undead being. he’s simply there to make sure you didn’t draw any unwanted attention to your kind.

it’s not like you pranced around with your eyes crimson red, and fangs bared for all to see—you just had a problem controlling your bloodlust. hence why nanami was there. he’s been following you around the world for almost a century now, and he hasn’t changed the slightest bit. if anything he got more and more grumpy as the years went on. if he was physically able to age he’d be as shriveled as a raisin by now.

“i hope you’re at least being sensible about the lives you’re taking. some of these people have families to get back to,” nanami spoke lowly, taking a long sip of the bourbon in his glass. the comment had you rolling your eyes in annoyance.

“i can assure you no one will miss them. you should know by now i don’t go after innocents,” you all but growled, digging your nails into the leather of the couch you were sitting on.

“not everyone can live off diseased squirrels, and alley cats, or whatever the hell you eat to survive.” you muttered the snarky comment under your breath, but nanami heard every syllable.

he tongued the inside of his cheek, veiny hand coming up to loosen the tie around his neck. “this new roommate of yours . . . is anyone going to miss him when he turns up missing?”

“he won’t turn up missing because i don’t plan on killing him. he’s nice . . has some friends and a little brother. seems a little ditzy too so i don’t think he’ll catch onto anything, but at this point, anywhere is better than sharing a place a with you.”

ever since you settled on staying in new york, nanami took it upon himself to find an apartment for you. it was a beautiful place to say the least, but the catch was he was staying there with you. that was always the catch, but this time around you were fed up with the blondes meddling more than usual. you had to get outta there.

“i hope you know that just because you’re leaving that doesn’t mean i won’t be keeping an even closer eye on you,” he muttered, setting the glass beside him. unfortunately you were already fully aware that no matter where you hid in the ginormous city, or in the world honestly, nanami would always be on your coattails.

the thought of trying to kill him doesn’t even cross your mind anymore. every attempt you’ve ever made on his life ended horribly . . . for you. the last time you tried to kill the blonde he ended up breaking both of your kneecaps with a single, swift kick, and that was the end of that. you couldn’t cause any physical harm so verbal attacks would have to do.

“like i could ever forget. now please be useful for once and help me pack the rest of my things.” you sounded like a spoiled child. it annoyed kento to his core. sixty years of following you around, and you haven’t changed a single bit.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

when you arrived at your new apartment the sun was just about to fully set, the pink and orange swirls in the sky now fading to night. the sun wasn’t your total enemy. it wasn’t like you disintegrated into dust the second a ray of sunshine hit your skin, but it was still rather bothersome and you tried to avoid it if possible.

choso was waiting for you by the entrance of the building with his hand lifted in a wave, and a sweet smile on his lips. sure, he thought it was a little odd you wanted to move the rest of your things in when it was dark out, but he didn’t care to question it.

your headboard and mattress had already been brought earlier in the day along with two of your dressers, and the nicest vanity he’s ever seen. the apartment itself was a slight downgrade from your previous place, but like you had stated before: anywhere is better than sharing a space with kento.

all you had with you were clothes. lots and lots of clothes. so many clothes that it had choso’s eyes nearly popping out of his skull.

“it looks like a lot but i think we can knock this out in a half hour, forty five minutes tops!” you wrapped an arm around his muscly bicep, biting back a giggle as he examined the moving truck full of boxes and racks of clothes. choso let out a low chuckle, hand awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck.

“is there any particular reason why you have so many clothes?” he hummed, tilting his head to you. he couldn’t deny the tingle that shot down his spine when you batted your lashes at him. “ummm, all of this is vintage, designer, or vintage designer. i had to bring all of it with me. now c’mon!”

the entire thing took a little over an hour, and it would’ve gone by faster if you used a little of your inhuman strength and speed, but watching choso’s muscles strain as he carried each box was far more enjoyable. hearing the little grunts and groans he made was even better.

“you barely even broke a sweat! you’re so strong, choso,” you giggled, lazily swinging your legs back and forth as you watched him set the final boxes down. choso preened at the praise, a dopey smile forming on his lips. he wiped a bead of sweat from his temple before speaking, “ah, it’s nothin’. my friends convinced me to start going to the gym with them a couple months ago, and i guess the results have been pretty nice.”

you could’ve rolled your eyes when he said the words ‘pretty nice.’ he was one of the most jacked men you’ve ever seen, yet he was describing the results as decent. why downplay himself?

you couldn’t wait to pick this boys brain apart.

his ears perked up when he heard you pat the soft cushion of the couch. “come sit with me, cho.”

he blinked a few times before slowly making his way over to you. when he sat on the furthest end of the couch your lips lifted into a playful smirk. “you don’t have to sit so far y’know, i don’t bite.” well, at least for now.

“i know, i just—i don’t know,” he chuckled, glancing over at you before flitting his eyes to the chunky rings on his fingers.

‘come onnnn. start some conversation, don’t be weird!’ he screamed at himself in his head, afraid that this comfortable silence will soon turn into an uncomfortable one.

you could see the struggle on the his face, hear the way his heartbeat picked up as he tried to think of something, anything to say.

“did those hurt?” you spoke softly, poking a finger to your lip. his tongue slowly swiped over his snake bites, brows raising in question to see if that’s what were were referring to. you let out a small, barely audible hum and nodded your head.

“eh, kinda. i’d rate if a six and a half on the pain scale. my most painful piercing was definitely my—oh, um, well i don’t know if i should show you—unless you wanna see! t-then i can totally show you—”

everything happened so quick. one minute you were sitting on the opposite end of the couch, then suddenly you were so close to choso that your thighs were smushed together. his mouth dropped open the tiniest bit when you cupped his cheeks, bringing his face close to yours. your hands were cold, but your touch was as delicate as ever.

“calm down. you sound like you’re about to have a stroke,” you giggled, releasing your hold on him. choso let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in and silently nodded. without another word being said he lifted up his t-shirt, revealing a singular piercing on his left nipple.

your eyes widened, a grin forming on your glossy lips. you leant in close, so close it had choso making a noise of surprise. “why just the one?” you giggled, trailing your eyes from his chest to those pretty, doe eyes of his.

“the plan was to get both done, but i pussied out after the guy did this one. the pain was just too much, which is funny considering i’ve had my ribs tatted—now that is real pain right there! see?” two of his fingers slowly trailed down the tattoo on the left side of his ribs. your eyes widened the size of saucers when you realized the tattoo was of icarus.

“are you—do you happen to be into greek mythology?” when you nodded ‘yes’ choso matched your giddy smile, his eyes brightening in a way that was just too cute. “when i was younger i thought it was sooo cool, a-and i still do! hence why i got a tattoo of icarus. i know there’s more interesting stories, but his really stuck with me. i guess i can relate to pushing myself past my limits, physical or mental . . . ”

you came to a conclusion that night that you liked hearing choso talk about literally anything. you liked how soft spoken he was, and how he stumbled over his words. you adored hearing the way his tone changed and the way his eyes lit up when he talked about things he was passionate about or liked.

you told him a little about yourself, and it was nice to see the way he hung onto every word you said. the way his eyes lit up when you delved a little into your personal life. he was a good listener, you liked that.

it was true shame that even after all the great impressions he’s made in only a few hours—you still wanted to yank him back by those pretty, brown locs and sink your teeth into his neck.

his scent was enough to have you drooling, and if you hadn’t of indulged in a man the previous night, you surely would be now. it was a sweet scent, like those expensive chocolates you only bust out for special occasions. you’ve only smelt such a thing one other time, but that would mean . . . oh.

he had a rare blood type; o-negative to be exact. the rarest blood type in the world with only six million people worldwide to have it—and here you were with a walking blood bank of it. now you really had reason not to kill him.

you could end his life, indulge in him now, and get your fill, but then what? this was something you had to nurture, something you had to savor.

“y/n? you alright? i lost ya for a second there,” he grinned, cocking his head slightly to the side like a confused puppy.

“hm? oh yes i’m fine. just thinkin’ about all the unpacking i have to do.”

“w-well i could help you if you want? i’d love to see your clothes if they’re all vintage. that kinda stuff is real neat to me.” your silence to the question worried him, but when he heard you say yes his eyes lit up.

your wardrobe was far more impressive than he could’ve ever imagined. from dresses, to handbags, to jewelry—you had it all, and you took pride in it. happiness isn’t guaranteed for all of eternity, but stylish clothing certainly is.

“isn’t this shawl beautifu? look at the detail on it,” you spoke lowly, holding the article of clothing out for choso to see. with a shaky hand, choso delicately ran two fingers over the lacy material of the shawl. “its from vivienne westwoods nineteen-ninety five spring collection. the naomi campbell wore this same one on the runway.”

now choso didn’t know much about fashion, but by the way your eyes lit up at the article of clothing, it had to have been something real special.

choso plopped down on your freshly made bed and propped himself up on his elbows. “how on earth did you get your hands on that?”

your lips parted in a small laugh. “you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about that. just know i have my ways.”

he didn’t need to know that you were there in person to see naomi campbell walk down the aisle with said shawl, and he certainly didn’t need to know the troublesome lengths you had to go thought to get it.

“oh shit, it’s past midnight. i should probably head to bed,” choso groaned, reaching his arms over his head to stretch. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t ogle his flexing muscles as he did so.

“mm, well goodnight, choso. thank you for helping me unpack my stuff. sweet dreams!”

he gave you a sweet smile and made his way to exit your room. as he passed you got a strong whiff of the sweet, mouthwatering scent that was him. you had to physically restrain yourself by digging your nails into your palm so hard they bled—otherwise you would’ve tackled him like a linebacker just to get a little taste.

not today, y/n. not today.

when choso dozed off he could hear little rustles from your room, and when he woke up the next morning he could hear noises from the kitchen. the sun was barely peeking through, and you were already up? whew, and he thought he was an early bird.

still very much groggy with sleep, choso exited his room and was met with the sight of you in the kitchen, whipping up some kind of breakfast while you hummed a quiet tune.

* yawn* “good morning, y/n.”

“good morning, chos—oh! um . . . cho?”

“hm?”

“any particular reason you only got boxers on right now? not that i’m complaining or nothin’,” you giggled, whipping back around to focus on the breakfast you were making. as you finished your sentence all the sleepiness in choso’s body vanished, and was quickly replaced with embarrassment?? shame?? both??

all you can say is you’ve never heard a grown ass man shriek.

you heard loud footsteps and the sound of a door slam. you perked your ears up a little bit more to hear him and he did not disappoint. little whines and whimpers of embarrassment slipped past his lips left and right.

‘idiot! she probably thinks i’m a huge perv!’ you heard him whine in shame, and sickly enough, it brought a smile to your lips. sure, you felt bad that he was so embarrassed from exposure, but ugh! he was just too cute!

even with the numerous tattoos and piercings, choso gave you severe cuteness aggression, and when you paired it with that marshmallowly, caramel scent he had, it made you wanna kiss his cheeks and rip his throat out with your teeth at the same time.

ugh. you needed to feed, and soon. you could already feel your humanity slipping, and that wasn’t good for anyone.

your thoughts were broken by the smell of burning french toast. “ah, shit.” your nose scrunched in annoyance as you scraped the now burnt french toast off the pan.

“i’m sooo sorry about that. i-it’s been a while since i’ve had another person here, a-and i smelt food—not that that’s an excuse of course. i just—i’m sorry.” he was talking so fast you barely understood a word he said, and you feared if you asked him to repeat himself he’d explode into pieces.

you hummed out a small laugh and set a plate of french toast and eggs on the small glass table in front of him. “it’s okay, cho. we’re both adults, stuff happens. it’s all good, now eat!” he silently stared at you for two beats before slowly pulling out a chair and sitting.

the petrified look on his face was wiped off and replaced with a small smile. “this looks delicious, thank you.” you bowed your head slightly in a silent thank you and took a seat right next to him. human food did little to appease your appetite, but it did curb your cravings a tad, hence why you decided to pick at your own piece of french toast.

“have any dreams?” you asked, licking a dribble of syrup off your fork. choso nearly choked on his eggs at the action, quickly gulping down some juice to ease the burning in his throat. “n-nah, none in particular really stand out. y-you?” you giggled and shook your head. “i don’t dream very much. i guess my thoughts are too loud or something.”

you both maintained small talk while choso demolished his breakfast, and while you talked he only made direct eye contact about a handful of times.

choso was already bad with girls, but you made him completely beside himself. you had him stumbling over damn near every word he said, your precious laugh set the apples of his cheeks ablaze every time he heard it, and worst of all he hasn’t stopped looking at your boobs since you sat at the table!

you were wearing a pink, lacy nightgown with a robe to match, and every time you leant forward even an inch, your breasts were spilling out more.

“you want some more, cho? there’s plenty left.”

choso blinked. hard.

“um, no no that’s okay. i should probably freshen up . . . get ready for work and s-such, but thank you! thank you so much for breakfast, you’re the best!” the sound of his chair scooting back was deafening. he couldn’t believe how fucking awkward he was being right now.

“mm, suit yourself. i’ll be tidying up in here if you need anything!” the smile you gave him was the same one you had given him at the coffee shop where you first met. it looked sincere, yet it sent a shiver up his back. it honestly looked like you wanted to devour him whole.

while you loaded the dishes into the dishwasher you couldn’t help but, once again, let your mind wander to choso’s impressive physique. he was so big. you just wanted to sink your teeth into every muscle on his body. you certainly didn’t miss the massive bulge in boxers either—

“o-oh!”

you nearly dropped the plate you were holding, your brain going into complete overdrive at the smell of blood.

“ah, shit. stupid fuckin’ razor . . . ”

so he cut himself with a razor. that’s unfortunate. maybe you could help him tend to it. maybe he’d even let you smell the blood soaked tissue he dabbed it with. your mouth watered, a thin line of drool dribbling from your lips and onto the porcelain plate you were holding with an iron grip.

“i need—i n-need to get out of here,” you whispered to yourself, damn near tossing the plate in the dishwasher. if you didn’t step out now you would surely hurt choso, and that was last thing you needed to deal with when you’ve only been there one night.

the sound of a door slamming caught choso’s attention, and when he walked out to see what the commotion was, he found nothing. nothing except a little note on the counter.

had to run out and do a few things. i’ll be back soon.

— y/n

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

your fingers twitched around the icy glass in your hands, the feeling of hunger draping over you more and more by the second. he should be here any minute.

your ears perked up at someone entering the bar, and surely enough there he was; toji fushiguro, aka your next target. you’ve done some research on the man, and he was more than perfect for the job.

he killed people for a living. it didn’t matter if it was a man or woman, old or young—if you paid him enough he’d do it. on top of that he also had a reputation as a sleazy pig, someone who thought more with his dick than his brain if it wasn’t work related.

he was big, intimidatingly big, but nothing you couldn’t handle. in fact you were hoping he struggled, you liked a challenge.

“now what’s a pretty thing like you doing a shithole like this?” his voice was like nails on a chalkboard to your ears, but nonetheless, you forced a smile and slowly turned your stool towards him. you almost wanted to roll your eyes when you saw an unlit cigarette dangling from between his smirking lips.

you let out a dramatic sigh and batted your lashes extra hard. “well, i got into a nasty argument with my boyfriend while we were having lunch and i ended up getting so mad i stormed off! i left the restaurant and just kept on walking until i ended up here.”

the reality actually was: you waited in a cafe until this dingy bar opened at ten a.m. and then waited even longer in this uncomfortable ass bar stool until he showed up. he was a regular at this bar. according to other patrons, if he wasn’t there he was either out on a job or dead because he never went home.

as far as you knew, he had no friends, no living relatives, and more reasons to be hated than you could count on your fingers.

“well that’s an awful shame darlin’. how ‘bout you buy us a round of drinks and tell me alllll about it.” before you knew it, his side was pushed up against yours, his large arm now wrapped around your shoulders. the smell of whatever cologne he had on had your nostrils burning.

you let out a small, fake laugh and whipped out a wad of cash. “order whatever you like,” you grinned, slamming the money down so hard you could’ve sworn he flinched.

it wasn’t until four drinks later that toji’s words started to slur, and he was a tad more touchy than when he first approached you. you were feeling borderline feral at this point, the last of your humanity slipping through your fingers due to a fight between two patrons that happened minutes before.

the metallic smell of blood lingered throughout the air. it was so strong you could practically taste it.

“you alright, sweet thing? shakin’ like a leaf over there,” he chuckled, slithering his hand around your waist to give it a squeeze. his eyebrows raised slightly when you turnt your head towards him. “um . . . have your, um, have your eyes always looked like that? maybe i’m a little too tipsy but they look red.”

without saying a word you grasped his bigger hand in your own. “come with me,” you muttered, hopping off the barstool. a wave of shock washed over toji’s face at the amount of strength you used to pull him off his own stool. “heh, you’re pretty strong, cutie.”

when he realized you were taking him into an alleyway, his lips pulled into a sleazy smirk. “what’re you tryna do, little lady?” he chuckled, teeth catching onto his bottom lip when you pushed him into a near brick wall.

“i am just so, so hungry,” your voice was hushed, now two octaves deeper. you pressed your nose against the pulse point in his neck, inhaling until you felt dizzy. your fangs were practically throbbing against your gums. you needed to bite into something, anything!

your tongue lolled out, sloppily rolling itself around the expanse of his neck. you nearly hissed at the man when he cupped your jaw in his hands. “are you—? heh, are you droolin’?”

you let out a small giggle, giving him a toothy grin. you took multiple mental pictures of the look on his face. it wasn’t exactly a face of horror, but you could see the fear in his eyes.

without thinking he pushed you to the ground, his back now firmly pressed against the wall. “the fuck . . . the fuck? is this some kinda prank? the fuck is wrong with your face?”

when you attempted to get up you were met with the sound of a gun clicking. you peered at him over your lashes, your nose crinkling in a laugh.

“i’ve heard of you guys, but i thought it was all just rumors. fuckin’ nightwalkers. tell me why i shouldn’t put a bullet through your head right now.”

it all happened so fast. one minute you were on the ground and the next you were gone. toji’s head whipped left, then right. you completely vanished before his eyes.

“you’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me—oof!”

toji had somehow been flipped to his back, his head knocking against the gravel below him. when he tried to get up, he was stopped by a heel pressing snugly against his chest.

“i hope you’re not looking for this,” you dryly chuckled, tucking the weapon in your purse. you made a mental note to dispose of it later—guns were little to no use for someone such as yourself.

“why’re you doing this, hm? the fuck you want from me?” his teeth grit together when you pushed your heel deeper into his chest. toji was fucked. undeniably, incredibly fucked. he could run, but you’d catch him. he could try to take you down at hand-to-hand combat, but he knows you’d break every bone in his body before he even threw a punch.

he knew karma would catch up with his ass one day, but damn! did it have to happen right when he just got done with a job? at least he was decently buzzed.

“you’re a very bad man, mr. fushiguro. you’re wanted for murder, attempted murder, assault with a deadly weapon—gosh, i mean the list goes on! i’m sure the world will be a much better place with you off the streets. not to mention you made me get my skirt dirty. that’s enough reason for me to rip your head off.”

you slowly took your heel off his chest, and to your surprise he stayed put, not daring to move an inch. toji let out a deep sigh through his nose. “well, if i’m gonna die, at least it’s at the hands of a very, very gorgeous lady such as yourself.”

your head tilted to the side, a bashful smile tugging at your lips. “tch, you’re too sweet, honestly.” you knelt down beside him and tilted his chin up. the sound of his heart thumping in his chest had your head pounding.

“i’ll try to make this as painless as possible, mr. fushiguro.”

‘ breaking news ! yet another body his been discovered this evening by patrons leaving a nearby bar. the police have identified the body as toji fushiguro; a known criminal around the city of new york. patrons at the bar say they saw mr. fushiguro leave with a woman, but a description has yet to be released. when police found mr. fushiguro it appeared that he had been attacked by an animal due to the multiple bite wounds around his body, so this mystery woman may not be our suspect, but due to the lack of security cameras inside the bar it is unlikely this woman will be found. ’

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

choso had a problem. a very big problem. after almost six months of living together, he’s developed the corniest, most lovesick puppy crush on you. what could he say? you were perfect in every way imaginable. you were a little bit of a mystery to him, but that only added on to the crush even more!

he loved being in your presence, the floral scent that you left behind every time you crossed paths. he loved your home cooked meals, and the random desserts you’d bake just because you were bored. he loved that you both had so much in common—from tv shows, to movies, to music!

all these amazing things, and more had choso falling head over heels for you, but because of the roommate code he swore upon himself, he never once made a move. the last thing he wanted to do was scare you off, so he kept those feelings bottled up, but as the days went on it became harder and harder to not show his attraction to you. especially during your weekly movie nights.

“sooo what’d you pick for us tonight, cho?” you asked once he took a seat on the couch. you pouted at the distance, wasting no time crawling towards him until there was less than an inch of space between your bodies.

“from dusk till dawn.”

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, and this caught choso’s attention. “what, you don’t like that movie? it’s a classic!” he chuckled, taking a sip of the juice he was nursing.

you grinned at him, cocking your head to side as you batted your lashes. “i’ve actually never seen it, all i know is that it’s a vampire movie.” choso was absolutely gobsmacked at this information.

“well now we have to watch it!”

even though vampire movies weren’t your favorite, you decided to watch it anyway, but only if choso held you the entire time. that was your one condition.

so that’s how you ended up tucked snugly into his chest while his arms were weakly draped over your lower back. he wanted to be normal about this, but how could he?! especially when you had on the most tempting set of lacy pajamas.

“you’re so warm, choso . . . smell really nice too,” you hummed, nuzzling your nose into his chest to get a stronger whiff of him. he smelt so sweet you could practically feel your tooth aching from it. “t-thanks y/n. you smell nice too, like, like flowers.”

“mhm, it’s peonies. i’ve been using a new body wash, thank you for noticing.” you shuffled the tiniest bit, making your top ride up and expose your lower back.

choso’s hand twitched. god, he wanted to touch you, feel how soft your skin was.

“mm, hold me tighter. you feel so loose,” he heard you whisper below him, and with a deep exhale he pulled your body closer to his, his hand now splayed across your bare, lower back.

fuck, he was right. your skin was in fact as soft as the peonies you smelt of.

he squeezed your side gently, and you hummed, lashes fluttering at the action. “that feels nice . . . rub my back? please?”

“s-sure. let me know if i’m getting too low or far up . . . ‘kay?” you let out a small hum and nodded, fixating your eyes on the movie. you weren’t really paying attention, more so relishing in how soft choso’s hands felt against your cool skin.

it wasn’t even five minutes later when choso really started to notice how close you were to him. your chest was pressed so tightly against his it was driving him mad! your tits felt so soft, even through his shirt and your top. he couldn’t help but wonder if they were as soft as the rest of you—oh god he cannot pop a boner right now, not here!

“um, y/n.”

“mhm?”

“do you—do you want some wine? i could really use some wine, how about you get up for a sec—”

a squeak flew past your lips when choso abruptly sat up, taking you up with him. your hands flew to his shoulders out of instinct, and somehow, this put choso in an even more fucked up situation. you were sitting right on his dick, and if you didn’t notice it was hard then, you definitely did now.

your face was blank for a moment and then you smiled at him. “i’d love some wine, thank you.”

you knew he was sporting a boner before choso himself even knew. you could practically hear the blood rushing to his dick, the way his heart rammed against his ribcage. it brought sense of pride in your chest that you didn’t even know existed.

you slowly maneuvered yourself off his lap, and to choso’s surprise you acted completely normal, reaching over to pause the movie as if either of you were actually paying attention. as if he wasn’t scrambling to get some wine to draw your attention away from his semi.

even after this shameful moment, his dick was still hard and getting harder by the second. so while he shakily poured two glasses of wine, he also made quick work to adjust himself, though it did little to hide anything.

he could call it a night, and hide in his room forever, but that might hurt your feelings. choso would rather get jumped than ever hurt your feelings. he just had to think of something to make it go down, but what? you were the only thing plaguing his mind.

he tried to think of the most disgusting things possible, and even tried coming up with mental pictures that would have him gagging, but nothing worked. caught up in all the commotion in his head, choso hadn’t realized how loose he was holding onto the wine glasses before one of them slipped from his hand and onto the ground.

you jumped, head whipping to the side with furrowed brows. “everything okay in there, cho?”

choso was borderline panicking at this point, not even thinking about the shards of glass slicing at his fingertips as he picked them up.

your nose twitched. there went that smell again.

you should leave. go somewhere far away before you do something you regret . . . but then that would mean leaving choso. what if he was hurt? what he if couldn’t give himself proper care?

despite the numerous voices in your head shouting at you to leave him be, you got up and slowly made your way to the kitchen. choso could hear your sock clad feet padding against the hardwood floor and straightened his posture, his eyes not even daring to look at the mess in his hands.

“your . . . ” you took a final step forward, not daring to move another inch, “your hands. they’re bleeding.”

choso’s eyes flitted to his crimson hands, then back to yours. your hand was covering the entire lower half of your face, almost as if you had smelt something foul. your body was practically vibrating from how much you wanted to pounce on him.

his eyes widened. “i’m—i’m sorry. i was making the drinks and they just—are you okay? do you get queasy around blood? i’m so sorry—”

choso was utterly embarrassed. this was certainly one way to kill a boner.

“it’s okay. it’s okay, let me see.” your words were muffled due to you speaking over your hand. choso took a step forward, and it almost looked like you wanted to take a step back, but you stayed put, slowly moving your hand away from your face as he got closer.

you could feel saliva pooling on your tongue as you took a short inhale. “o-oh, choso. why would you pick up glass with your bare hands?” your tone had sounded more aggressive than you intended, but hey, it was better than the other things you had in mind.

choso gnawed on his bottom lip. “because . . . because you make me nervous. i’m sure you saw my, um, problem, thank you for not saying anything by the way,” while he was explaining himself it was like he was speaking through you, his eyes avoiding yours as much as possible. you nodded slowly, your nostrils flaring as your lungs burned for air.

“i just—i just wanted to get rid of it before i made an even bigger fool of myself, but you see how that went.” before he spoke again you shushed him.

“it’s fine. just follow me to the bathroom so i can pick this glass out. i have a pair of tweezers.” he nodded dumbly like a lost puppy, and silently followed you with a frown etched onto his lips.

“you know you don’t have to help me—”

“please shush. just sit so i can help you, i don’t mind a bit, cho.” you hated that your tone was so snippy with him, but you weren’t sure how much longer your humanity would stay intact.

choso’s frown deepened, but he sat on the toilet seat cover regardless, gently laying his hands on the porcelain sink palms up. “i’m so sorry, y/n. i completely crossed a boundary i shouldn’t have, i mean, we’ve been getting along so well these past five months, and i know we get physical sometimes, but i shouldn’t have . . . gotten an, erm, erection.”

it was silent. not even a breath could be heard from either of you. why were you being so calm? why were you helping him? he figured any other girl would be livid . . . unless you felt the same.

he watched you shuffle around the bathroom as you looked for your tweezers until you finally found them. the sight before you would probably send shivers down anyone’s spine from the amount of blood, but it left you starving. you hesitated twice to grab his hand, and with a shudder you finally grasped it.

“o-okay let’s do this,” you sighed, making quick, but swift work to remove the tiny shards of glass. you were honestly very proud of yourself for making it this far.

choso hissed when you pulled out a particularly long piece, his brows furrowing in discomfort. you could hear his heart thrumming in his chest, it was beginning to hurt your head.

“i’m not upset or creeped out that you got hard, cho. i felt it before you even got up. if i was uncomfortable i would’ve let you know, but i wasn’t, i was just waiting for you to make a move . . . but then you cut your—your hands.” you swallowed thickly, nostrils flaring as you pulled out the final piece of glass.

choso let out a deep sigh, brown locs covering his eyes when his head tilted downward. “i’m at idiot, an injured idiot at that.”

your lips parted in a breathy laugh, “you’re not an idiot, you’re sweet. now sit tight so i can disinfect it.”

it physically pained you to wash his blood off your hands. you wanted to shed a tear watching the crimson liquid swirl down the drain, but you had to be sanitary about this!

you couldn’t help but think of nanami, and how proud he would be if he could see you tending to a humans wounds rather than indulging on them.

“this is probably gonna hurt . . . like a lot.” you warned looking into his eyes for consent to continue. he hesitantly nodded, tongue poking out to toy with his lip piercing.

you couldn’t help the giggle that slipped past when your lips when choso cursed rather loudly at the stinging sensation from the alcohol. he was a trooper for sure, hands not moving an inch, even as you dabbed more alcohol on the cuts.

“t-thank you for doing this. fuck, there’s no w-way i could’ve done this myself with somehow getting injured more.” his voice was shaky as he spoke, but there a small smile etched onto his lips.

you breathed out a small laugh, wiping the cuts clean before beginning to bandage them. “i’m glad i was able to help. now please be more careful! next time you drop some glass just sweep it up!”

“y-yes ma’am, i promise.”

when you finished putting the alcohol and bandages away, you were shocked to feel choso pull you close by the backs of your thighs.

“choso! watch your hands, you just got them bandaged up,” you giggled, resting your hands on his shoulders for balance. he smiled at you, pulling you closer until your body was pressed against his chest. you were so close your faces were nearly touching, the scent of your body wash wafting into his nose once more.

kiss her. kiss her. kiss her.

“are you trying to kiss me, cho?”

choso swallowed thickly, adams apple bobbing. “mhm.”

your lips lifted into a toothy grin, and for the first time decades you actually felt butterflies in your tummy. “c’mere then.”

when choso pressed his lips against yours it was soft, so soft you barely felt anything. you kissed him back harder, and that elicited a small sound from the back of his throat.

you knew you shouldn’t be doing this. it was so dangerous for him and he didn’t even know it, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to pull away. you don’t think you could even if you wanted to. each time you moved away, even slightly, choso was chasing your lips eagerly.

“d-don’t pull away. please, jus’ stay right here,” he sighed, gently cupping the back of your neck to keep you in place. your whimpered, lips parting to allow him to him to slip his tongue in your mouth. his hands throbbed in pain, but he knew he’d be the biggest idiot to ever walk the planet if he stopped this.

the kiss was getting more and more heated, and choso was getting touchier by the minute. it sucked he couldn’t feel all of you due to the bandages, but hey, this was better than not being able to feel you up at all.

“we—we should probably stop. you’re probably in—ngh, in pain.” your lashes fluttered shut when choso’s puffy lips began smearing kisses all over your neck and throat, desperation and need laced in each kiss.

he felt a hand wrap around his throat, followed by a small push, but he was resistant. the pulse point in his neck thrummed underneath your finger tips. god, you just wanted a little taste.

“i don’t mind bein’ in a little pain, i just want you.” his arms wrapped possessively around your waist, “you’re always so cold, y/n. lemme warm you up.”

his kisses were addicting. every time you wanted to pull away and put some distance, you found yourself going back in for more. your mind was beginning to fog, and he just kept pulling you further and further in.

“your heartbeat is so loud,” you whimpered into the kiss, manicured fingers tugging at his hair. choso hissed, too drunk on your kisses to even process what you had said.

he noticed your kisses were becoming hungrier, more aggressive. the little nibbles you gave his bottom lip now turning into full on biting. he breathlessly chuckled, “c-careful. you’re gonna—mmph, make my lip bleed.”

“i know.”

and then there it was. it was sweeter than you imagined, gliding onto your tastebuds like the finest honey. choso’s blood tasted divine, just as you thought.

you gasped, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth. choso was caught a little off guard, and he didn’t know if it was because his dick was hard or that fact you made anything attractive, but he was into it. his eyes rolled back, and if you didn’t have such a sturdy grip on his shoulders his head surely would’ve knocked against the wall.

you were entirely too far gone now, so what happened next came as a shock to choso and yourself.

“o-ow . . . y-y/n?”

choso was holding onto your side with an iron grip, paralyzed in fear. your lips were no longer his, now on his neck along with your fangs. you let out an apologetic whine, and slowly removed yourself from the coziness of his neck.

you backed up into the wall, hard. your chest was heaving, the air around you seeming to not get in your lungs fast enough. choso’s lips parted, but before he could even let out a puff of air you were right back in front of him, your hand covering his mouth roughly.

he let out a weak noise, fear pooling in his, usually bright, purple eyes. your eyes softened, but you weren’t sure it was doing you any good.

your teeth were coated in blood, his blood, some dribbling from your wobbling bottom lip and onto your chest.

“that wasn’t supposed to happen. i’m—i’m so sorry, choso. that wasn’t—shit. i-i’m so sorry, oh my gosh, look at your neck.” you hated that you did this to him, and during such an intimate moment.

a beat passed, and then another. choso’s rapid breathing had calmed a bit, but he was still shaking like a leaf.

“if i move my hand will you promise not to freak? we can talk about this, i promise—i swear, i won’t hurt you.”

choso blinked slowly, his eyes trailing to the blood staining your lips, then back to your eyes. he slowly nodded, and with zero hesitation you removed your hand from his mouth.

“i don’t—i don’t even know what to say. you’re not gonna kill me are you? i-i promise i won’t tell anyone.”

“no, no, no! i won’t hurt you, i never wanted to hurt you. it’s just my urges—they get so strong, especially when i’m not in my right mind. even n-now . . . i wanna hurt you, but there’s something inside thats keeping me from doing it, and—and i’m thankful.”

you reached your hands out to him, but he flinched away, cowering like a kitten until you cupped his cheeks. “i wish i could revert to how i looked before, but i’m stuck looking like this until i feed.”

feed.

he was so confused as to why you were speaking about yourself as if you were an animal. what even were you exactly? you couldn’t possible be a fucking vampire—those things didn’t exist! they were a myth!

you were so soft and sweet, there’s no way you could possibly be something murderous as a vampire.

“i know this is crazy, but just breathe and bare with me okay? you’re probably trying to convince yourself this isn’t real, but it is. it’s okay though! i’m not gonna hurt you, i just—ugh, i don’t know what to do! i’ve never bitten someone and let them live before.”

your lips were turned into a pout, but it was quickly wiped away when you saw the horror on choso’s face. a thought crossed his mind, but he didn’t want to believe it. before he knew it words were spilling past his lips, “do you know anything about those murders that have been happening?”

you wanted to shrink into a ball of nothingness. choso’s lips parted, then shut.

“i . . . i have no choice, cho! i need to feed so i can live, a-and the men i did kill were all bad people! i don’t kill innocents—people like you, people who have friends and families waiting for them at home. *sniffle* i-i promise i’m not the cold blooded killer you think i am.”

you were, actually, maybe even worse, but you’ve changed, and it was all thanks to choso! you’ve only met a handful of decent men in your life, and choso put them all to shame. he was so precious . . . so caring, loving, and naturally apologetic. you just wanted to put him in your miniskirt pocket and carry him around the world with you.

he didn’t say anything so you kept speaking, “these urges . . . they—they get so bad. it’s like my entire body is having a migraine. i’m in so much pain when i thirst, and i’ve almost hurt you before but—b-but i always left because i would rather get stabbed through the heart than ever hurt you, cho. i like you so much, i would never let anything bad happen to you.”

you hated that you were crying, showing him a weakness that no one, not even nanami has seen, but you couldn’t help it! if he turned you away, or god forbid told someone about you, that would mean you’d have to do the unthinkable, and that was the last thing wanted to do.

“you . . . you like me?”

you were slightly taken aback by the question, due to the other, more serious things you had said, but nonetheless you shook your head yes.

your brows raised when he stood up, towering over you like he was about to do something. your hands clenched into fists, prepared for whatever was about to happen.

a shaky gasp left your trembling lips when he cupped your face, thumbs brushing along the apples of your cheeks. “i’m so sorry you have to live like this, y/n,” he spoke lowly, a deep frown settling on his kiss bitten lips.

ugh, what an empath he was.

his eyes trailed to the fangs in your mouth. they were . . . cute. his thumb went down to brush over one, but you stopped him. “careful. you might cut yourself, and that’ll lead to more . . . you know.”

choso’s lip poked out, almost in a pout. with caution he swiped his thumb slowly over the sharp canine, and sure enough he felt a dull stinging sensation. you tried to back up, but he kept you in place.

“choso—seriously, you could get hurt, and i wouldn’t forgive myself. just please let me go so i can find someone else to feed on—”

“no.”

your brows furrowed in confusion, “no? what do you mean no? i-i have to or—”

“feed off of me, y/n.”

you scoffed, giving choso’s chest a forceful shove. you were able to put some distance, but he was quick to close it, backing you up into the wall until your bodies were only centimeters apart.

“no. fucking. way. back up right now, i’m not doing that.” choso didn’t move an inch, in fact he got closer, so close his front was now touching yours.

“if you move another inch, i’m gonna push you. hard.”

a shiver ran down his spine at the threat, but it wasn’t a fearful one. fuckin’ perv.

“ . . . well—well, push me then. go ahead, y/n.”

when you didn’t move a muscle he sighed. “why won’t you let me help you? you don’t want to hurt anyone, right?” you let out a small sniffle, your head bowing in a nod.

“then let me help you, please—”

“it’s—it’s more complicated than that! even if you did let me, what next? i can’t do it forever, you and i both know that, so then what? and your blood type, it—it’s the rarest one out there, only a handful of people in the world have it. it’s too risky, i don’t know if i’ll be able to stop myself.”

he didn’t say anything.

“aren’t you scared?”

his eyes flit the ground, tongue poking out to toy with his lip piercing. “yes, a little, maybe a lot, but i wanna help you, y/n. i don’t know what we’ll do after tonight, but—but we’ll figure it out! i-i still like you, fangs and all.”

you let out a small laugh through your nose, your arms crossing over your chest. “no you don’t . . . you’re probably just in shock, and not thinking clearly.”

“i think i’m okay with that.”

you gave him a confused look, and without warning choso pulled you close, tucking your face in his neck rather roughly. his large hand cradled the back of your head, holding you in place.

“i won’t tell anyone your secret, i promise. you’re always doing things for me, let me do something for you.” his tone was gentle, every word being whispered directly into your ear.

your nose twitched, the metallic smell of blood flooding your senses. your lips parted, then shut.

“o-oh!”

choso blinked rapidly, his hands pushing against the porcelain sink you had pushed him into. he let out a small laugh, “damn, you are strong.”

you didn’t bother to acknowledge the comment. “if we’re gonna do this . . . there is a way i can make this easier for you, less painful i guess.”

his eyebrows raised in question.

you let out a puff of air through your cheeks. “my fangs produce a sort of, um, venom? i guess you could call it that. its supposed to numb the bitten area, or something like that. i’ve only done it a few times—it makes my gums hurt afterwards so i don’t do it often.”

a beat of silence passed.

“i guess i’ll, um, do it from your neck since there’s already a mark. again, so sorry about that.”

out of instinct choso’s hand rubbed across the aching area on his neck. it didn’t hurt too bad, it felt like a dull bruise at the most, but even if it was painful, he’d endure it for you.

he sighed when your cold hand cupped his jaw. “the venom will help the healing process as well. m’so sorry, cho. i’ll explain more as best as i can in the morning.”

his hand wrapped around your wrist, thumb tenderly rubbing the soft skin. “i’d appreciate that. we don’t have to go too in detail, but i—i have so many questions.”

“and they will all be answered in due time, i promise . . . i really appreciate you for doing this. your blood will keep my appetite at bay for days, it’s such a relief knowing i won’t have to get my hands dirty.”

choso’s heart skipped a beat when you softly pressed your lips against his, but it didn’t last long, a sharp breath slipping past his lips when you pulled away.

when your smaller hand enveloped his, he followed you like a lost puppy, eyes wide with wonder. his hands felt shaky, clammy, but not from fear, more like excitement.

he couldn’t believe this was real, this was actually happening.

now all the little odd things you did made sense to him. the blacked out curtains in your room that you kept closed twenty-four seven, your peculiar eating habits, the way you’d disappear for hours, sometimes even days, at a time.

“are you alright? you look a little spaced out . . . if you wanna back out that’s okay i don’t mind—”

“i wanna do it. m’just . . . thinking is all.”

“o—okay, well have a seat here,” you mumbled, using your hands to gesture to the couch. with no questions asked, choso sat down, adjusting this thighs in a way that would be comfortable for you to sit on.

the light from the tv illuminated your figure, and when he looked up he couldn’t see your face, only the dull glow of your eyes.

his abdomen clenched when your swung your leg over his thighs, your bottom now pressed against his crotch. choso immediately leant into your touch when you cupped his cheeks, his lips chasing after yours.

your lips met his in a hungry exchange, but you didn’t do it for too long, much to his dismay. “i got blood on my lips, that’s gross,” you whispered, giving the shell of his ear a tiny kiss, and then another on his jaw, and another on his neck.

choso nudged at your cheek with his nose, eyes squeezing shut to prepare himself.

“i’ll try to be gentle, can’t make any promises though,” and with that you sank your teeth into his neck, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at the taste of him. it was indescribable. better than the oldest, most expensive wines ever made, and you trust you’ve had your share of them.

choso’s body had gone completely slack, his head tilting back against the couch. “this feels . . . ” his words trailed off, lips parting as an accidental moan leapt up his throat.

he could only describe the feeling of your venom as being heavily wine drunk. he couldn’t feel any pain, only the feeling of your tongue swiping against his neck. he felt hot, too hot for his own liking, and the most annoying part of it all was that he was starting to get hard again.

“a-am i doing okay?” his voice was breathy, and borderline whiny. you made a noise, but he wasn’t sure what to make of it, until you swiftly whipped your face from his neck, your chest heaving from deep breaths.

for once in your entire life you felt like you had finally had your fill. no lingering hunger resided in your belly for blood, only a hunger for choso, and choso only. you couldn’t remember the last time you had felt so at peace.

“you did great. so, so good,” you murmured, nudging your nose against his. “does your neck hurt, you feel funny?”

you smelt like blood, the metallic scent had his insides twisting.

“no it doesn’t hurt, and i guess i feel fine . . . how do you feel?” his thumb hastily brushed against your bottom lip.

“i feel much, much better, but now i’m hungry for somethin’ else.” choso visibly shuddered when he heard the sound of your fangs retracting, your once crimson red eyes now back to their original, soft brown color.

now that you were at no risk of harming choso, you could finally smush your lips against his once more, blood smeared across your lips and all. choso’s lips parted, giving you quick access to slip your tongue inside his mouth.

you tasted like blood. it wasn’t an awful taste, but it was definitely a strange one.

“i-i thought you said kissing with blood on—on your lips is gross,” he panted, eyes squeezing shut when your bottom half brushed against his. your fingers tugged on the hairs at the nape of his neck, tilting his head back to give yourself access to his neck.

choso’s adams apple bobbed, eyes zeroing in on the ceiling. your lips ghosted over the tender beneath his jaw, little spots of blood still speckled around the area. your tongue darted out, gently gliding over the sensitive skin. “that feels n-nice,” he sighed dreamily, fingers digging into your sides.

choso was flushed all over. his clothes felt too tight, almost restrictive, he wanted them off—yours included.

“can i—can i touch you some more? l-like under your clothes?” you let out a small hum, giving him the green light to feel you up as he pleased, and boy did his hands wander. he started off by rubbing the bare skin of your hips, and then they drifted up your back, tracing random lines and shapes.

your lips connected with his once again, and that’s when his hands made a beeline for your behind, squeezing the soft flesh with need. “you’re so soft n’ smell s’good.” his words were slurred, heavy pants slipping past his kiss bitten lips.

you sucked on his bottom lip, and that’s what had him whining into your mouth, his hips bucking up. he was holding back, you could tell, and that just wouldn’t do for you.

“you’ve probably been waiting for this a long time, hm?” you whispered, peppering his flaming cheeks and nose with kisses. choso groaned, his head bowing in a shallow nod. you slowly slipped the straps of your top off, exposing your breasts, and choso wasted no time cupping them, his thumbs running over the petal soft skin.

“you have *kiss* *kiss* no idea,” he murmured into your collarbone. “it’s been so bad these past couple of weeks. couldn’t get you out of my head, y/n, not even video games helped.”

his arms wrapped around your waist, and with a low grunt he stood up, hands slithering down to cup your ass. “is it cool if i take you to my ro—!”

choso was cut off by your lips roughly smushing against his in a clash of tongue and teeth. he’ll take that as a yes.

when choso kicked open the door to his room your scenes were taken over by the overwhelming scent that was him—it was a homey scent, one that had you instantly relaxed.

he set you down gently on the edge of his bed, and knelt between your legs, hands caressing the bare skin of your thighs. “you’re so pretty. wanna kiss you all over—worship you. please let me.” your head tilted back, lips parting in a low moan when he sucked at the spot below your ear.

“s-sure, cho. do whatever you wan’ to me.”

choso whined into your neck, teeth grazing over your collarbone. “don’t say stuff like that, baby, because i will, and then we won’t be getting any sleep tonight.”

baby. that was new.

choso kissed his way down your sternum until he reached your breast, lips immediately latching onto your nipple. the feeling of his tongue piercing swiping against the bud had your teeth clamping onto your bottom lip.

your hand cradled the back of his neck, pushing him more into your chest. “i don’t get tired, like at all, so we can go as long as you need to.” and it was true! not only did you have inhuman stamina, but you quite literally couldn’t get tired, even if you stayed up for days on end. you did enjoy an occasional cat nap during the day though.

choso tried to speak, but his words were muffled by the your chest, and even then he couldn’t find it in himself to move an inch.

his fingers looped onto the waistband of your pajama shorts, giving them an experimental tug. when you looked down, his purple irises were already staring back at you. you let out a small giggle, “ya’ know, i’ve never noticed how much your bags bring out the color of your eyes.”

choso scoffed, his lips cracking into the tiniest smile. “wow, thanks. i gotta say, that blood around your mouth n’ chin really brings out your eyes, erm, well i guess i should say your other eyes.” you both snickered, noses bumping into each other so cutely that if anyone were to see they’d gag from how adorable you two were.

choso’s lips captured yours in a soft kiss, and with one swift tug he pulled your pajama shorts off. you were almost completely bare for him, the only clothing on you being your panties and your top that was sitting underneath your breasts.

“what’re you gonna do now, hm?” you hummed, lips breaking out into a giddy smile.

“eat your pussy if that’s alright with you,” he grinned, looking up at you through his lashes while he pressed tiny kisses over the tops of your thighs.

your body flopped back against the mattress, and shortly after you spread your legs, finally giving choso a salivating view of your center. he was entranced—no, no, he was starstruck. his body count was particularly high, but out of all the girls he’s had the privilege to indulge in, you had the the prettiest pussy by far.

he felt like a dog, drool pooling on the tip of his tongue as he leant forward to get a better view. “can i—may i taste?” you didn’t respond, instead you just blindly reached for his head and pushed him down until you felt the tip of his nose graze over your folds.

choso didn’t know what the next day had in store for him, for all he knew this may be the last he’ll see you because he knows your secret, so for that reason he took his sweet time with you.

with a slow bat of his eyes, he poked the tip of his tongue out, and slowly circled it over your swollen clit. he kept doing then until your hips were weakly thrusting up, and then, and only then, did he finally cup your pussy with his tongue, swiping the muscle swiftly through your folds.

finally being able to get a taste of your essence could only be describe as heaven. seriously. choso wasn’t the type to moan while he ate pussy, only because it felt too embarrassing, but right now? he couldn’t have gave less of a shit about his volume.

“you’re so soft down here,” he muttered, sloppily rubbing his lips against your folds. he couldn’t get enough of the way you felt, the way you stated, your scent. he was addicted.

“h-hah! feels s’good, cho,” you mewled weakly, fingers threading through his brown locs. each time you gave his hair a sharp tug, he’d groan into your cunt. every stinging sensation from your pulling had his dick leaking like a faucet, surely staining the soft cotton of his briefs.

with shaky hands, you hooked them underneath the backs of your knees, and lifted your legs. choso followed your movements, and pushed your legs back even further, his entire mouth cupping your pussy.

his lips puckered, slurping up everything you had to offer him. the noises he was making were downright obscene—not a kiss, slurp, or suck gone unheard.

you could hear the way his heart raced, the way all the blood in his body pumped to his dick. it made your body feel hot all over, which was odd because you couldn’t particularly produce body heat.

“your pussy is so cute,” he breathily chuckled, using both thumbs to spread your lips. his tongue lolled out, a line of spit slowly dripping from the tip of it and onto your clit. “can i put a finger in? please? i’ll be so gentle, i-i promise.”

you pushed yourself up with your elbows, your cheeks puffing up in a deep exhale. “what about your hands? don’t they hurt?”

choso lifted his right hand, his fingers wiggling around freely. “my fingers are good see? s’just my palm, baby, don’t worry. i promise i’ll be gentle,” he murmured, giving the inside of your thigh a wet kiss.

and gentle he was. the second you gave him the green light, his middle finger began to gently prod at your entrance, and to relieve any potential pain he swiped his tongue piercing back and forth on your clit.

choso gnawed on his lip piercing, tugging the metal with his teeth as a form of restraint. “shit, that’s tight.” your walls felt velvet soft against his finger, sucking the digit back in each time he tried to pull it out.

“another one, please,” you whined, cupping your breasts softly. choso hummed, adding his ring finger into the mix ever so slowly. his fingers curled, and this had your eyes rolling back.

a white, translucent cream began to coat his fingers, and with a choked noise he pulled them out, shoving them past his lips seconds later. you whimpered at the loss of contact, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“ith tho gooth,” he said, words coming out muffled due to a mouthful of fingers. he removed them from his mouth, and blindly wiped them on the sheets below you, before maneuvering himself on top of you, the bulge in his sweats now pressing snugly against your cunt.

one of his hands cupped your jaw, and pulled you in for a bruising kiss. his thumb pushed down on your chin, parting your lips just enough for him to slip his tongue in your mouth. he tasted like you; sweet, yet tangy.

you both moaned in unison when choso’s hips started to move. he just couldn’t help it, and it felt soooo good. the way the soft material of his sweats rubbed against your clit had you drooling, and choso shamelessly licked it up, his tongue swiping across the center of yours.

your hands wandered across his back, feeling every ridge and muscle over his shirt. he was so strong, and his skin was piping hot to the touch over over his clothes.

“off,” you whispered, tugging at the thin material, “wan’ it off of you.” choso moaned against your lips, giving them one final peck before sitting back on his knees. he shirt was off instantly, tossed to the side without a care.

choso let out a small noise of surprise when your foot pressed against his pecs, moving lower until you stopped at his lower tummy. “you’re so handsome, cho. ‘could just eat you up,” you giggled, nudging your foot against his bulge. choso groaned, his hand wrapping around your ankle.

“don’t—don’t do that, please. i’m already about to fuckin’ bust over here,” he chuckled breathlessly, running his tongue over his bottom lip.

“mm, really?” your lips lifted in a lazy smirk before you nudged his clothed cock again, earning a breathy moan from choso.

“you like that?”

“m-mhmmm,” you weren’t even moving your foot at the point, choso was doing it for you, gently moving it up and down the length of his cock. “f-feels nice. it was starting to—ngh, h-hurt a little,” his lips broke out into a drunk smile and before you knew it choso was using your foot to get himself off.

“if you cum like this i might just have to laugh at you,” you grinned up at him, pressing your foot down harder. choso was squeezing your ankle impossibly tight, so hard that if you weren’t who you were, he’d be worried about leaving bruises.

his lips puffed up in a pout, nose scrunching in pleasure and embarrassment. “m’not gonna cum like this, i just—i just needed a little relief. fuck me.”

there was now a small wet patch on the front of his sweats, growing bigger and bigger as the minutes passed.

“cho?” you murmured, completely in awe of the state he was in. choso hummed, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours.

“you want me to help you out?”

his nod was eager, and with one harsh tug, he pulled the waistband of his sweats and briefs down, exposing his poor, sensitive dick. hung was an understatement, this man was so big it had you questioning yourself.

“w-what do you want me to do? want me to lay down, stand? just tell me, and i’ll do it.” although choso was towering over you, he had never felt so smell under your intimidating gaze. you looked like you wanted to eat him up, and he was more than willing to allow it.

that’s how he ended up bare, on his back, with you sitting on top of his stomach, a mischievous grin on your lips.

your eyes trailed to his neck, and with a single look from you, he turnt his head to the side giving you a better view. the healing process for the wound on his neck was already starting, now fixing to form into a dull scar.

“this should be fully healed by morning,” you whispered, stroking his collarbone with your knuckle. you fingers danced their way to his jaw, gripping it with little force. his lips parted in a silent plea for a kiss. you happily obliged, leaning down with quickness to suck his tongue into your mouth.

the kiss didn’t last long, unfortunately, but you made it up by tenderly kissing every inch of skin you could reach on your slow decent down his body.

“h-ho, geez,” he gasped, hands clenching into fists when your tongue swirled over his pierced nipple. you giggled between kisses, your tongue poking out to run over the ridges of his abs. “did you like that?” you asked, gently flicking his nipple.

choso brushed his damp hair out of his face, “y-yeah, i did. i liked it a lot.”

noted.

your hands trailed down his muscly thighs as you kissed lower, and lower, until you reached where he needed you most.

his dick was pretty. pale, with a dark pink tip, and a patch of dark hair below the base of it. his was tip was shiny, gleaming from his bedside lamp. “so big . . .” you murmured, wrapping your hand around the thick appendage. the veins wrapped along it thrummed against your fingers, begging to be relieved.

choso was sure he wouldn’t last very long, and unfortunately, he was correct, because the second he felt the warmth of your tongue trace along the thick vein on the underside, he was knew he was a goner.

“oh shitttt.”

your lips wrapped around his swollen tip, tongue grazing over his leaky slit. he tasted sweet, which was expected due to his healthy diet.

your cheeks hollowed, and that’s what had choso’s jaw dropping, tongue damn near falling out of his mouth. his dick twitched in your mouth, and you sucked harder, little dribbles of spit spilling from the corners of your mouth.

“hah—y/n, baby, that feels fuckin’ great,” he all but purred, resting his arms behind his head. when you peered at him through your lashes, your eyes zeroed in on his biceps. they were so big n’ muscly, you just wanted to bite them—but in a loving way!

he followed your gaze, a lazy smirk lifting at the corner of his lips. “heh, you wan’ me to flex for you, or somethin’?”

you pulled off his dick, lips swollen, and nostrils flared as you tried to catch your breath. your hand wrapped around his base, stroking it quickly while your other hand squeezed his balls. “maybe later . . . careful though, i might take a bite out of you.”

choso grinned, a laugh rumbling in his chest, but it was quickly overtaken by a loud moan. did you just—did you just bite him again?

he looked down at you, and sure enough there you were, teeth latched onto his thigh while your hand continued to work his cock. your tongue ran over the mark on his thigh, and with a quiet giggle, you gave the tender, reddened skin a soft kiss.

you were shocked when choso’s hand wrapped around your wrist, halting your movements.

“if you—ngh, stroke it again m’gonna cum. seriously, like i’m—i’m not k-kidding.” his nose and eyebrows were scrunched in pure concentration, balls throbbing for the feeling of release.

“get up here, ride me. you’ve been around a long time right? surely you can show me a few tricks,” his smile looked strained, and it was! he wasn’t doing himself any favors in this moment, imagining you on top of him, riding him like you hated his guts. god this was starting to hurt.

you gave his cock a final sloppy kiss at the base, and slowly crawled your way up the bed until your lower half was hovering over his. his cock twitched, grazing over your cunt for only a millisecond, but it was enough to have choso whimpering.

you balanced yourself on the balls of your feet, hands moving behind you to find purchase on his thighs for stability.

“i do know a thing or two,” you murmured, pressing your pussy against his cock. fuck, he felt so hot. choso’s lashes fluttered, “sit on it. please, please just—just sit on it.”

if choso could describe the feeling of being inside you, he wouldn’t know what to say, because the feeling is indescribable. maybe euphoric would be a good word? you fit together perfectly, like the worlds most fucked up puzzle.

he didn’t feel that warm sensation like he did from other girls, but that was to be expected due to you not radiating any kind of body heat. you were wet though, very wet, and mind numbingly soft.

he was gasping for air, words coming out a garbled, choked up mess, “t-this feels . . .”

“good right?” your words came out as a fluttery sigh, your hips now moving in slow circles. choso’s head fell back into his stack of pillows, hands finding purchase on your thighs.

“so fuckin’ good, babe,” he grunted, eyes zeroing in on the way your pussy gripped him, the way it struggled to take each inch of him. you’re the only girl that’s been able to take more than half of his nine inch length, not the he was bragging of course, in fact he was a little embarrassed about it. not even his pocket pussy that he whipped out for special occasions could fit all of him :(

shlick! shlick! shlick!

the sounds of your pussy sucking choso’s cock in was the only sound that could heard throughout the room, that and choso’s high pitched whimpers.

“you wan’ me to go faster?”

choso nodded, tongue lolling out of his mouth, followed by heavy pants. you giggled, moving your hips in quick figure eights. “you look n’ sound like a fuckin’ dog, cho. are you a dog?”

your hips had unexpectedly dropped, engulfing the entirety of choso’s cock in your cunt. his lips parted, a loud moan echoing throughout the room. “y-yes, yes i am—fuck, mm’a fuckin’ dog,” he uttered through grit teeth. his dick throbbed between your walls, release already just inches away.

“y-yeah, yeah, fuck me like that. just like that, baby, please keep going. c’mere, come closer,” choso panted, using all of his strength to sit up, and pull you closer to him. his arms wrapped around your waist, smushing your bodies together until there was no space to be seen.

your hands wandered across his upper back, eventually finding themselves to the hairs at the nape of his neck. you pulled him in for a heated kiss, and at the same time started to move your hips, the new angle making you see stars.

“ngh—s’real deep,” you were shocked by the shakiness in your voice, but you truly couldn’t help it, not with the way choso’s tip was prodding against that spot that had your toes curling.

he was so rough, yet gentle. quick, yet oh so sensual. you could fell all those weeks of yearning he pushed down with each brush of his hands against your skin. he was feeling you up anywhere he could—from your lower back, to your thighs, to your breasts. he couldn’t get enough.

“mm, shit—you cumming? you feel real—”

choso’s words came out muffled when your hand slapped across his mouth, your head tilting back in a high pitched moan. “yes, y-yes, i’m cumming. hush for a second,” your brows furrowed in concentration as you chased your high, and choso just watched in awe. his eyes were low and lidded, and if it weren’t for your hand being smushed against his lips, he’d be drooling.

god, you were perfect. he liked you so much, maybe a little too much if you really thought about it, but who’s thinking right now?

your cunt convulsed around his cock, white, translucent pearls of cum dripping down the base and onto the bedsheets. your hand had moved from his mouth, and joined your other in clawing at his back, crimson red lines now raising in their wake.

choso could feel the cool air brushing against his new wounds, and his veins ran cold. not out of terror, nor fear, but something else.

the trembles in your body were slowly fading away, and yet, you were still holding choso close to you in an iron grip, your face now buried in his neck. the smell of blood hit you like a semi, of course, but for some reason you didn’t get the overwhelming urge to bite him. it still smelt like heaven though. it had saliva pooling on your tongue, threatening to spill past your lips.

maybe a taste wouldn’t hurt.

“ . . . that smells nice,” you whispered into his skin, middle finger swiping over the scratches on his back. you removed your face from his neck, your eyes finding his. “may i ? . . . wanna do this the right way this time—if there’s even a right way for this,” you both laughed, and with a deep inhale through his nose, choso nodded, uttering out a tiny ‘please.’

with no hesitation your lips wrapped your finger, and fuck, this was some good shit. you still had trouble believing such a delectable thing existed. you moaned around your finger, pulling it from your mouth with a quiet pop!

his eyes lit up, like he was waiting for you to say something. your lips curled into a lazy smirk, “can i have some more?” before you had even finished your sentence, choso dumbly shook his head, chest heaving from pure adrenaline.

he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to seeing you in your true form—eyes deep red, and teeth bared, ready to sink your teeth in his skin. he figured you would go for his neck, and tilted his head to the side to give you better access, but you had other plans.

your manicured fingers gripped his jaw, turning him towards you, “later. i want you to keep fucking me.”

choso truly didn’t need to be told twice.

he lifted you off his cock with ease, teeth clenching together in a hiss at the cool temperature that greeted him. maybe he was too fucked out, but he could’ve sworn you had gotten warmer around him.

he flipped your body over, lifting your hips up to position you on all fours. your body relaxed into the pillow he placed beneath your tummy, and with a dreamy sigh, you began to sway your hips.

“since you think m’such a dog, might as well fuck you like one right?” he chuckled, swiping his tips between your soaked folds. shockingly, his crappy joke made you laugh, and the melodic sound had his heart tightening.

you slowly turned your head back, locking at eyes with him. your lips curled into a smile when you heard him audibly gulp.

“you scared?”

choso slowly shook his head, eyes softening.

“ . . . no. you’re just so fucking pretty. even with . . . you know,” he trailed off, chuckling as he gestured to his eyes and teeth. your stomach twisted, and with a small squeak your whipped your head back around. “thank you,” you muttered into the sheets, biting back a smile.

choso grinned, gently caressing the skin of your ass. had he made you . . . flustered?

he slowly pushed his tip between your folds, groaning at the stretch. “do i got the little murderous vampire all shy now?” he chucked, teeth clamping onto his bottom lip. you whined, wiggling your hips against him. choso gently pushed down on your back, deepening your arch.

“gotta make sure you feel me allll the way,” in one swift movement, he pushed himself in to the hilt, “in here.” his hand swooped underneath you to push against your tummy, earning a loud squeak from you.

“tell me how you feel, now. tell me how it feels.” his eyes were clenched shut, meanwhile his hands were gripping onto your hips for dear life.

your lips parted, but no words were able to come out, only a pathetic wheeze. choso slowly pulled out, then pushed back in, creating a slow, steady rhythm. “c’mon, baby. talk to me,” he grunted.

your arms outstretched, nails clawing at his bedsheets from pleasure. “full . . .” was all you managed to get out between cries and hiccups. your mind was a muddled mess, all of your senses consumed by choso.

his slow pace didn’t last long, and next thing you knew he was pounding you into the mattress. his foot was perched on the bed, meanwhile one of his hands was pushing your face further, and further into the bed.

“this fuckin’ pussy,” he gasped out, eyes flitting to the mess between your bodies. your essence clung to his sweaty skin, creating thin webs with each clap of his hips against your rippling ass.

“faster! f-faster!” you pleaded, throwing your ass back to match his thrusts. the feeling of his cock nudging deep inside was like a high you kept chasing, you just couldn’t get enough!

“mm, baby wants it faster? no problem.” you gasped when you were suddenly yanked up by your hair, your body slotting against choso’s perfectly. his arm wrapped around your neck, keeping you in place as he picked up the pace of his thrusts.

choso couldn’t help but coo at the way you nibbled on his bicep. it hurt so good. so much so that when you actually bit him, and started feeding, all he could do was go cross eyed, his knees nearly buckling.

“jesus christ, a warning would’a been—hah, n-nice,” he whined into your neck, thrusts coming to a halt. shivers ran up his back, that same dizzy feeling from earlier overcoming him once more. you responded with a noise that was a cross between a moan, and a giggle.

“ngh, this—this feels amazing, o-oh my—”

choso’s ears started to ring, his orgasm washing over him in harsh waves. he wanted to hold back, he really did, but you had him completely weakened, mind and body nothing but a pile of mush.

your eyes fluttered shut, a content moan rumbling in your chest at the feeling of warmth that flooded your tummy. you couldn’t even remember the last time a guy fucked you so good that you let him finish inside you.

you retracted your fangs from his arm, tongue lolling out to lick up any excess blood. choso whimpered behind you, and without warning he sunk his teeth into your shoulder. hard.

you yelped, body going completely limp in his strong hold. “how do you like it, hm?” he growled in your ear, poking his tongue out to run over the shell of it. you let out a small, breathless laugh, “heh. i can s-see why people don’t like it too much.”

choso slowly pulled out with a hiss, his eyes flitting to his cock that was a glistening, creamy mess. he wanted you to clean him up, suck him off until you were gagging around his dick, but that would to have wait because unfortunately for you, choso still hasn’t had his fill.

he twisted you around onto your back, roughly pushing your knees to your chest. he pressed a kiss to the center of your food before tapping his fat tip against your clit, relishing in the way your mewled at the contact.

“she’s so fat n’ cute,” he grinned, slipping his cock between your puffy folds. you covered your face in embarrassment, but he was quick to slap them away. he’d be damned if you obstructed the most perfect view a person could have.

“c-cho—”

“shhh, listen.”

your embarrassment increased tenfold, the sound of his cock rubbing in between your folds becoming deafening.

“ugh, just put it in, you big brute,” you sniffled, fangs catching onto your bottom lip. choso noticed this, and leant down, “don’t bite too hard. don’t want ya to hurt yourself.” his voice was sweet and low, sending shivers up your back. he didn’t move until you nodded, and released your lip.

“good girl,” he murmured, letting a glob of spit fall from between his lips and onto your clit. while his thumb roughly rolled over your swollen nub, he slowly began to push his cock inside once more, slipping in with ease.

your back arched, thighs beginning shake from your already nearing orgasm. “fast, cho, faster,” you pleaded, pulling your knees back further. choso groaned, quickening the pace of his hips. he could’ve easily cum once again seeing how flexible you were.

he just wanted to fill you up over, and over again . . . and he did. until you physically had to stop him because the poor boy could barely keep up with himself.

he was on his back once more, chest heaving rapidly while you sat on top on his stomach, pinning his hands above his head. it was nearing four a.m. and for once in your life, you were utterly exhausted. you had never met another human being with stamina like him, it actually frightened you a bit.

“you can barely keep your eyes open, yet you want more . . . what’s up with that?” you asked, cocking your head to the side. all choso could do was shrug and thrust his hips up. you were using quite a bit of strength this time, so he really couldn’t move.

“well i need a break,” you spoke softly, releasing one of his wrists so you could cradle his face, “and you do too. how about you get some sleep, yeah?”

you could’ve melted at the way choso pouted, his brows scrunching up oh so cutely. he didn’t fight you, or protest, instead he just nodded, drowsiness already beginning to overtake him.

“you’re gonna sleep in here, right?”

“if you want me to i will, though i do have to be somewhere at seven,” you whispered, releasing your grip on him entirely. you moved off of his stomach, and got comfy before nuzzling into his side, your hand coming up to tenderly rub on his stomach.

“don’t you—don’t need me to clean you up?” he mumbled, eyes now shut from sleepiness. you made a noise of disapproval, and shook your head, “i’ll be fine, just get some rest. don’t forget you do have work in a few hours.”

choso didn’t need to be told twice and within minutes you began to hear small snores from his parted lips, his racing heartbeat now at a calm, steady rhythm. you were seriously going to have to introduce this boy to some herbal tea with the way he’s constantly worked up.

“mm, this calls a for a little cat nap,” you sighed dreamily, nuzzling more into choso’s side. his arms wrapped around you tighter, chin now resting on the crown of your head. his toned chest was now centimeters away from your face, and unfortunately your intrusive thoughts won, because the last thing you remembered before dozing off was nibbling on his chest to soothe the ache in your gums.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

“thank you for finally gracing me with your presence. following you around has been rather tiresome.”

you rolled your eyes, not even bothering to entertain nanami’s comment as you took a sip of your matcha. it had been five months since you’ve seen him, and they’ve been the most peaceful months of your life. why hadn’t you thought of getting a roommate sooner?

you set your cup down rather obnoxiously, your arms folding together as you leant back in your chair. “is there any particular reason why you called this meeting? the sun is supposed to be at a uv nine today. i’d like to get home soon.”

that was an actual reason, but what you really wanted to do was see choso. you’d been thinking about him, and his lovely scent since you stepped foot out of your apartment.

saying getting out of bed that morning would be an understatement—that shit was one of the hardest trials of your life! choso had refused to let you get out of bed, not even caring that his sore hands were screaming in pain as he held you in place. you had no other choice but to slowly fuck him back to sleep, your leg thrown over his waist while he delivered slow strokes until he was cumming with a loud whine.

after he dozed off you were finally able to slip out of his grasp and leave, but not before internally melting at how cute his cheeks looked when they were puffy from sleep.

nanami took a long, slow sip of his coffee. “how’s your roommate?”

you shuffled in your seat, “he’s fine, nothing new.”

“ah, so he’s still with us?”

you frowned, eyes narrowing at the blonde. “of course he is. i told you i won’t, and still don’t plan on harming him. we’ve formed . . . a sort of bond. we’re friends.”

“yes, yes. i’d be pretty chummy with a human too if i found out their blood type was o-negative. it’s got to rather painful to control the urges though, no?”

you froze, breath getting caught in your throat. now how the hell did he know that?!

he took your silence as an answer and continued to speak, “i could smell it on you the second you walked in here. you fed off of him, but i still can’t decide if you’re telling the truth about him being dead or not. i’m sure you know what’ll happen if the council finds out you’ve exposed yourself to a human, and let them live.”

your lips parted to speak, then shut. you were at a complete loss, mind boggled at how nanami was able to figure it out.

“how—how do you know it’s his and not someone else’s, hm? you have no idea what you’re talking about kenny,” you spoke softly, voice shaking the tiniest bit.

nanami set his mug aside, and leant on the table, his now crimson eyes piercing into yours. “i’ve been following your friend around a little bit, and i’m sure you know a scent like his is hard to miss.”

a beat of silent passed, and then another.

“w-why . . . why’re you following him around?! he’s done nothing wrong!” you could feel your temper rising. the mere thought of nanami stalking him without his knowledge had your blood boiling. “choso is innocent in all this, he doesn’t need to be stalked or harassed by you.”

“who said anything about harassing him? i just wanted to make sure that he was still alive, and not asking too many questions about his roommate . . . but it seems any questions he had about you have been answered. i know you fed off of him y/n. there is no use in lying. my problem is, instead of finishing the job, you let him live. i am sworn by an oath to watch over you, and clean up any messes you make—”

“i was not going to kill an innocent man because of something that was my fault,” you growled, voice lowering two octaves. “you don’t even know the full story of what happened, or what was said, so you are in no position to decide whether choso lives or dies.”

nanami’s expression was bored, and unamused, like he couldn’t be bothered to hear what you had to say.

“he promised to keep my secret, and i believe him. i couldn’t really give less of shit if you believe him or not, all that matters is that i do, and i have a great intuition. besides who would believe him anyway? there’s scarier, more violent things than us on the subways. i think we’ll be okay.”

nanami took another sip of his coffee, “and if he starts spouting nonsense about how vampires are real, then what?”

your head cocked to the side, and you smiled, but it wasn’t a sincere one, it almost looked sinister. “then i’ll kill him where he stands, and flee the city. i already have my next destination in mind if shit goes left.”

your stomach twisted, almost painfully. you didn’t mean anything you said, not a word of it, but you had to play it up for kento. god, even the thought of laying a threatening hand on choso made you nauseous.

“but what about the council? my oath—”

“geeeez, you and this goddamn oath—who cares?! the council is all the way across the sea in europe. what they don’t know won’t kill them, and if they find out about what i did, i will accept any consequences given to me.”

nanami scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “why do you care so much for this human? you’ve never gone out of your way to accept such a fate for anyone, why him?”

you didn’t quite know the answer to that yourself.

“i’ve grown fond of him, like i said before, we’re friends,” you spoke softly, eyes drifting to the couple that was sitting a few tables away from you. they were giggling and laughing together without a care in the world, and it wasn’t until now that you realized how much you missed the simplicity of caring and loving for another being.

your eyes flit back to nanami’s, lowering in a glare. “i mean it, ken. if you, or—or anyone, tries to harm him because of something he didn’t choose to know . . . i’ll—i’ll—”

“you’ll what?”

“i’ll kill you. i don’t know how, but i will. i appreciate you for cleaning up my messes, lord knows i’d probably be dead for real without you, but i don’t think this requires your attention. i hope you can understand that, because as long as i’m around, choso will remain alive and well.”

“hi! can i get you two anything else?”

the stare down that you and kento were having was interrupted by a bubbly waitress. you didn’t say anything, instead you just continued to stare at him, your face expressionless.

nanami blinked once, twice, thrice.

“no, i think we’re done here. thank you for taking such good care of us, dear,” he spoke lowly, offering the waitress a small smile, and a fifty dollar bill. she swooned of course, mentioning something along the lines of hoping to see him again soon, and you all but gagged watching the interaction.

after the waitress walked away, nanami cleared his throat. “i hope you know what you’re doing, y/n. keep in touch,” and with that he was gone, leaving you stunned, and nearly on the verge of tears.

was he convinced? was your choso safe?

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Desperate | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello hello hello! I’ve got some good, old-fashioned angst here for ya.

Word Count: 8.4k

Warnings: hella angst. Touch starved Bucky and reader. Some slight NSFW vibes, but nothing graphic.

Bucky didn’t seem to notice when you told him you had to step away for a moment. He remained focused on his clean up duties in the kitchen; he didn’t raise his head or look your way. In fact, he didn’t seem to be noticing you much at all, lately. But as you eyed your ensemble in the full-length mirror in your bedroom, you knew you’d win back his attention.

This was his absolute favorite lingerie of yours. The set that made him so feral, drove him so insane with lust, that he’d broken the headboard last time you wore it. After that, the two of you agreed you’d save it for special occasions only; otherwise, the apartment you shared would need to be entirely refurnished. And though tonight was just a normal, run of the mill Friday night, you needed to pull out the big guns.  

The black leather bustier- the one that made Bucky destroy furniture- hugged your figure perfectly. It’s plunging V-neck ended just above your navel. And the lacy details perfectly mirrored the cheeky black underwear Bucky gifted you last Valentine’s Day. A matching garter belt was the piece de resistance, and it held in place the thigh high stockings that drove Bucky wild. 

You gave yourself one final look before slipping on a pair of black stilettos and stalking out of the room. This was it- the perfect formula for recapturing Bucky’s gaze. 

He’d been distant lately. Almost cold. He hadn’t touched you- in even the most innocent sense- in nineteen days. It had been even longer since you were last able to steal a kiss. And the two of you hadn’t had sex in three weeks, which was unheard of.

Usually, Bucky gave his physical affections freely. He loved touching you, kissing you, holding you. He wanted to play with your hair, hold your hand, kiss your forehead- anything- as long as it meant he got to touch you. To feel you. When he had a rough day, your arms provided him with safety and comfort. And when a mission stole you from his side, your lips welcomed him home. He poured his love for you into every touch, leaving his fingerprints all over your soul.

To him, any moment spent without your skin pressed against his was a moment wasted. 

And your sex life was mind-blowing, to say the least. Bucky’s stamina and eagerness to please you left you breathless and seeing stars almost every night of the week. After a few rounds with him, you found yourself unable to speak, unable to think. The only thing that had the power to permeate your hazy, lust-filled mind was him. Your hunger, your need for him could never be sated, and fucking him only made you want him more. But he was more than happy to give himself over to you. He could pull two or seven orgasms from you before you even knew what hit you. And that was just his warmup. 

But the last three weeks had been completely void of any debauchery. Bucky didn’t slip into your shower or slide his hand up your skirt. He didn’t even grab your ass when you walked by wearing leggings. It was a startling difference that filled the apartment with a biting, bitter cold, chilling you to the bone. But Bucky said- he swore- he was fine. That he was just tired. Or stressed. Or busy with work. And while you knew his work-life was intense, it never before stopped him from jumping at the chance to make you scream. 

And it wasn’t just the lack of erotic touches that gnawed at you. It was the loss of all physical affections. He didn’t reach for your hand in the store. Didn’t pull you into his chest at night. Didn’t kiss you goodbye in the morning. It left you agonized. Miserable. Empty. 

Every day, you wondered what could’ve possibly caused Bucky to pull away. What could make him withdraw from you so suddenly. Worry ate away at you, slowly devouring you whole. He seemed to work late almost every night these past few weeks. And when he was home, your attempts to talk to him about the issue went nowhere. 

You thought he’d gotten past his urge to hide his troubles from you. It took time, but he learned to be honest. To communicate. And when you were finally confident that he’d stopped hiding his struggles, you learned to stop reading into his every mannerism. His every muscle twitch. His every vocal change. If he said he was okay, he was okay. And after working together- he trusted you to listen, and you trusted him to tell you the truth.

And over the last few weeks, he did, indeed, say that he was okay. That there was nothing lurking beneath his surface. And so, you did as he asked, and you believed him.

But after three weeks of nothing- no roaming hands, no bite marks, no early morning quickies- you were hungry for him. Aching for him. You feared that your bottled-up lust would actually drive you crazy. And so, you decided reach for your secret weapon. 

You found Bucky right where you’d left him: leaning over the kitchen sink, taking care of the dishes from dinner. 

You kept your tone light, innocent, casual. “Hey, Buck.”

“Hey, baby.” He didn’t look up. 

“Um, do you think you could help me with something real quick, Sergeant?” Sergeant. It was devious. Wicked, really. The sound of his title coming out of your mouth always got his heart racing, always made the blood drain from his brain and travel elsewhere.

But he didn’t fall for it.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Just give me one second, I’m-” Finally, he looked up.

His words died in throat, his mind went blank. The pan he’d been scrubbing fell into the sink with a loud crash. Want filled his eyes. He could’ve sworn his mouth started watering. 

“What do you think, Sarge? You wanna come over here and,” you ran a few fingers up your thigh, “help me out?” 

You braced yourself, knowing Bucky was about to pounce. You figured you had less than five seconds before he swept you off your feet and hoisted up over his shoulder. He’d fireman-carried you to bed that way more times than you could count, and you knew this would be one of those nights. 

But five seconds became ten. And then fifteen. And then twenty. And all he’d done was stare at you. 

“Buck?” you took a few steps in his direction. “I thought we could have some dessert.”

He struggled to form coherent thoughts or piece sentences together. “Um, well, I was-” he gestured to the mess in the sink, “I was gonna do the dishes.”

“I know, baby,” you placed a light hand on his shoulder. “But I think you can finish them after- I mean, later.”

Bucky should’ve jumped at the opportunity. He should’ve taken you apart right there on the kitchen counter. But he didn’t. He didn’t even touch you. 

He cleared his throat, “I’m- I’m just gonna do ‘em now.”

Without a word, you turned on your stiletto and retreated to the bedroom. 

Humiliation flared in your chest. Tears gathered in your eyes. And your heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out the rest of the world. Suddenly, you felt stupid. Foolish. Part of you wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment. 

Bucky had every right to refuse your advances- that wasn’t the issue. It was his complete and utter lack of affection for you. If he didn’t want to have sex with you ever again, you’d (probably) survive. But the harsh and sudden halt of any and all physical affection was eating you alive.

You kicked off your heels the moment you entered the bedroom and found yourself stomping toward the bathroom. You needed to get away. To hide. To protect yourself from any further mortification. The bathroom door slammed shut behind you, and you leaned against the cool wood, hoping to find some peace. But the bathroom mirror only doubled your shame. And as you stared at yourself, clad in what you thought to be Bucky’s favorite lingerie, your breathing hitched in your chest. 

This whole venture was so idiotic. So thoroughly and excruciatingly mortifying. It felt like the final nail in the coffin. If Bucky didn’t want you in your best lingerie, he must not want you at all.

The hoodie you’d slipped out of only minutes ago sat crumpled in a pile on the counter, and eagerly you shimmied into it. Anything to cover up your failed attempt at seduction. 

What was wrong with Bucky? Was he not interested in you anymore? Did he find you unattractive? If he wasn’t seeking sex with you, he had to be getting it from someone else, didn’t he? Who was it? Who-

A gentle knock yanked you out of your spiral.

“Sweetheart…” Bucky called through the door. He tried the handle and found it locked. “Can you come out, baby? Please?”

No part of you wanted to leave the safety of the bathroom. Something deep within you feared that this would be it- the tipping point, the moment of truth. If you did as Bucky asked and ventured out of the bathroom, there was a chance that Bucky would drop some major, soul-crushing truth on you. 

Maybe he’d spent the last three weeks trying to figure out how to break up with you, and this was his perfect opportunity. Maybe he’d break your heart and ruin your life the second you opened the bathroom door. If you could just stay in here- forever- maybe he wouldn’t dump you. Maybe you could delay your heartbreak and extend whatever feelings he once had for you, just for a little while.

But if he didn’t want you anymore, what was the point of prolonging the inevitable? 

With a huff, you dabbed at your eyes with your sleeve and opened the door.

There stood Bucky, looking hopeless. Lost. Miserable. He was propped against the door frame with slumped shoulders and a downtrodden expression- but perked up a bit when you opened the door. A sad smile stretched across his face, and he stood up straight, but his frown returned as you brushed right past him. 

“Baby, can we please talk about this?” He almost begged. 

There was a heavy desperation in his voice. Panic blazed through his chest. Something told him he might be losing you.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you!” You removed your garter belt and slipped off one of your stockings. “I’ve been trying to talk to you about this for weeks! And you just keep saying you’re 'fine'. Or that you’re tired. Or that there’s 'nothing to talk about'- when there clearly is!”

Normally, Bucky could always make you feel better with a hug. Anytime the two of you got into a fight, a long, warm embrace helped ease both of you into open, honest communication. But Bucky didn't reach for you. He opted to keep his distance. To allow you some space.

But space was the last thing you wanted. 

“Look, if there’s something going on and you’re not interested in having sex, that’s fine,” you told him. “I get it. It happens sometimes. But the-” you yanked your other thigh high off and tossed it to the side. “The total embargo on physical touch is really fucking with my head.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears, your hands shook with wrath. “Buck, you’re never home anymore- you’re always ‘working late’.” You let out a sharp exhale, “and when you are home, it’s like you’re on another planet. You keep your distance from me- you won’t even sit next to me on the couch.”

All Bucky could do was nod. Everything you said was true; there wasn’t a point in arguing.

And as the weight of Bucky’s sudden frigidity finally hit you, your fury was snuffed out. Rage no longer pulsed through your veins with each beat of your heart. Grief took its place. It forced its way into your heart, into your bones. You could’ve sworn you felt fractures spider-webbing their way through your ribs. 

Tears trickled slowly down your cheeks at first, but a downpour followed soon after. “Are you- are you not attracted to me anymore?” You asked between heaving sobs. “Do you not want me? Did I do something?”

“Sweetheart, I-”

“Is there…” your voice cracked. Saying it was too much; part of you feared that vocalizing your fear would make it come true. As though another woman would materialize simply because you asked whether she existed. “Is there someone else?”

The question sucked all of the oxygen out of the room. Bucky stared at you with wide eyes, his mouth slightly agape. You did your best to get a handle on your shaky breaths and pained wails; if Bucky was about to reveal an affair, you didn’t want to seem so broken. So hopeless. So pathetic. You didn’t want to give him any ammo to take back to his side piece. Any dramatic tales that would make her howl with laughter.

But he didn’t admit to having a mistress. He, instead, let loose a few tears himself. Knowing that he’d made you question his loyalties, that you’d actually feared he’d been unfaithful, made him want to die.  

“Oh my god,” His voice wavered under the hefty weight of his pain,“Baby-” 

“Is there someone better?”

“No.” He couldn’t fathom the suggestion that there was someone- anyone- out there better than you. “There is no one better.”

He couldn’t take it anymore, he had to be near you. In three quick strides, he arrived in your vicinity. But he remained just out of your reach. Everything in him begged - screamed- to hold you close. To kiss you. To take your hand, at the very least. His fingers twitched with the need to touch you. But he refrained. 

 “There’s no one else- of course, there’s not. There will never be anyone else. I still want you, I will always want you. I love you.” 

The overwhelming urge to remove himself from your space barked at him. It screamed and hollered from the deep recesses of his mind. And he knew he should listen. But he couldn’t- not when you were falling apart in front of him. Not when he’d made you feel unwanted, unattractive, and unloved.

“You didn’t do anything, doll,” he hated himself for doing this to you. For making you doubt his love. For reducing you to a sobbing, heaving shell of yourself. “I’m still attracted to you- I’m so attracted to you. You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.”

His reassurances helped assuage some of the fear, some of the worry. But only a small portion. Because even though he’d refuted all of your hypotheses and accusations, he still hadn’t given you a reason. And he still hadn’t touched you. 

“Then what’s-” you forced yourself to take a moment to think. To breathe. To get your head on straight. “What’s the problem? What’s going on with you?”

Bucky didn’t answer. He didn’t make eye contact. He simply stared at the area rug, tracing its border with his eyes. And though he knew you needed his touch, needed his affection, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Couldn’t bring himself to slip his hand into yours or cradle your face in his hands. 

His silence sliced through you and tore you open. You could’ve sworn you were bleeding out. 

“Buck, I miss you-” It was needy. Ugly. But you didn’t care. “Please, just be honest with me. I’m worried about you. And this isn’t normal for us, so-”

His words came out so low, so hushed, that you struggled to hear him. “I just haven’t been able to shake what happened last time.”

He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut. He gave a small shake of his head. His hands balled into tight fists. He’d thought about what happened over and over and over again. He thought about it every day for the last three weeks. Relived the panic, the fear. And every night when he tried to fall asleep, the scene played out on an endless loop inside his mind. Horrifying nightmares plagued him each time he closed his eyes. He woke up shaking, covered in a cold sweat. There was no escaping it.

---Three weeks ago---

Things started around 8pm. It was all innocent enough, with Bucky spooning you as the two of you rewatched New Girl. But Bucky let his hands roam, as he so often did. And after only one episode, his hand had snaked up your shirt. His warm palm rested against your breast as his fingers swept over your skin. He teased your nipple once, twice. It was all the motivation you needed.

At his prompting, you pushed your body back against his, allowing your ass to grind against him. A low, animalistic moan vibrated deep within his chest. All bets were off after that. 

Before you could even blink, Bucky had you in his arms. He palmed your ass and positioned your legs around his waist as he set off down the hall toward the bedroom. His lips hungrily devoured yours. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging on the strands every now and again. He let more depraved sounds loose and you happily swallowed them all. 

Time lost all meaning after Bucky laid you out on the bed. The world outside of your bedroom ceased to exist- only Bucky remained. The two of you were a frantic, needy tangle of pounding hearts and sweat-slick skin. Teeth marks adorned his chest. Scratches adorned his back and shoulders. And Bucky devoted all of his time, all of his energy, all of him to pleasing you.

He took his time, slowly working you over as though it were his job. He loved teasing you, love watching you squirm. And when he had you absolutely begging, he gave you exactly what you wanted. In fact, he kept giving it to you- and had no intention to stop. 

He’d lost track of time. Lost count of how many times he made you come. All he knew was that double digits had been reached- and that was a long time ago. Was it an hour ago? Or three? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he had his best girl falling apart at the seams. Over and over and over again. 

He made sure to check in with you after every bout of world-shattering ecstasy, and you always gave him the green light. As time passed, your sentences turned into solitary words, which devolved into incoherent, needy sounds. But you always gave him a fervent nod, ensuring that you absolutely wanted- needed- him to continue. 

Even as sweat dampened the hair around your face, even as your lips grew swollen- you wanted more. More Bucky- there was never enough of him. It didn’t matter that he’d carried you to bed hours ago, you were insatiable. If he fucked you for a full twenty-four hours, it still wouldn’t have been enough.

At one point, you ended up in his lap, riding him like your life depended on it. He was seated upright on the edge of the bed, his chest pressed to yours. And by the depraved sounds and shaky breaths that fell from your lips, he knew you were close to yet another heart-stopping moment of bliss. His right arm snaked around your back, holding you firmly in place. He forced his vibranium fist down into the mattress; it gave him the extra leverage he needed to fuck into you even deeper. To push you over the edge. 

With a strangled scream, your orgasm crested over you. Your eyes squeezed shut. Sharp inhales filled your chest. Your mouth hung open. Every muscle in your body went rigid. Tense. Slight tremors rocked you every few moments- it was exactly what Bucky wanted. 

“Oh, that’s my girl,” praises dripped from his lips like honey.  A debauched moan vibrated out of his chest. “So good for me, always so good for me, baby.”

He watched as your eyes rolled back in your head. And with a final exhale, your limp body slumped forward, your face landing against Bucky’s chest. He put his movements on pause and allowed you to recover. To catch your breath. To rest.

He smoothed his cold, metallic hand up and down your spine. “You doing okay, sweetheart? You tired?” He dotted a kiss to your hair, “We can call it a night.”

You didn’t say a word.

“Baby,” he scratched gently at your shoulder blade. “Can you answer me?” 

But you remained silent.

Concern coursed through his veins. He feared he’d gone too far. That he’d pushed you past your limits. And if you were upset, he needed to do whatever he could to help you through. As gently as he could, he used both of his hands to lift your head from his chest. 

What he found sent a wave of chills rushing over his skin. 

You were out cold. Completely unconscious. 

Bucky found himself operating on autopilot. He removed you from his lap and laid you flat on the bed. His fingers searched your neck for a pulse. Your name fell from his lips in a horrified, desperate prayer. 

A breakdown loomed on the horizon, darkening everything around him. His hands shook, his chest tightened. The copper-penny taste of blood exploded across his tongue as he sunk his teeth into his cheek. But he couldn’t fall apart- not when your life depended on it. 

And massive sigh of relief left his chest when he felt your strong, steady pulse beating beneath his fingertips. 

And once he knew that you were, indeed, alive, he allowed himself to fall apart- but only for a moment. Tears dripped down his face and splashed against your chest as he loomed over you. He breathlessly told you he was sorry. That he loved you. That he didn’t mean to hurt you. 

But that was all he permitted. You still needed him, even if you weren’t in dire straits. And so, he forced his emotion behind a wall and pressed on. 

No part of him wanted to leave your side, but it was a necessary evil. He sped through the apartment and into the kitchen, digging in the freezer for ice packs. And when he found the two you required, he snagged a couple dish towels from the drawer by the sink and raced back to the bedroom. 

“Hey, I’m- I’m back, baby,” he said to your unconscious body. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I just had to get-” he held up the icepacks. Even if you couldn’t hear him, he wanted you to know that he’d never- under any circumstances- abandon you when you needed him. 

He wrapped each ice pack in a towel and tucked one behind your neck while the other rested on your chest. And then, all he could do was wait. 

He hovered over you, watching for any signs of waking, any signs of distress. His hands smoothed over your hair and drifted across your cheek. His fingers monitored your pulse every few seconds. His lips left kisses against your forehead. And though he knew that your life wasn’t in danger, it didn’t quell the shaking in his hands. Didn’t stop the waves of nausea cresting over him. 

And he didn’t take a full inhale until your eyelids finally began to flutter open. 

He watched closely as you finally blinked your way back into consciousness. Everything was kind of fuzzy, a bit hazy around the edges. A quiet ringing filled your ears. A slight tremor rendered your hands unsteady. And the world around you seemed to tilt and twist without warning.

But Bucky was right there, anchoring you to the earth. He let a gentle hand rest against your cheek. 

“Hi, baby,” his voice was soft, sweet, comforting.

But you couldn’t respond even if you wanted to, as your synapses refused to get their shit together. Words collided and melted together, dripping into amorphous puddles inside your mind. You swore someone had stuffed your head full of cotton. Everything felt far away; the entire world was muffled somehow, as though you were trapped behind fifty feet of glass.

Concern bled into Bucky’s words, “Sweetheart, are you alright?” 

And it wasn’t easy, but you finally remembered how to think. How to speak. You chipped away at the thick pane of glass separating you from Bucky, and finally answered. 

“’m okay…” You reached for Bucky’s face and allowed your fingers to gently trace down his jawline. His stubble pricked at your skin. His warm breath fanned your face. 

And without warning, tears slipped from your eyes. Rivulets coursed down the sides of your face and dripped into your hair. It was a sudden, jarring shift that sent Bucky’s heart leaping into his throat. 

“Oh, no- oh, sweetheart,” he gently cradled your face in his hands. “Baby, you’re okay- everything’s okay. You’re fine. You’re safe.” 

He did everything in his power to bring you some sense of peace, but the tears refused to stop. And he found himself desperately, hopelessly, trying to comfort you. He tripped over himself again and again, apologizing endlessly. And when that didn’t work, he changed tactics. He spelled out what happened for you in clear, easy to understand terms, ridding you of the dreaded unknown. He promised that you were only out for a minute or two. That you were perfectly safe.  

He left gentle touches against your skin and dotted kisses to your cheeks and hairline- just like you always did for him when he fell to pieces. And if it worked for him, he hoped it might work for you.

He wasn’t sure what brought an end to your waterworks- his reassurances or his touch- but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that you’d finally stopped crying. That your breathing was returning to normal. The sharp pain radiating through his chest dulled a little bit as he dried your last few tears. Finally, your hands stopped trembling. And your heartrate slowly regressed to its mean. He thanked a startling number of deities that you were alive and seemed to be improving.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “How do you feel, baby? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Um…” you dried your damp lashes on the backs of your hands. “I’m cold.”

“Shit- sorry,” Bucky snatched your icepacks from their respective positions and threw them to the floor. 

Guilt bloomed in his chest; he should’ve removed the ice the second you woke up. Should’ve covered you with a blanket. Should’ve used his body to keep yours warm. Should’ve- 

He didn’t have time to spiral into guilt and shame and ‘should haves’. 

He leaned over the side of the bed and located his discarded hoodie, the one you’d yanked over his head only a few hours ago in your insatiable pursuit of his body.

“Hey, here you go, doll,” he gently helped you wriggle into the soft fabric and covered you with the bedspread. And once he was confident that you were comfortable, he slid under the blanket with you and vowed to give you all of his body heat. 

The second he laid down next to you, you rolled onto your side and buried your face in his chest. He curled his body protectively around yours; he wasn’t going to let anything else happen to you tonight. Or ever. His hand swept up and down the length of your spine on a seemingly endless loop. He whispered ‘I love yous’ and “I’m sorrys” until he thought he might go hoarse.

And when your world fell properly into place and you finally felt like yourself again, you plucked your head from his chest.

“Hi,” you reached upward and let your fingers slowly drift across his cheek bones. The slope of his nose. His lips.

“Hi, baby.” He couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at his features. This was the version of you he knew. The version that, only a few minutes ago, hungrily egged him on in his pursuit of your pleasure. “You doing okay?”

You gave him a confident nod, “Yeah, I’m okay now.” Your lips drifted across his, “Sorry, it kinda took me a minute to come back to myself, you know?”

“That’s okay, doll,” he let he tips of his fingers ghost over your spine. “Don’t apologize.”

“And I really didn’t mean for there to be any,” you gave Bucky some unenthusiastic jazz hands, “any theatrics tonight. Sorry about the drama.”

Bucky gave a shake of his head, “No, baby, it’s okay. I’m…” he traced your features with his cold, gentle fingers. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Yeah, I’m totally fine,” you shrugged. “It was weird though, right? This has never happened to me before- I’ve never passed out during sex.” You gazed at him with a spark of lust in your eyes, “You know, I’m actually impressed. You made me come so many times that I actually blacked out. None of my ex-boyfriends can say that.”

You let out a quiet laugh that Bucky didn’t return. He didn’t find it funny- he didn’t find any of this funny. But he put on a smile for your benefit.

“Oh, and sorry about all the crying,” you sighed. “I don’t know what that was about.”

“That’s alright- it happens,” he shrugged. “You went from really high highs and then fell to some pretty low lows. It’s just got to do with the chemicals in your brain, nothing to apologize for.” He trailed kisses across your forehead and down your nose, “Plus, you were probably scared. Or freaked out, at least.”

The guilt sunk its teeth into every fiber of Bucky’s being. And as you nestled closer to him, a tidal wave of revulsion nearly dragged him from the bed. He should’ve known better. Should’ve exercised better judgment. You weren’t like him; you didn’t have the enhanced energy and stamina to match his. He shouldn’t have pushed you to the edge like that. Shouldn’t have carried you past your limits. 

Normally, he’d do anything to be near you. He wanted- needed- to touch you as much as possible. And if he couldn’t touch you, he at least had to be close to you. But the voice in his head screamed at him, telling him to vacate your vicinity. And the overwhelming, urgent need to put some space between his body and yours yanked him out of bed. 

“Baby, I’m gonna go get you some water, okay? And a snack,” he headed for the door, “you stay there, I’ll be right back.”

It was the perfect excuse. He really did need to provide you with sustenance and hydration after your black out- but a trip to the kitchen also provided him with a reason to remove himself from your side. He counted it as a win-win.

And from that moment on, he did his best- his very best- to keep his hands off of you. To stay as far away as possible. To ensure that you would be safe. 

He couldn’t risk your well-being, not again.

------

It wasn’t quite what you expected him to say. And though it was a far better reason than the affair you concocted for him during your downward spiral, it still didn’t make much sense. 

“Last time?” 

What exactly happened last time? You wracked your brain, searching your memories for some terrible event- but you came up empty. And just as you were about to call bullshit on Bucky’s reasoning, you stumbled upon the memory of your innocuous, minute-long black out. 

“Oh, the thing with me passing out?”  

Bucky gave a solemn nod. At the thought of it, his face lost all color, all warmth. A sickly shade of gray tainted his skin.

“Buck, I know that was kind of weird and not at all ideal, but it was fine,” you shrugged, “It wasn’t a big deal.”

You took a cautious step toward him, and much to your dismay, he countered with a step back. 

“If anything, it was a fluke.” Again, you took a step in his direction. And again, he backed away. 

Bucky feared what might happen when you backed him into a corner, when his spine hit the wall. He knew he’d have to slip from your grasp and vacate the room. That he’d have to find an escape. But he knew it would hurt you. After weeks of no warmth, no touching, no physical intimacy, you were barely hanging on by a thread. And if he ran from the room, it would surely cause that thread to snap. But wasn’t that better than the snapping of your neck? Or your spine? Wasn’t it better for you to hurt emotionally, rather than physically?

“Buck, it’s never happened before, and I highly doubt it will ever happen again,” you said. “I didn’t sleep well the night before, and I had a long day leading up to that. I didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, I was dehydrated, and I’d been sick the week prior. It was a perfect storm of circumstances that made me pass out. Not you.” 

You intertwined your fingers, locking them together in search of any kind of touch. Any physical reassurance. “Seriously, Buck, that will never happen again. I promise.”

Bucky knew of one surefire way to ensure it would never, ever happen again. All he had to do was keep his distance. If he could refrain from touching you, if he could keep his hands to himself, you’d be safe.

But you’d be miserable- he knew you would. And as he gave you a long once-over, a sharp pain shot through him like lightning. Tear tracks trailed down your cheeks. Your eyes were red and puffy. Dark circles stained your under eyes- you hadn’t been sleeping, had you? No, you’d been staying up all night, worrying about Bucky. About the state of your relationship. 

And when he noticed the way you’d tangled your hands together, the way your right thumb stroked against the back of your left hand, he could’ve sworn he’d been stabbed through the chest. You were so desperate for affection, so robbed of touch, that you were trying- and failing- to self-soothe. 

“I know it was scary for you,” he finally said. “And I know you’re the one who passed out, so I’m not trying to make this about me- I swear. But it was…” He, too, found himself absentmindedly searching for physical comforts. He slowly raked a hand through his hair a few times, but it didn’t have the same effect; only your hands could bring him peace. “It was scary for me, too.”

A pang of anxiety rocketed through you. How could you have been so selfish? So heartless toward Bucky’s plight? Of course, he’d been scared. Of course, the events of that night affected him, too. And you knew that if the situation were reversed, you would’ve been paralyzed with fear. With worry. 

You’d just gotten so swept up, so overwhelmed by the loss of his hands. His lips. His arms. It darkened your periphery and gave you tunnel-vision. All you could see- all you could feel- was the cold. The emptiness. The fear of losing him.

“Shit, baby, I’m-” you reached for Bucky but recoiled. “I’m so sorry. You just- you said you were fine. Every time I asked, you swore everything was okay. So I thought-”

“I know…” Bucky chewed on the inside of his cheek. He let his head droop, allowed his gaze to drop to the floor. And he stayed that way. For a while.

His hands dug deep into his pockets and his shoulders fell forward ever so slightly. He found himself awash in regret. Longing. Loneliness. He knew it was his fault; he’d done this to himself. He’d chosen to isolate, to pull away. But it was the safest option for you, wasn’t it? And your safety came before anything and everything else- full stop. 

“It took me a long time,” he finally said, “it took me a long time to be able to touch you. I couldn’t bring myself to do it for…” He silently thought back on that time, adding up the days where he kept his hands to himself- but they were far too numerous. “For a while. Do you remember that?”

You nodded. “Yeah, but I- I guess I always figured it was just some old-fashioned, chivalrous, nineteen-forties type of thing…”

“Well, that was,” a small smile flickered across his face, “that was part of it. But the real reason is that I was too scared. To touch you, I mean.” His smile disappeared. His features suddenly fell. His eyes darkened. “Sometimes, I don’t know my own strength, you know? And I was too- I was so afraid that I’d hurt you, baby.” 

“Oh…” You hadn’t thought of it that way. 

“I had to kind of overcome that fear, and it took time. I think it took me over a month just to hold your hand- and even then, it was only for a second.”

Bucky’s words had an endless darkness to them- a darkness you were well acquainted with by now. When he was really down, when he was going through a particularly miserable time, his voice took on the pitch-black tone of the abyss. And when he found himself drowning in the obsidian sea, it was your hands that guided him out. You’d hold him close to your body, wrapping him in the safety of your embrace- and slowly, he’d wade out of his agony. 

But this time was different. 

No matter desperately you longed to touch him, to comfort him, to save him- you couldn’t. He didn’t want your hands, your body anywhere near him. Of course, he did want you close- he just wouldn’t allow it. 

“But you know I’ve never been afraid of you, right?” Your arm twitched with want. Almost on autopilot, your hand tried to reach out and touch him, but you forbade it. “I’ve never thought that you’d hurt me-”

“I know.” He couldn’t stop himself from smiling. You never saw him as a monster or a threat- you never saw him the way he saw himself. “But when we first started dating, I was having these nightmares. I actually had them for the first year of our relationship- at the least…”

Your heart sank. He had enough nightmares as it was; and to know that you’d somehow delivered him a fresh crop of terror made you nauseous.

“Every night when I went to sleep, I’d have these awful dreams…” His eyes took on a hollow quality as he hurdled backward and fell into his memories. “They always started out okay- they seemed like normal dreams. In some of them, we were hugging. In others, we were having sex. And everything was fine. But then, you’d start-” He dragged a few fingers across his bottom lip and down his chin, “you’d start bleeding out of your mouth. Your eyes would roll back in your head. And you’d collapse. You’d die in my arms. Every time.”

A small gasp filled your lungs, “Buck…” It was your most basic, most intrinsic instinct to comfort Bucky with soft, gentle touches. Your hands were his homing signal, and when he got lost in the dark labyrinth of his past, you automatically guided him to safety. You couldn’t remember a time when you’d ever caged that reflex- until now. He stood in front of you, completely despondent, and you couldn’t do a damn thing to help him.

“And the other night- it was exactly like one of my nightmares. You went completely limp, baby, and your eyes rolled back in your head. You were unresponsive. I was so scared, I…” He almost didn’t want to say the words. Didn’t want to tempt the universe by voicing his greatest fear. “I thought I killed you. I thought I’d held you too tight and crushed your spine, or something. I had to-” He cleared his throat, forcing the oncoming emotion away, “I actually had to feel for a pulse to make sure you were still alive.”

“Baby, I- I didn’t know that.” He’d conveniently left that out when he walked you through what happened. He’d sidestepped his horror and his trauma and put you first, as he always did. “But you’d never hurt me- you couldn’t.”

He shrugged. “Maybe not on purpose. But I thought I’d gone too far in the heat of the moment, and…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. “Even though you didn’t pass out because of me, I’m still- I can’t get over it. I can’t stop thinking about it. It was like one of my nightmares had come to life- it hit way too close to home.” He pressed his palms to his eyes for a moment and forced himself to catch his breath. Only when he felt his heartrate return to normal did he speak again. “So, I’ve been scared- too scared to touch you.”

It shattered you. All Bucky did- all he’d ever wanted to do- was protect you. And though he’d spent the last three weeks aching for his best girl, he didn’t dare lay a finger on you- all in the name of your safety. Sure, his execution wasn’t the best, but his intentions were pure and kind, as they always were. 

“But I know I didn’t… I didn’t handle this the right way. And I’m sorry- I’m so sorry I pulled away,” he tripped over himself again and again, desperately begging for your understanding. For your forgiveness. “I know you’re not happy- believe me, I’m not happy either. I’ve been miserable this whole time- I miss you so much, sweetheart. And I never wanted to hurt you like this. I just didn’t…” He gave a small shake of his head, “I didn’t want to hurt you physically, either. And I didn’t know what to do. So, I figured that keeping my hands off of you was safest. But I didn’t mean to upset you.”

All the work he’d done, all the effort he’d put into fixing his self-image had crumbled in one fell swoop- all because you didn’t have the wherewithal to eat breakfast and stay hydrated three weeks ago. Bucky’s normally upright posture was sloped, his shoulders curved forward. He had the same hollow look in his eye that he had when you’d first met him. And now that he’d spent more than five minutes with you, you noticed all of the fingernails on his right hand were bitten down to the quick.

“Shit. Buck, I’m- I’m so sorry, baby.” You dried your cheeks on the sleeve of your hoodie. “I fucked up…”

“No, no. This is all on me- I fucked up. I basically abandoned you.” His voice took on a harsh, sharp edge he only ever reserved for use against himself. You knew the inside of his head was a horror scene, full of admonishing comments and self-flagellation. You wished you could rescue him from his own mind. 

But his tone softened when he spoke about you, “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart-”

“Buck, I accused you of cheating,” you nearly scoffed. It was ridiculous. Completely absurd. That you believed for even a moment that Bucky could actually have a mistress proved just how out of your mind you were. But grief, you figured, was capable of making people believe crazy things. “That was absolutely wrong of me. And I didn’t even-” you shook your head. “I didn’t even think that the other night might have affected you-”

“You were upset, and rightfully so.” He absolved you of any blame, any guilt. “Plus, you were the one who blacked out, not me. My feelings on the subject aren’t nearly as important as yours.”

“But you witnessed it. And it scared you. A lot.” You hated knowing that he’d been too horrified, too paralyzed with fear to even hold your hand. And the fact that he’d dealt with all of it alone was enough to force you to your knees. “I should’ve known better- I should’ve known you were upset. I’m so sorry, Buck. This was so unfair to you, I-”

He held up a hand, halting your words. “You can’t read my mind, sweetheart. And I could’ve communicated better.” He flashed you a sad smile, “That’s something I said I’d work on- communication. And I’m getting better at it, but I’m not perfect yet.”

“I’m not either, so… I guess we both have some stuff to work on. I probably shouldn’t go around alleging that you had an affair out of the blue.” You crossed your arms over your chest, hugging them tight to your body. Even if Bucky wasn’t sleeping with someone else, he still hadn’t allowed himself to touch you. And you were no match for the bone-chilling cold that had settled into the apartment.

“Um, okay, you know what? We can actually- let’s completely forget I said anything about this. Just put it out of your mind, alright?” This time, it was you who retreated. You who stepped away. 

“Sweetheart, wait-” Bucky adopted your role as the pursuer. He took a few strides in your direction, anxious to close the gap between you. He felt you slipping through his fingers, like he may never regain what the two of you used to have. 

“No, Buck, it’s okay. We’re okay. I just want you to do whatever works for you. I don’t want you to be hurting all the time, I don’t want you to be scared.” Again and again, you stroked your thumbs over your upper arms, but it didn’t bring you a hint of comfort. “And if that- if that means you can never touch me again, I’ll understand-”

“That’s not what I want- that’s absolutely not what I want,” Bucky’s eyes were wide. Almost crazed. It was as though the thought of never touching you again threatened to push him to the brink of madness. “I just need to… I need to take it slow. I have to start back at square one, like I did when I first met you. Is that okay? Can you- ”

“Whatever you need, I’m on board.” It was an automatic, instinctual response. Your voice was steady and even, free from any breaks or signs of uncertainty. You’d do anything for him, anything to ease his mind. “We can move as slowly as you need- there’s no rush.”

“But are you… are you sure?” His words dripped with anxiety, with fear. “Cause I can- I can try to get over it. I don’t want you to be miserable, doll. I can-”

“Buck, it’s okay.”

“Baby, I feel like I might…” He nearly doubled over, “I’m afraid I’m gonna lose you over this.”

“You won’t- I promise, you won’t.” Another surge of need coursed through you, begging you to wrap Bucky in an embrace, but you kept your hands to yourself. You’d never push him, would never dream of making him uncomfortable. “You will never lose me. I’m here for you, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care how long it takes.”

And you meant it. Now that Bucky let you in on his secret, you understood that there had to be some distance. Some space. Of course, you’d still miss the physical intimacy. The sleepy mornings spent with your body draped across his chest. The late nights full of depravity and lust. But with the looming darkness of a possible affair banished, you could wait.

Though, you didn’t have to wait long at all.

Because Bucky vanquished space remaining between your body and his. He strode eagerly, anxiously across the room and raised his right hand, desperate to feel you again. But just as his palm grew close to your cheek, he faltered. His brain struggled to reign him in, to put a pause on his possibly dangerous plan. Only millimeters remained between his skin and yours, but he couldn’t find it in him to close the final gap. 

“It’s okay,” you said. “Take your time.”

It was the final push he needed. And finally, he touched you again. His palm lightly ghosted over your cheek, and tears instantly crested over your lash line. The feeling of relief, of home, was almost intoxicating. It was the lightest, softest touch- almost imperceptible. But to you- to Bucky- it was like a fireworks show. 

And after testing the waters with his feather-light touch, he found himself nearly begging for more. 

He allowed his palm to actually rest against your face, to cup your cheek the way he always did. And it acted like an instant pain reliever. The excruciating ache in your chest relented, and your muscles slackened as they released their knots. An all-encompassing warmth wrapped around your entire body, finally ridding you of the vicious cold you’d suffered through all these weeks. This was the warmth you knew you couldn’t live without, the warmth only Bucky could provide. 

His knees almost buckled beneath him, but he wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t allow anything to take this moment from either of you. All this time, he’d felt unmoored, adrift, lost in a dark, endless sea. And no matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t seem to find his way back to shore. But with his skin pressed against yours, he finally felt steady. Stable. You provided him with a guiding light. An anchor. He felt more like himself than he had in the last three weeks, all because of you.

Your tears dampened Bucky’s skin, but he didn’t mind. He brushed them gently away with a light sweep of his thumb. 

“Can I?” you motioned to the tears trailing down his cheek.

And after a moment of thought, he gave you a nod. Your hand drifted lightly over his skin to mop up his tears, but your touch only brought on more waterworks. He was so starved of your affection that even the lightest touch made him whimper. He let out a soft, grateful sound that knocked the breath from your chest. 

The two of you remained there a while, soaking in the sensation of the other. Bucky didn’t dare to hug you, and kissing you was still off limits. But his palm remained flush with your cheek for as long as you allowed- and you had no urge to ever remove it.  

You knew there was a long road ahead for him, but you didn’t mind. Starting back at square one with him was something you could handle. Something the two of you could handle together.

“It’s kind of a bummer that I didn’t get to make good use of your…” Bucky gestured to your discarded garter belt and thigh-highs, “outfit.”

You let loose a laugh that vibrated under his palm- the sensation sent a wave of warmth cresting over him.

“It’s alright, Buck. I’ll wear it again, I promise.” You leaned into his touch, greedily searching for more of him. “You can take as much time as you need, okay? I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

———————————

@beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @purpleshallot @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @juvellian @samanthacookieone @frombkjar @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @anything-more-than-human

[not-neverland06]

n a s t y d o g I logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

One-shot A/N: I've never felt this way about a fictional character before. Every gif I see of him has me gnawing and biting at the bars of my enclosure. I want to bite him. If Hugh Jackman ever discovered what thoughts lurk inside my rotted brain about him he'd get a restraining order. This isn't OKAY Anyways... Summary: You'd thought you'd had a good thing going with Logan. You weren't officially anything to each other, but you were getting close. You truly saw a future with him, but he made it incredibly clear he did not feel the same 18+ HATE FUCKING (MDNI)

(one chance please, just one chance with him)

“Are you sure this isn’t totally clingy girlfriend of me?”

Ororo gives you an irritated look and Jean laughs. “Not at all, Scott loves it when I surprise him like this.” You’re all huddled in your room, each of you in varying stages of getting ready. Jean is finishing off her eyeliner at your vanity, Ororo is putting on her boots, and you’re trying to decide between a skirt and a dress. 

You’re not entirely sure how, or why, Logan and Scott decided to go to the bar together tonight. You suspect it has something to do with Jean. She wants them to start getting along so there’s less friction when you’re all around each other. 

At Jean’s idea, Logan had muttered, “When hell freezes over,” in your ear before he had left for the night. You’d gotten a little antsy without him to entertain you and had mistakenly blurted out the idea of going to visit them. Ororo had been dying to get out of the house and Jean was a little worried about her boyfriend as well. They’d agreed to go along with you and you’ve felt a weight in your stomach ever since. 

Your relationship with Logan was relatively new. Hell, a month ago you’d thought he’d hated you the same he did Scott. You’d, of course, been proven wrong when you’d had a few drinks with him and things had taken a very physical turn. 

You weren’t sure if he’d just wanted a one-night stand or something serious. But when you’d tried to sneak out the next morning and he’d muttered a grumpy, “Where’re you going?” You’d gotten your answer. 

You hadn’t been on any real dates, there didn’t ever seem to be time for them. But you spent most of your days together. Sometimes just silently enjoying each other’s company, other times you would be holed up in one of your rooms cuddling. The thought always brings a stupid lovesick grin to your face. 

It’s one of your first real relationships and you’re worried that things are moving a little too fast. At least on your end. You can already tell that you’re falling for him. Headfirst into the deep end of love. And it’s terrifying because you truly cannot tell what he thinks about you. Clearly, he likes you. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t let you follow him around like a lost puppy. 

But he’s never truly said anything to you. There’s no official label as to what you two are. You say girlfriend off-handly and you usually don’t mean it when you reference yourself. You’ve never outright said he’s your boyfriend and he’s never really claimed you. He’s made it explicitly clear he doesn’t want you sleeping with other men, and you’ve said the same to him about women. You both agreed on that, but…

You kind of drive yourself crazy trying to figure this out. He’s not vocal about his feelings and everything’s still new so you don’t like pressuring him. You also worry that if you push him too far he’ll just get tired of you and move on. It’s not fair to assume that of him, and you know everything would be better if you just talked to him. But you’re scared. You’re scared the conversation will take the wrong direction and everything will blow up in your face. 

Jean calls your name and your head shoots up to see both Ororo and Jean looking at you expectantly. You flush when you realize they must have been talking to you and you’d just completely zoned out thinking about Logan. 

“Huh?” You blurt out, cringing at how dumb you sound. 

Jean gives you a concerned look, “I can practically taste your anxiety.” The telepath frowns and offers you a comforting smile. “Don’t worry about it, I promise, Logan won’t mind at all.”

“You’re fine,” Ororo adds, because clearly the look on your face screams, I need constant validation. They’re not wrong, but still, you hate feeling like an exposed bundle of nerves. “Think of it as girl’s night, the boys just happen to be there.” 

You force a smile on your face and give your most enthusiastic nod. You change into the dress and finish up with your hair. You finally start chatting with them again, engaging so it might disguise just how nervous you feel. 

There’s this clenching feeling, traveling from your stomach up to your chest. It makes you sick, makes you hurt. And it’s not because you think Logan will be upset with you for crashing. He’d be relieved, if anything. There’s something else. Premonition isn’t one of your abilities, but you’re seriously starting to doubt that now. 

The bar is loud when you walk in. The soles of your shoes immediately start to stick to the floor and your nose screws up in disgust at the loud laughter coming from around the pool tables. You glance around, trying to see if you can spot Logan. 

You’d say you could spot him in any crowd. But has a propensity to hunker down and try to attract as little attention as possible so people don’t bother him. “There he is,” Jean taps your shoulders and points to the two men at the end of the bar. 

Like you’d thought, Logan is hunched over his whiskey, glowering down at the wood under him like it had insulted him. You almost want to laugh at the sight. Some of the earlier anxiety eases its grip on you and you feel your shoulders begin to untense. 

Before you can walk over Ororo grabs Jean’s wrist. “Gotta go to the bathroom,” she tugs Jean behind her. 

Jean looks over her shoulder at you and smiles encouragingly, “Go to them, we’ll catch up in a second.” You give her a tentative nod and slip through the crowd. There are more people here than you thought there would be. 

You’re happy not to spot any kids in the crowd. You’ve had a few too many nights out crashed by kids who thought they were good at sneaking out. 

It’s easy enough not to spot you or the other women in the crowd. Mutants have gotten good at blending in with the people around them. Makes it easier to get around. It’s probably why neither Logan nor Scott stop their conversation as you approach. “So,” Scott draws the word out, fingers tapping against the glass of his beer. 

“Don’t,” Logan warns. You want to laugh at his grumpy demeanor, but someone’s accidentally elbowed you and you find yourself stumbling a few steps back. It’s taking entirely too long to get to them, the bar isn’t even that big. There’s just that many people here. 

Scott ignores him and rolls his eyes. “Look, we’re stuck here for a while. Try and pull that stick out of your ass.”

“How about I put one in yours?” Logan’s claws come out slightly. But then they both share an odd look and Scott smirks. “Shut the fuck up,” Logan grouses, “not like that.”

“Right,” Scott huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. He picks up his bottle and takes a long drink. You’ve nearly reached them now. You stop, though, when you hear Scott say your name. You shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t. Eavesdropping now is just asking to get hurt. 

You drop back into the crowd, hoping the smells of others will stop Logan from discovering you lurking behind them both. Scott continues, “How’s that going?”

You crane your neck forward, trying to hear them better over the karaoke happening behind you. Someone is butchering Britney Spears but you couldn’t care less right now. Logan shouldn’t answer. Since when has he ever shared anything with Scott?

So, imagine your surprise when his answer isn’t immediately telling him to fuck off. “Eh,” he shrugs, downing the rest of his whiskey. Your face drops in irritation. Seriously, all this skulking around for an Eh? That’s bullshit. 

You keep yourself from stepping forward, forcing your feet still, and ignoring the little voice in the back of your head telling you this is a bad idea. You’ve committed this much, you’re seeing it through. Scott whistles lowly, “That bad, huh?” Oh, fuck off, Summers. 

Logan shakes his head and for a moment you have a brief feeling of hope lifting you up. “Nah, not bad. It’s just, I don’t know.” Logan sits up and signals the bartender for a refill. Your snooping senses go off and you briefly see Ororo and Jean exiting the bathroom. Desperate for something to keep them at bay, you flick your wrist. The man in front of them tips his drink down Jean’s shirt, slurring out apologies. Jean huffs and Ororo brings her back into the bathroom. 

Scott and Logan somehow missed the whole interaction and you promise yourself that you’ll pay for Jean’s dry cleaning. You’re definitely not going to. “Think she wants something I don’t,” Logan tells Scott, and your heart plummets to your feet. You can practically see it deflate, all the lovesickness draining out of it and onto the floor of this grimy bar. 

“Like, she just wants to fuck around?”

Logan shakes his head and downs another glass of whiskey. He’s just swallowing it down like it’s water. At a certain point, the bartender gets sick of it and just leaves him with the bottle. “No, she wants something real. Like a real relationship.” Scott’s brows furrow and Logan shrugs. “Not interested.” 

It’s the way he says it that really bothers you. There’s nothing wrong with wanting something different in a relationship. It happens all the time. But he says it so dismissively. He knows that you want something real with him, something secure and loving. He knows that, continues to fuck you and lead you on, and then speaks as though you’re an idiot for ever being interested in that. 

Hurt hasn’t set in yet. You’re staring wide-eyed, jaw agape with shock as you stare at Logan’s back. You’d thought a conversation needed to be had. But you didn’t think that he thought of you like this. You’d thought you meant something to him. 

Scott seems to share the sentiment, his lips tugged down into a frown. He leans against the bar, surveying Logan with a disbelieving look. “What?” Logan snaps.

Scott raises his hands in surrender, shaking his head and backing off. “Nothing, man, I just thought you two were serious about each other.” You miss whatever Logan says as an arm slings itself around your shoulder. 

“What’re you doing?” A husky, seductive voice whispers against the shell of your ear. You jump in shock, glaring at Ororo as she grins at you. She lets her arm slide off your shoulders and glances over at Jean. “I think she was spying.”

Jean nods, nudging you forward. “Definitely spying. Hear anything good?”

You fortify your mind against her probing fingers before she can find out. “Nope,” you blurt out. You hope the racing of your heart is dismissed by your constantly frazzled nature. You hope the look on your face is explained by your earlier boredom and anxiety. You pray that none of them notice the way you lean away from Logan when the men finally turn around and notice you all. 

Scott breathes out a dramatic sigh of relief and slumps onto Jean. “Thank god, I thought I was going to die trying to talk to this brick wall.” his eyes flick towards you in a blink-and-you-miss-it moment. There’s a brief pitying look before he grins. “Come to get your boyfriend?” There’s a heavy emphasis on the word that you never would have noticed had you not heard their conversations. 

It’s clearly a petty dig at Logan. And you would appreciate it if you didn’t feel the sudden urge to vomit up your dinner. “Thought you might need saving from Logan.” You tell him, a chuckle hiding the slight tremor in your voice. 

You’re not sure if he does, but you hope Logan notices how you avoided the word boyfriend. You hope that he hurts the same way you do. But you know, deep down, that he doesn’t care. He’s probably relieved that you didn’t use the title. 

Logan gets off his stool, he wraps his arm around your shoulder, and pulls you into a brief hug. His lips press against your temple before he dips down to whisper, “Thank you,” in your ear.

Asshole, he’s not allowed to smile at you the way he is. If you weren’t in such a crowded place and already overstimulated, you’d shove him away. If your friends weren’t watching you’d take his arm and slam it down onto the bar until you hear his fucking adamantium bones break. 

That might have been too far. Maybe you’re not that angry, but you’re hurt.

You place your hands against his chest, a thin smile on your lips while you hum a simple, “Mhm.” He doesn’t seem to notice the way you push away from him. It’s easily dismissed by you cheekily stealing his seat at the bar. 

He comes up behind you, hands bracketing you and keeping you stuck against the bar while you order your drink. One of his hands drifts down, laying against your thigh. You know this isn’t sexual, this is him comforting you. 

He shouldn’t know how horrible you feel in such busy places. He shouldn’t know that and know that his touch is grounding and then help you. Not if he doesn’t want something serious. If he didn’t want to be your boyfriend, didn’t want to be anything but a fuck, then why do this to you? Did he not think this was leading you on? Is this just him caring for you?

You’ll drown in a sea of unanswered questions before the night is over if you linger too long. You tip your head back, let your shot burn its way down your throat, and turn towards the others with a smile. You feel your worries fade and your focus loosen as you simply drift further into your mind. 

You must have disassociated or something. By the time you realize you’re no longer hearing bad karaoke and your elbows aren’t sticking to the bar, you’re already home. You stare in the mirror, hand pausing as you brush your teeth before you quickly finish. 

You didn’t drink much, you never do. It fucks with your abilities and causes migraines. You rinse your mouth out and glance into your bedroom. Logan groans and stretches. His back bows, muscles flexing and you rip your eyes away. You can’t let yourself be distracted by the chest you want to drape yourself across. 

You need to talk to him. It’s never been more clear. You wipe your mouth and toss the towel onto the rim of the sink. You take in a deep breath, trying to get rid of the nerves plaguing you. It’s never worked before, it’s not going to suddenly cure you now. 

You give up on the thought and instead, shove down the anxiety until you have enough confidence to speak. It takes a little while, Logan peaks an eye open, eyebrows quirked when he sees you just staring at him. “Something up, bub?” he flexes, on purpose, and you roll your eyes. You grab his shirt out of your hamper and toss it at him. 

“Put this on. Can’t think when you look like that.”

He chuckles, “That’s the point.” at your pointed glare his smile drops and he tugs the beater on. It barely does anything to deter you. If anything you’re having more trouble paying attention. Especially now that his full attention is on you. The humor is gone from the room, a thick tension replaces it. Logan seems to feel it, sitting up straighter and glaring at you like he’s trying to read your mind. “What’s wrong?” It’s a demand more than a question. 

It’s hard to look at him. But you refuse to let yourself cower now. You take in a fortifying breath and let your gaze bore into his. You put all the hurt and anger you feel into it, willing yourself to be firm. “We need to talk.”

“‘Bout what?” He’s brusque, but there’s a slight concern to his tone. 

There’s no point hiding this. And maybe you had misheard, maybe there was a conversation prefacing the one you’d heard. And you’ll talk it out and everything will be okay. “I heard you and Scott talking at the bar.”

The hope you had, as minimal as it was, is dashed at your feet. He sucks in a deep breath and the look on his face has you crestfallen. You can feel your chest cave in. You feel so stupid all of a sudden. Constantly following after him, even before you started dating him. Looking at him with stars in your eyes and latching onto his every move and word. 

You’d worshiped him, put him up on a pedestal he didn’t deserve. Superhuman or not, at the end of the day he was still a man. And they’ve done nothing but disappoint you. You suck your teeth, gaze dropping to your feet as you fight back the tears in your eyes. “Right,” you whisper, stepping back from him. 

“Look,” he starts. You force your eyes up and watch as he rubs uncomfortably at the back of his neck. He takes a step towards you and you shake your head, stepping away from him. His arms fall to his sides and he sighs. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“That’s it?” You demand, tone incredulous. You weren’t some great love or anything. But that’s seriously all he has to say.

He opens his mouth, eyes softening as he stares at you. Then he snaps it shut, something covers his face and his expression is borderline cruel as he sneers at you. “Not my fault you got in over your head, kid. Never said I wanted anything more with you.” He points at you, and you suddenly feel like a little girl getting scolded. You’ve never had a partner make you feel this small, especially not Logan. “You were just convenient.”

You rear back like he slapped you. You think it might have hurt less than that. To know you wasted so much time on such a fucking dick makes you want to throw up. Or scream, or cry. You can’t decide on one. But your powers can, the walls are shaking, knick-knacks falling off your shelves as energy pulses from you. 

You’ll face the hurt, the sadness, the horrible ache of rejection later. Right now, you need him out of your face before you bring the whole mansion crumbling down around you. “Out.” You grind the word out, turning away from him and clutching your hands to your chest. You take in quick, rapid breaths, trying to think of anything other than how horrible you feel. 

You haven’t lost control like this in a long time. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of being the reason you get put on probation again. He whispers your name, coming up behind you like he’s going to touch you. 

You want to lash out, want to hurt him like he’s hurt you. But you’ll only cause more damage than necessary. He’s not worth hurting the kids in the rooms around you. You shove past him, ignoring the way he shouts your name. 

You dart out into the hall, grateful there are so few people milling around. Nearly everyone’s asleep, just a few stragglers finishing up their homework for tomorrow. A few of them give you odd looks that turn concerned when they see Logan chasing after you. Your bones are practically vibrating by the time you make it outside. 

You rush towards the grove of trees at the back of the mansion. Your knees give out under you before you can make it very far. Energy pulses out of you in an explosive circle. You hear bark crack and turn into nothing but dust as the air around you trembles. 

It’s a relief, like going to the bathroom after holding it all day. You feel it drain away from you, a plug pulled out as the energy rushes from you. It slows after a minute, feeling more like a leak than a steady stream. 

Your hands shake by your sides as you lay trembling on the grass. Your eyelids flutter shut and you try and keep them open but it’s hard. All of your energy had been spent keeping yourself in check until you made it out of the mansion. 

“I’ve got you,” a voice mutters near your ear. Familiar strong arms dip under your knees, lifting you up and pulling you into a sturdy chest. You recognize the body, recognize the uncomfortable warmth coming from him. But your tongue won’t work and you're passing out before you can try and push him away. 

You’re in your own bed when you wake up again. You’re briefly comforted by the warm feeling of the sheets around you before you realize how cold the other side of the bed is. You’re so used to the feeling of someone being beside you that it’s jarring for no one to be there. You sit up, a spark of anxiety lighting up inside you before it’s being quelled by an outside force. 

“I think it’s best if we keep that under control.” You’re not surprised to hear Charles’s voice. You can’t be, not when he’s actively keeping you calm and placid. You lean back against your headboard. You tilt your head lazily, looking at him while he looks out the window. 

“That tree was a hundred years old.”

You wince, face screwing up when you remember the large oak tree you obliterated last night. “I can remake it,” you promise. 

“You could,” he corrects, “but whatever happened last night between you and Logan is causing your powers to be volatile.” He finally turns towards you, the motor of his wheelchair a dull buzz as he smiles at you. There’s no resentment in his gaze at least. You’d known he wouldn’t be mad at you. He was used to accidents like this. Had you hurt another person, however, this would be an entirely different conversation. 

There’s a dull ache in your chest at the mention of Logan, but it’s quickly covered by another wave of calm from Charles. He smiles and holds out two metal bracelets. They’re thick, something red inlaid into the black metal. They look like handcuffs more than anything. His lips quirk up at your thought and you frown. 

“That’s what they are, right? Cuffs.”

“You’re not a criminal,” he assuages, his tone gentle as you take them from him. There’s a small silver button inside that you click and the metal springs open. You place your left wrist inside and it snaps shut, it’s a snug fit. It won’t be moving around anytime soon. You put the right one on and feel Charles’ hold on your mind ease the second it's closed. Every horrible feeling from last night crashes down on you and you nearly choke on it. 

You wonder how Charles managed to keep you asleep for so long without the roof crumbling. He chuckles, the noise tired. “Jean helped me. It took a while for the cuffs to be ready.”

The way he says that causes alarms to go off in your head. “How long?” He takes in a sharp breath and shakes his head, attempting to dismiss the question. “Charles,” you snap, voice bordering on a shout. 

“Two days,” he says. You gasp and slump back against your sheets. He says your name but you get to your feet and pace. You don't know what to do with yourself. There’s energy buzzing under your skin, but the cuffs are keeping it at bay. It feels wrong like your pores are being clogged with acid. 

“Two days.” You look over at him, horror painting your face and you can see why he was so apprehensive to tell you. “It’s never been that bad before.”

“No,” he starts cautiously, “It hasn’t. Which makes me wonder, what transpired between you and Logan that destroyed my grandfather’s tree?” 

You cringe at the mention of the tree. He’s never going to let go of that. Even when you recreate it, he’s still going to hold it over your head. His teasing eases you out of the spiral you were heading down and you glance over at him. “You’ve been in my head for two days. I’m sure both you and Jean already know.”

He smacks his lips together and shrugs, clasping his hands in front of himself. “Simply seeing if you wanted to discuss it, my dear.”

You vehemently shake your head and sit back down on your bed. “No, I don’t want to talk about him. I don't want to see him.” Charles gives you a look like he doesn’t believe you and you hate it. You truly don’t want to see Logan again. Just thinking about him makes you want to explode. He was a pig and you regret ever wasting your time on him. 

There’s a shriveled part of your heart weeping somewhere, but you crush in your fist until it shuts the fuck up. “Right,” Charles nods. “I do believe it’s best for your recovery that we keep you two separated for a while.” He rolls past you and places a comforting hand on yours. “Rest, you’ll feel more like yourself soon.”

You nod and watch him leave. Exhaustion suddenly seems to drop its heavy weight on your shoulders. Two days being restrained by telepaths probably wasn’t very restful. You lay across your comforter, rolling over and hoping when you wake up your heart will be healed. 

Two weeks. Two pathetic, snot-filled, and disgusting weeks of sobbing over Logan. You felt like a sixteen-year-old again, crying over the boy that didn’t like you back. It was awful, especially knowing that the entirety of the mansion knew what was wrong with you. 

Your students would leave your class and you would lock your doors, hiding under your desk as you wept. Those with superhearing or telepathy would bake you cookies and leave gifts at your door. It was sweet, but honestly made you feel ten times worse. You felt like your sadness was a burden you were forcing everyone to carry. 

Your mother would be so disappointed in you. She’d always told you that you mourn a relationship half the amount of time you were in it. Of course, hers never lasted more than a few weeks. And she’d had more boyfriends than you could count on three hands. 

Besides, you were allowed to wallow for a while. This was someone you were starting to fall for. To be so blind going into and leaving the relationship was awful. Having the rug ripped out from under you had been cruel and needless. You’re resentful and grateful he’d been so horrifically honest with you. On one hand, if the relationship had just ended, you’d be pining after him. Wondering what you’d done to lose such an amazing guy. 

But being faced with the brutal truth, knowing he was a piece of shit, it makes you hate yourself. You should have seen it. Should have known that he didn’t want you like you wanted him. But there were never any signs. You’d run it through your head a million times. Every interaction you’ve ever had with him. None of it shows you where he’d been lying to you or using you. You can’t even trust yourself anymore. 

There’s a loud knock on your door and you sniffle, tossing another tissue in the trash as you go to answer it. “Hello?” You croak. You can barely see, eyes puffy and so swollen your vision is blurry. 

“Holy hell,” Ororo scoffs and shakes her head. She pushes into your room and slams the door shut before anyone can see how awful you look. To be fair, you keep yourself relatively put together during the day. But it’s after hours now, you’re allowed to be a mess. 

“You look like shit.” 

Neither of you are prepared as you begin to blubber. Your lips tremble and your voice shakes as you begin to sob. “I know,” you wail. “I hate it.” Ororo’s eyes widen in horror and she quickly pushes you into your desk chair, grabbing a box of tissues and shoving it in your hands. 

“I feel,” you stutter, having to take in a few shuddering breaths before you can get the words out. “He tore out my heart and ripped it up with his stupid fucking claws.”

“Okay, okay,” Ororo runs her hands over your arms, trying to soothe you. “I know, sh, it’s okay.” She groans, “Stop crying,” she pleads under her breath. 

“I’m trying!” You snap at her, running hands over your wet cheeks and trying to swallow down the rest of your tears. 

“Look,” she steps back and shakes her head. She glances down at you, disgust poorly hidden on her face. She’s really fucking bad at comforting someone. “This is awful, I can’t take it anymore. You two keep dancing around each other and you’re putting everyone on edge. You won’t stop crying and he keeps going off,” she holds her hands up and shakes her head. “I just can’t do it anymore.”

You frown, brows turning down in confusion. “What?” You didn’t think Logan would be mad. You pictured him skipping through a field of daisies, happy to finally be rid of you. It only made you hate yourself more that you were still crying over it all. 

“He’s kind of losing it,” she seems reluctant to relent the information. “Look,” she kneels in front of you and snatches the tissue box from your hand. She tosses it to the side and forces you to meet her eyes. “He’s in love with you. We all know it, Jean’s confirmed it. He loves you, he needs you, he’s just terrified to admit it. He’s afraid of what's going to happen if you two become real.”

Your eyes widen with the realization. She nods enthusiastically as you connect the pieces. You can’t deny what’s so plainly laid in front of you when she assures you that even Jean knows. Jean knowing means she just did a nosy dive into his head. 

You can picture what could happen. With rom-com levels of nauseating romance, you run to find him. You tell him you don’t care that he’s afraid. You don’t care he pushed you away and you do love him. He’s not going to lose you. Nothing can rip you apart. You ride off into the sunset on Scott’s bike blah blah blah. 

This isn’t a fucking romance. And you’re not going to cry over a man who's too much of a pussy to admit he has feelings. You like men who have emotional depth deeper than a teaspoon. “Are you fucking kidding me?"

Ororo’s face blanches and she slowly backs away from you as you stand. “No,” she answers slowly, like she’s not sure of herself now. 

“That’s what I’ve been crying over?” You feel upset for an entirely different reason. You never misread the signs. You never missed a hint that he didn’t feel what you did. He did! He was just happier letting you doubt yourself and the love you held for him than admitting he felt something. You tear off the depression hoodie you’ve been living in for the past two weeks. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

You don’t know where you’re going. Normally, you’d run into a forest to let out a blast of energy. It drained you enough that you wouldn’t have to feel anything. But with these cuffs on, you can’t do anything. 

You storm out of your room and stomp down the stairs, uncaring who you wake up. You’ve wasted so much time on Logan, you refuse to stay in your room and cry for another fucking night. 

“I want to see her,” Logan growls. He tries to move around Charles, but he stops him with his mind, holding him in place while Jean disappears inside your room. Logan watches her go and glares at her retreating back as the door closes behind her. 

It’s been a day already, you’ve never needed to be out for more than a few hours. He doesn’t want to think that there’s anything wrong with you, that he might have permanently broken something inside you. 

That talk at the bar with Scott had been stupid. He would have said anything to get him to shut the fuck up and leave him alone. He didn’t really mean what he said, he just wanted him to back off. And saying that your relationship wasn’t anything was quicker than pouring out every thought he’s had of you. 

It was easier lying than it was to admit just how much he wanted you. Just how far he would go for you. But then you’d overheard, and you brought it up. And there’d been faith on your face. Like even you couldn’t believe what he had said because you could see through the bullshit. 

But all Logan had seen was a way out. This was an opportunity to finally get out of the suffocating clutches of something he didn’t want to admit was love. He took the chance before he could think. It’s what he was used to. Taking the easy way out, especially when it came to shit like emotions. 

He hadn’t thought you were going to explode, though. Because that’s exactly what you’d done. By the time he’d caught up to you, you’d burned a crater into the ground and had destroyed Charles’ stupid fucking tree. 

Seeing you like that, laying there lifeless, it terrified him. He didn’t want to live in a world that you weren’t in. There was no fucking point. It was sobering, realizing that, and then realizing that he was the reason you were like that in the first place. 

He didn’t want to live without you and he certainly would never be able to come to terms with being the reason you were dead. But it didn’t matter, whatever realizations he was coming to. Charles and Jean were completely blocking him from your room. They weren’t even giving him a chance to look at you. And he was about five seconds away from ripping the old bastard’s head off and just barrelling inside. 

He didn’t care what they said, he needed to see that you were okay. “I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to see her for a very long time.”

“Stay out of my head,” Logan growls, glaring down at the man. “What are you talking about?” He presses, finally processing the rest of his sentence.

Charles sighs and rolls away from him. Logan glares at his back but ultimately follows. “You were the cause of this, yes?” Reluctantly, Logan nods, there’s no point in hiding it. He’s sure Charles already knows. “For her own safety, the two of you will need to remain separated.”

That had been it. There was no arguing about it. No fighting Charles. It was for your safety that he stayed away from you. No matter how much he wanted to explain himself, he wouldn’t risk another meltdown like that. 

You didn’t deserve to get hurt because of someone like him. He wouldn’t be able to stand hurting you again. 

But two weeks seemed like a lot. At a certain point, he’s sure you’re just avoiding him. He knows he can’t blame you. He’d been a fucking idiot. But that didn’t make him any happier. If anything, he was getting more and more pissed off every day. 

He had less patience for mistakes. Was lashing out at the kids more often and don’t even get started on the petty fucking fights he was picking with Scott. How long did you fucking need before you talked to him again?

He knows you’re upset, your crying keeps everyone up at night. Something he’s sure you’d be mortified to learn about. Why won’t you let him comfort you? Why do you have to be so petulant, running around the corner every time you see him? Pointedly ignoring him when you’re in the same room together. 

He could fix this, make this all better. But you’re just not letting him. He knows this is why he loves you. It’s why he was so drawn to you. You seem like a bundle of nerves, constantly flitting around and keeping yourself small. It had been off-putting at first. And then he’d seen you training with Scott, kicking his ass more like. A switch had been flicked in his head. 

He could finally see you for what you were. He finally realized that it was your abilities you were keeping small. You were a fucking spitfire and you didn’t hesitate to tell him off, he loved it. Loved arguing with you just so he could see you get all pissed off. 

But that stubborn attitude he loved was really biting him in the ass right now. 

There’s a knock on his bedroom door and he doesn’t even get to pretend it’s going to be you. He smells Jean’s perfume and rolls his eyes. He puffs on his cigar and contemplates ignoring her.

“Don’t be a jackass, open the damn door.” 

Fuckin’ telepaths. “What?” He snaps at her the second the door is open. Her face screws up when she smells the smoke from his cigar. He knows she wants to put it out, and can see it in the twitch of her fingers. He raises a brow, a silent challenge to try him. He’s itching for another fight and she can feel it. 

She lets out a sharp breath, choosing her battles wisely and backing off. He’s almost disappointed. “We need to talk. This whole thing between the two of you is ridiculous. You’re a mess, she’s a mess…”

Her voice trails off into nothing more than the annoying pitch of a fly. Logan can’t be bothered to listen to her scold him. He’s not a fucking kid, and maybe if you were acting like an adult, they wouldn’t be having this problem. 

A few doors down he can hear you shouting, then the door to your room slams open. He darts off his bed, opening his own door to see what you’re doing. He only sees the back of your head as you angrily stomp down the stairs. 

Enough is fucking enough, he was finishing this now. He was sick of your side of the bed being empty and the stupid fucking glare on your face every time you saw him. He doesn’t even bother saying anything to Jean as he leaves, just chases after you. 

Jean watches him go with a perturbed look. She steps out of the room and glances down the hall. Ororo steps out of your room and walks towards her. “Well?” Jean probes. 

Ororor shrugs, “She’s over it.” Jean smiles but it’s quickly wiped off her face by Ororo’s expression. “Not in the way we wanted.

Jean clenches her eyes shut and takes in a deep breath. She needs you two to figure your shit out or she’s never going to be able to get a good night’s sleep again.

You find yourself in the gym. It’s not your favorite place in the world, you don’t usually get to train with the others. You’re stuck with telepaths, mainly the ones who can shut your powers down if you get too out of control. That hasn’t been a problem since you got the cuffs, but you’ve been too sad to test them out. 

Now you find yourself obliterating a punching bag. You wrap the energy around your fists and let it protect the thin skin as you pummel into the bag. You don’t know what else to do. You can’t have energy meltdowns anymore. You have to try and funnel it all out physically, but it’s not working. Nothing is. 

“Imagining it’s me?” You pause midswing. You glance over to the door just in time to see Logan stalking towards you. He unzips his jacket slowly. So slowly it almost seems provocative. He tugs it off and tosses it onto a nearby bench. 

You scoff as you watch him. “Do you ever have a shirt on?”

He shrugs and moves towards the ring in the middle of the gym. His movements are lithe and fluid as he hops onto the ring, every bit a wild animal. You watch as the muscles in his torso ripple and force your eyes off of him. You try and focus your attention back on the bag, but all your earlier energy is gone. Your mind is completely wrapped around Logan. 

Which you’re sure is exactly what he wants, or he wouldn’t be staring at you so smugly as he leans against the ropes and waits for you to acknowledge him. You suck on your teeth, irritation blooming in sporadic bursts throughout your body that has you nearly shaking. Finally, you give in. 

He smirks the second your eyes meet, “I can take it, sweetheart. A lot better than that little toy of yours can.” He nods towards the punching bag but the insinuation isn’t lost on you. You and Logan had been very active in your relationship. You could barely go a day without tasting each other. 

You’ve been pent up since the breakup. You’d given in a few days ago, pulled out your old vibrator, and tried to bring even a semblance of joy back into your life. But nothing could compare to Logan. 

His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as he waits for you to react. He’s standing there, staring down at you with all the surety in the world that you’re going to fuck him. It makes you want to dig your nails in and rip him apart, bit by bit. 

You can already picture it in your mind, using your abilities to pick him apart until he’s nothing but molecules dispersed through the air. He’s lucky you have the cuffs on, without them you’re sure he’d already be dead. 

You smirk and move towards the edge of the ring, your voice drops as you purr up at him, “You wanna play, Logan?”

He grins and moves off the ropes, starting towards you as you make your way onto the ring. You’re slightly less graceful than he was, but you’re too focused on wiping the smug look off his face to pay attention. “Come on kid,” he taunts, voice as low as it usually is when he’s fucking into you. “Let’s see what you got.”

You’re not stupid enough to just outright swing at him. You feint to the right and bring your knee up into his ribs. He only needs one hand to wrap around your thigh and drag you forward. His other hand goes to your hip, tugging you closer until you’re practically grinding against each other. You grit your teeth and glare up at him. 

“Come on, sweetheart, that can’t be all you got for me.” Energy wraps around your head, blurring the air around you. You slam your temple against his, it provides enough of a distraction for you to yank your leg out of his grip. You throw your right fist into his ear, bouncing back with a grin as he shakes his head. 

He practically growls as he reorients himself. You shrug and smirk, “What, don’t tell me that’s all you got, wolvie.”

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that,” he grumbles. You open your mouth, prepared to taunt him again. But he’s lunging towards you and you just barely have enough time to dart out of his way. You know he’s going easy on you. He could have had you just then if he really wanted this. 

But he’s dragging this out. Forcing you to spend as much time with him as you can. It only pisses you off further. You plant your foot on his back and kick him forward. He barely even stumbles and it only further confirms your suspicions. “Stop fucking holding back,” you yell at him. 

He turns around slowly. You almost expect there to be a sneer on his face, something angry. Instead, he looks fucking thrilled, like this is all just foreplay for him. He laughs, so low you can barely hear it, and his chest flexes as his claws come out. 

“You sure?” It’s a taunt, a dare, he knows you aren’t going to take the bait. You’d be stupid to, you don’t heal like he does. Once those things get in you, you’re screwed. But right now, you’re too pissed off to try and care. 

You don’t say anything, you just duck under his fist as he swings at you. You know he made it easy for you, giving you an opening to fall into. He’s treating you like you’re something fragile. And maybe you are. One wrong move in this fight and you might not make it through the night. But anger is making you blind to logic. 

Him playing fair just makes you want to play dirty. You use the opening he gives you, letting energy form around your fist and pulling back just enough to slam into his ribs. He coughs, doubling over as you hear bones crack under your hit. He’ll heal in seconds, you can’t bring yourself to feel too bad for him. 

Maybe if he ever took you seriously you might not be such a bitch. But he didn’t think you were good enough to be honest with and he still was treating you like a plaything. In your opinion, he deserves whatever you give him and more. He doubles over and you swing your leg around, bringing it down across his face. 

You hear a crack as your socked foot connects with his face, something crunches underneath you. And when your sole hits the mat again you see the blood leaking from his nose. You almost apologize. Almost, then you see the look on his face. His pupils are swallowing the hazel of his eyes, lips parted as he pants through his teeth. He looks fucking animalistic. 

You have no warning as he pounces on you. His lips smother your own, moving over you with little to no grace. There’s nothing romantic or gentle about this. His fingers are digging so hard into your shirt, you’re sure you hear the seams rip. But you can’t bring yourself to care. 

One of your hands goes to his hair, tugging at the roots until he’s groaning into your mouth. You rake your nails up his back roughly. He cusses against your lips, hand traveling up to your chin so he can roughly jerk you back. 

He stares down at you, a silent question on his face. You’ve barely nodded before he’s descending upon you again. Lips and teeth clash borderline painfully as he lowers you onto the mat. You’re missing all the usual love and tenderness he treats you with, but you don’t care. 

You want to be rough. You want to hurt him like he hurt you, make him ache for you the way you do him. You wrap your legs around his, lifting your pelvis until you have enough leverage to flip him. Your thighs straddle his waist and you grind down against the prominent bulge in his sweatpants. 

He groans into your open mouth, large palms grabbing at your ass and spreading you so he can thrust between your clothed thighs. You can’t help but moan at the friction. It’s just enough to keep you on edge, he pulls back every time you think you might be close to something real building. 

You rip your mouth off his. He glares up at you as you grab his hair and yank his head back. You slam his head hard enough into the mat for it to echo through the room and he growls against your grip. You grin down at him as you slowly get off him. You make a show of stripping, enjoying the way his eyes track your movements. He looks like a dog, panting and waiting for his treat. 

You’re tempted to get yourself off, making him watch, and then leave him straining against his sweatpants. But you need this bad, need him to scratch the itch you can’t reach so you can finally get him out of your head. Neither of you are patient as he jerks his sweatpants down just enough for his cock to pop out. 

It’s already leaking from the tip like a faucet. You kneel, straddling his waist again. You don’t have to do much to slick him up. You pump him a few times before he’s gripping your wrist and jerking your hand away. “Get up here,” he commands, voice rough as he grips your hips. You don’t even get a chance to protest before he’s flipping you over. 

He grabs your thighs and wraps them around his waist. Your ass is off the ground, hovering above his lap as he lines up with your slit. You moan when the tip rubs against your clit. “Whose teasing now?” You grit out, glaring at him. 

His lips curl up, that insufferable smirk on his face before he slams into you. The attitude is practically fucked out of you as he starts pumping in and out. You groan, raking your hands down his chest. He fucking moans at the pain, blood blooming under your nails and immediately closing the further down you go. 

Neither of you are giving up this fight, you don’t want to lose, not even while you’re fucking. He pulls out of you and flips you over so fast you don’t even have time to whine. He’s back in you before you can blink, hips slapping into you in a way that you know is going to leave bruises tomorrow. You’re not going to be able to sit for a week and he knows it. His hands are groping at the skin of your ass, pulling you apart and watching the skin ripple as he fucks into you. 

You’re not going to last long. You’ve been too desperate, too pent up while you’ve been pissed off at him. He leans over you, draping himself across you lazily. You groan at the added weight, it only adds to the sensation, only makes you want him deeper inside you. “Thought you didn’t want me anymore, sweetheart.” He whispers in your ear and you flutter around him as his hand snakes around your waist, rubbing tight circles on your clit. 

You open your mouth but all that comes out is disjointed moans. You know there’s something sarcastic in there, and he must know too because he laughs at your pathetic mumbled sentence. “I don’t know,” he leans back and watches as he makes room for himself inside you. “Seem to need me real bad now.”

Your nails dig into the mat, energy leaking through your fingertips and warming up the canvas beneath you. You can feel it fluctuating, fighting against the cuffs the closer he brings you to the edge. “Fuck you,” the words escape you at a particularly deep thrust and you struggle to keep your eyes open. 

He pauses and you nearly cry at the loss of movement. “Sorry, couldn’t hear you. What’d you say? Stop?”

You glare over your shoulder at him  “Don’t you fucking dare, Logan.” You let your power push up against his back, forcing his hips to move again. He chuckles at the move, fingers creating figure eights on your nub. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” he protests, voice innocent. “Ah, fuck,” his voice is nothing more than low grunts and groans in your ear the closer the both of you get to your release. You can’t speak anymore, can’t think. You can feel it cresting higher and higher inside you. 

Your abilities are rising with your release. They’re pushing against the cuffs, fighting desperately against the control the foreign metal has on your powers. You can feel it, heat building up under your skin, like a tingling on the tip of your tongue that you just can’t reach. It’s Logan’s release that finally tips you over the edge. 

The way his breath catches and his hips stutter in their perfect rhythm as warmth floods you from the inside out. You can feel it, him, dribbling down your thighs and staining the mat beneath you. It has you clenching around him, pushing your hips back weakly while you let the feeling overwhelm you. You nearly black out. Two weeks without him hadn’t felt long until you remembered what you were missing. 

You lose your sense of time, dropping to the mat like your bones have gone liquid, dripping out of you. You can feel Logan draped over you still, his weight a comforting blanket that nearly has you drifting to sleep. Naked, in the middle of the boxing ring. He pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss. 

He shushes you, rubbing a hand up your spine and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your temple. He wraps his arms around you, laying down and pulling you back into his chest. It takes a few minutes of quiet cuddling for you to remember what exactly led you down to the gym in the first place. 

You feel disgusted with yourself for giving in to him so easily. It’s clear what his plan had been. And you’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. You’d barely even fought against him. Of course, you could reason that you needed to get the tension out. This was the perfect way to funnel out your built-up energy. 

But you’re disgusted with yourself for giving in to him so easily. You just disregarded dignity and self-respect for a chance to get him between your legs. You were such a fucking idiot. No wonder this is all he wanted you for. 

“Shit,” you mutter, trying to pull yourself out of his grip. Your eyes widen as his arms tighten around your waist. He tugs you back down until he’s got you in what essentially feels like a headlock. He could easily pass it off as spooning, but it feels a little more demanding than that. “Logan,” you warn, the silent peace of the moment officially shattered. 

“Don’t,” he gripes. You can fight against him for as long as you want, but you’ll only tire yourself out. His arms are literally metal bands around you. “Let me talk and then you can run off.” You huff and wait, but he never speaks. Finally, you look over your shoulder and glare at him. “Well?”

You roll your eyes, “Fuck’s sake,” you mutter. “Alright, speak.”

You can feel his grin against the back of your head. If he didn’t have you in such a tight grip, you’d elbow him in the gut just to be petty. “I made a mistake,” you scoff and he keeps going. Stopping you from interrupting him with something bitchy. “You weren’t just something convenient to me, sweetheart.” he pauses and chuckles, “You’re a huge fucking pain in my ass.”

“Is this your idea of an apology?” You snap, “Because this is pathetic.” 

He doesn’t say anything and you’re tempted to snark at him again. But then the world is flipped on its side as he jerks you around and forces you to face him. Your chests rub together, the sweaty skin sticking together and bordering on uncomfortable. “You ever shut up?” He asks, but there’s no heat to the words. If anything he looks fond of you, and it makes you shift around, trying not to look him in the eye. But there’s nowhere for you to hide, you’re both naked and bare before each other. 

You’re as physically vulnerable as he must feel emotionally. And as much as this is a horrible way to display how he’s feeling, you’re starting to understand him a little better. You know why this conversation is so hard for him, why he can’t accept that someone truly loves him and he loves her back. 

But that’s not going to get him out of it. He’s still yet to say the words. Maybe if he manned up and said something real you’d consider forgiving him. You give him an expectant look and he sighs, forehead pressed against yours as he slumps over you. You want to pretend you’re annoyed at the contact, but you’ve been craving it since you ran away two weeks ago.

You’ve been desperate for this warmth that only he can provide you. Without realizing it, you nuzzle further into his chest, hands drifting up to wrap around his bare waist. Logan feels the tightness in him ease slightly at the way you curl into him. He’s got a shot, even if you try and tell him he doesn’t.  

It’s silent for a while, while you linger in the emotions of what just happened and he tries to find the right words. He leans down, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and smiling against the shell of your ear. “I love you,” he whispers. 

You’d told yourself you’d only consider forgiving him if he said those words. But that’s only because you’d never thought he would actually say it. You didn’t think he was capable of admitting that to himself. It seems so out of character for him. But, maybe, you don’t know him as well as you thought you did. 

He pulls back, hand landing on your jaw and gently guiding your head out of his neck. He gives you an expectant look but you’re finding it hard to meet his eyes. You’ve been waiting for him to say that, but now it feels like you can’t. You’re still struggling to forgive him. He put you through so much unnecessary hurt just because he couldn’t face his own feelings. 

And now you’re struggling to do the same. “I want to say it back,” you tell him. “But how am I supposed to trust that the next time things get hard, you won’t lash out again?”

He frowns, an irritated huff of breath shooting out his nose. But you know it’s frustration towards himself. For letting you both get to this point because he couldn’t just say three words. “I’ll wait,” he promises. “For as long as it takes, I’ll wait.” 

You smile and nod, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his neck. You’re sure you’ll be saying it sooner rather than later. But what’s the harm in making him squirm a little? He deserves it. 

A/N: I don’t write smut, it’s literally in my rules. I think I stared at a gif of him for too long and some horny ass demon possessed me and made me write this. Forgive me, universe, I’m no better than a man.

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[rabbithaver]

why would you put that in the tag

[stargirlygirl]

imagine long-term bf katsuki being hung up on what engagement ring to buy you. he’s gnawing at his cheeks, constantly sighing and running his fingers through his hair for a couple of months, trying to find a ring that’s good enough for you.

after patrol, he browses every reputable jewellery store in tokyo, searching for your engagement ring. he takes pictures of every one he thinks might suit you and sends them to eijiro.

shitty hair: idk about this one man. diamonds are nice but y/n gives more garnet or ruby vibes

explosive: the fuck you mean? i have to get her diamonds

shitty hair: nah bro, you should get something that suits her. not every girl wants diamonds.

explosive: stfu i know what she wants better than you do

shitty hair: 🤷‍♂️ just my opinion man

you noticed immediately that katsuki was coming home later than he usually does. you didn’t say anything at first because maybe something came up, and he did seem really exhausted.

but as weeks turn into months, you become suspicious. what is it that your boyfriend's doing after work that you can’t know about. he hasn’t changed how he treats you. if anything, he’s been even softer and sweeter with you lately.

you decide to confront him about it.

you sit at the kitchen table, waiting for him to come home. as 8pm fades into 10pm and drips into 12am, your anxiety ramps up. your palms are all sweaty and your heart beats erratically in your chest.

you’re on your feet as soon as the lock eventually clicks and the front door is forced open. you stalk up to a sleepy katsuki, who flings his duffel bag on the floor with a sigh.

when he turns around, you’re looking at him angrier than ever. there’s fire in your eyes as you stare up at him, your brows knitted together and jaw tight.

you spit out, “where have you been?” katsuki blinks slowly, too tired to register your words and respond. he moves to throw his arms around you, but you step back, dodging his embrace.

this time, you repeat yourself with more venom, “where have you been?” you sigh, “i’ve been waiting for you since eight.”

he grunts thickly, “why’d you stay up, babe?” you roll your eyes and slightly suck in your cheeks.

you say exasperatedly, “because i was worried about you. you’ve been coming home late from work for the last two months now.” you fold your arms beneath your chest as you scold him, “so where have you been?! seriously, like, where the fuck have you been wandering off to while i make you dinner and do your laundry?”

katsuki shakes his head, whispering, “baby, s’not like that.”

you catch his words and scoff, “so then, what is it like? i clearly don’t know so why don’t you tell me?”

his full lips draw into a hard line as he huffs, contemplating whether to tell you he’s been hunting for the perfect engagement ring for his perfect girl… and that he’s finally found one. it wasn’t easy, especially since he has just put up with yappertron 3000 chargebolt, skateboard freak elbows, and shitty hair for the past three hours while acquiring this ring.

he bites his tongue, mumbling, “look, i’ve just been busy, yea?”

you chuckle derisively, “you’ve been busy? right, okay.” you turn around and begin walking away from him when he catches your elbow. his grip is firm but considerate.

he tugs you back, making you stumble into his chest. you try to shove him away, but he doesn’t even budge as he draws you into his arms, wrapping you up tightly.

you shout, “just fuck off, katsuki!”

wincing, he rests his chin on the top of your head and murmurs, “no more late nights, baby, i promise. at least not for a while.” his body is so warm against yours, and his musk is so strong. you give up your assault on his concealed but delicious muscles and still in his grasp.

you grumble, “it’s not about the late nights, katsuki. it’s about you keeping things from me.” he kisses the top of your head and rubs circles on your back with his calloused palms.

he mutters into your hair, “i’ll tell you soon, okay?” you shake your head before tilting it back, returning his soft gaze with your harsher one.

you murmur, “so you’re not cheating on me? or are you cheating on me but intend to come clean?” your boyfriend’s mouth falls open as he stares at you, his blond brows raised slightly. regaining his composure, his usual scowl is back on his face.

he grumbles, “cheating? why the fuck would i be cheating on you?!” he licks his lips and gazes past you for a moment, sighing, “for fuck’s sake, babe. god, why the fuck would i be cheating on you? d’you really think i’m a cheater?!” you shake your head, taken aback by his sudden frustration.

he shouts, “I’VE NEVER CHEATED! NEVER! NOT LIKE FUCK-ASS DEKU WHO DIDN’T EVEN HAVE A QUIRK AND THEN—”

you gently pat his chest as you try to soothe him, “okay, okay, honey, it’s okay. i know you’re not a cheater.” after a few minutes, he calms down (for the most part).

he grunts, “d’you really think i’d do that?” a droplet of his spit hits your eyebrow. you go to wipe it away but he beats you to it, apologising all the while. you reassure him it's okay as you stroke his well-defined back up and down.

you say softly, “of course not. but if you’re not cheating on me, then what else are you doing? i just don’t understand, suki.” he shakes his head before settling back into the crook of your neck; his resting place.

he murmurs into your hot flesh, “just give me a few days n’ i’ll tell you, alright?” you pull back, cupping his cheeks with your hands while his fingers clench the back of your shirt.

you shake your head, saying, ��you can tell me now.”

he huffs, “babe—”

“no,” you cut him off. “tell me now. i deserve to know why you’ve been coming home so late.” he gazes down momentarily as his fingers curl into your shirt even more, close to tearing the fabric with how tight his grip is.

he mumbles, “stubborn brat.”

it’s like something snaps. he releases your shirt from his killer grasp and smirks. he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a velvety red, ring box.

he grabs your wrist and places it in your palm, saying, “that’s the reason.” he gazes at you expectantly, waiting for you to open the box. but you’re in shock.

your wide eyes bore into his narrow ones as you blink dumbly. your lips are slightly parted, open enough for the flies to make a home in your mouth. and they could with how little you’re registering right now. you can’t think or speak or move. all you know is that your long-term partner just placed a ring box in your hand.

katsuki rolls his eyes, attempting to hide the pain in his expression as you continue staring at him. he huffs, “well, are you gonna open it or not?”

you nod, your mouth awfully dry. you seal your lips as you shakily open the box. inside is the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen. leaves protrude from the band and petals encircle a bright ruby glistening in the golden living room light; a rose. your gaze flickers up to him before switching back to the ring, and then back up to him.

you stutter, “a-are y-you, u-um, a-ask-asking m-me t-too—”

“yes,” he says solemnly. “you’re everything to me, baby. s-so, yea, will you be my wife?” you nod furiously. smirking, he takes the little box from your hand and slips the ring onto your finger. all the tension pent up in his body dissipates as he embraces you once more.

you squeeze his slutty waist tight as you begin tearing up, trying to process that your boyfriend just became your fiancé. katsuki sweetly kisses your forehead before resting his against yours.

he mutters, “i don’t tell you how much i love you enough. clearly like fuck. i fuckin’ love you, baby girl. more than you’ll ever know.”

a/n: link to the engagement ring design here (please lmk if it doesn't work); just imagine that it's a ruby and not a diamond.

[moonstruckme]

Hello icon ✨Could we have a poly!wolfstar x reader where she thinks that they are mad at her for something (or they could actually be a bit miffed) and it just a bit of hurt comfort with cuddles and kisses at the end😔🙏🏻

Thank you for requesting <3

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’re being weird. 

The three of you are doing a puzzle, which usually captivates your attention but never Sirius’, which is how he’s so very aware of how little attention you’re actually paying to the puzzle. You keep glancing at Sirius, at Remus, like you’re nervous about something. You’ve been like this all day. It’s in and out, sometimes waning like you’ve forgotten to be anything but normal, but Sirius has a keen gauge for tension. He can sense it every time it ticks back up.

You’re pretending to look for sky pieces, though Sirius suspects you forgot what color the sky in your puzzle was a while ago. He feels like you’re building to something, and it makes his skin itch. Remus is too absorbed in his tree bark pieces to notice—the nerd—so it’s up to Sirius to get it out of you. Luckily, James has always said that Sirius is a master of tact. 

“What’s wrong with you?” 

You were halfway to sneaking another glance at him, and you react as though you’ve been struck, jumping a little where you sit on the rug by the coffee table. “What? Nothing.” 

“Well, that was very believable.” Sirius smiles to take some of the bite out of it. “Come on, you have me on the edge of my seat. What’s got you all worked up?” 

“I am not worked up,” you insist, though your expression says otherwise. 

Remus appears confused, but he notices your guilty eyes as well. “What’s happening?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you say again. 

“Clearly something,” Sirius counters. 

Your lips press together, corners downturnt. You’re not looking at either of them.

“Hey.” Sirius softens his voice. “What is it? You’re freaking me out, babe.”  

This only seems to distress you further. “I wanted you not to freak out,” you say.

“Sweetheart, about what?” Now Remus sounds worried too, though the look he gives you is more patient than anything Sirius could ever manage. He ducks his head to catch your gaze. 

After a moment of looking at him, your shoulders droop. “Okay.” Your voice has quieted. “Just a second.” 

Sirius’ anxiety ratchets as you stand, going down the hall towards your room. 

“Why does it feel like she’s going to bring us back a school report?” he murmurs to Remus. 

Remus shakes his head, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “No idea.” 

When you return, it is with papers, though Sirius doesn’t at first know what they are. 

“This came this morning,” you say in that same resigned voice, laying them down on the coffee table as you sit back down next to Sirius.

With Sirius and Remus on opposite sides they can’t both read the text at once, and Remus picks them up first. Sirius spots you bringing your hand to your mouth and reaches for it silently, drawing it away before you can start chewing your fingernails. Your nervousness is making him nervous. He pushes his thumb up the lines of your palm. 

“Oh,” Remus hums. 

“Remus,” Sirius says, in a tone that clearly communicates if somebody doesn’t start talking I’m going to throw a wobbly. 

“It’s the gas bill,” says Remus. He’s making his old man face, where he leans away slightly and squints like he needs glasses. Ordinarily Sirius would tease him for it, but he’s not in the mood. “Bit high.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say in a small voice. 

Sirius looks at you. Frowning, your hand still trapped in his. “Why are you sorry?” 

“Is this…” One glance at Remus, and it’s clear Sirius is now the one lagging in understanding. “Is this because you left the oven on?” 

Your expression says enough. 

Oh, well. In fairness, Sirius had thrown a bit of a wobbly over that. 

It was weeks ago. You made cookies just before bed. They were warm, gooey, the perfect precursor to sleep and an excellent excuse, in Sirius’ opinion, to trade chocolate-flavored kisses until all three of you were snoozing on your pillows. It hadn’t been until he and Remus were making breakfast the next morning that Remus smelled the gas. You’d come out of the bedroom, confused, to find them throwing open windows and calling the fire department for advice. Your gas oven had been left on all night. 

You felt awful. Your boyfriends gave you an appropriate amount of shit for it, but it was only thoughtless, not malicious. Your apartment hadn’t blown up. The smell drifted away within a few minutes, and in all honesty Sirius was left feeling a bit bad that what began as you trying to make them all happy had resulted in you being so thoroughly chastised. But it had been let go. 

Until now, evidently. 

“I can pay it,” you offer meekly. “The difference, or all of it.” 

Remus sighs, rubbing his brow. “Dove…” 

“Let me see that.” Sirius reaches with the hand not holding yours. Remus gives it to him. He finds the total quickly. “This isn’t even that high.” 

Okay, it’s a bit high. But genuinely, Sirius was expecting worse. 

“It’s my fault,” you mumble. 

“Baby, is this what you’re all wound up about?” Sirius sets the papers down to gawk at you. “Really? I thought something happened.” 

You’re shrinking, your hand tense in his. “Something did happen.” 

“Yeah, a whole month ago!” 

“Sirius,” Remus murmurs, in a tone Sirius knows to mean you’re not helping. He asks you, “Did you think we would be angry with you?” 

Spiderweb cracks spread through your expression. Your mouth wobbles. 

“Oh, you absolute moron.” Sirius grabs for you with both hands, hauling you into his lap. 

“Pads.”

“You ridiculous, sweet idiot.” He kisses your head. Once, twice, three times. “Why’d you have to go and get all worked up? You got me worked up, silly thing.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say weakly. 

“Alright, that’s enough apologizing,” Remus says gently. Underneath the coffee table, a socked foot bumps into Sirius’ leg before presumably finding yours. Sirius grins. Remus is tactile in the oddest ways sometimes. Like a cat. 

He loves you both so very much. God, you really had him going. He feels liable to squeeze the life out of you. 

He satiates the urge by kissing you all over your face until you look significantly less upset. You look at Sirius with tentative relief, the beginnings of a smile curled up in the corner of your mouth. 

He’s about to ask you again how you could be so stupid, but Remus speaks first. Probably for the best. 

“It really won’t be so much more for each of us once we split it,” he says, looking again at the bill. 

That guilty look is back on your face. Sirius gives you a squeeze in hopes of banishing it. “I can get it,” you say. “It wouldn’t be there if I hadn’t been so…if I hadn’t left the oven on.” 

“You don’t need to punish yourself,” Remus tells you. “It’s all right.” 

You fidget. “I feel like you should probably be angrier with me.” 

“We already have been angry with you,” Sirius points out. “We got over it. Time to move on, babe.” 

“It was a mistake.” Remus’ gaze is steady. Knowing. “It was scary, but it happens. You shouldn’t be angry at yourself for us, lovely.” 

You look to be gnawing the inside of your lip. “Are you sure?” you ask. 

Sirius scoffs. “I can be angry without anyone’s help, thank you.” Then, at your wary look, “But I’m not angry about this.” 

Slowly, the tension Sirius has been sensing seeps out of you. You relax in a way you haven’t all day long. 

Remus notices, too. “Sweetheart,” he sighs, in a soft, fond voice. “Talk to us next time, okay?” 

“I know, sorry.” You give him a sheepish look. “I was going to. I just really thought you’d be upset.” 

“Yeah, well.” Sirius kisses your head, sharing an eye roll with Remus. “Shows what you know.”

[saturdays--sun]

"try receiptify," they said. "it'll be fun," they said. "it won't out you for having listened to ringtone enough times in one singular month to put it in your top 10 songs for said month," they said.

[diejager]

Puppy reader who is teething and her teeth feels very itchy so she constantly needs to chew on something and monster!Konig tentacles are her favorite things to chew on bc they're kinda rubbery, soft and taste funny...

- 🐮

Cw: teething, biting, sea food???, tell me if I missed any.

Ghost had been your handler for the past year, having to train and teach you everything you’d need to work with them. He’d seen your lows as often as your highs, from a whining pup, moaning about not receiving enough pets or kisses or treats, seemingly almost missing something, to an energetic mutt, bouncing off the walls and running laps at the prospect of praises and affection. 

He’d seen it all, every little moment you had that had him strain against the limit of his patience as a competent handler. And despite your age, far from being a young puppy with frail limbs and limp ears, you could act as on: whining, crying, barking until something - someone - gave you the attention you needed, but he’d never seen you do… this.

It was unusual for you to be this mouthy, teeth itching to sink into something, your teeth bared and snarling when anyone tried to take the object from your mouth. Ghost had bought you toys, boxes filled with softer chew toys rather than the hard plastic of a shoe or the metal bite of utensils, but you worked through them faster than he could provide. Perhaps you were bored of the repeated drills despite dogs being creatures of habit, or you were lacking activity, he was getting busier with all the reports and paperwork he had to fill in for Price. Especially with another PMZ being called for a joint alliance.

He worried that they’d pose a danger to you, so young and naive to how others could treat you as a hybrid, he had both Gaz and Soap follow you —or rather, you follow them; but when he saw you perk up at the sight of a giant man and another hybrid, a scarred tiger, Ghost felt his shoulders tense. You just had to find interest in a man - could he even be a man with how big he was? - heads taller than him, broad and dangerous. You had completely forgotten his orders, trailing behind the giant like a lost pup, tail wagging and eyes bright. 

You’d go missing for hours upon hours, leaving the Task Force as worried as they were confused, lost without the small ball of sunshine around them. They would go looking for you, asking around until they eventually found you curled up and asleep on your bed, your snoring echoing softly in Ghost’s room. It went on like that for the week and the next, only finding you in the Mess Hall or your bed, not knowing where you went during these long breaks. 

Until- until Gaz had found you straddling the giant’s - König’s - lap, you face covered in a thin layer of mucus and gnawing on a tentacle, long and dark and viscous. Ghost was livid, König being an octopus hybrid - however odd that sounded - and how at ease you both felt to let each other be so physically close to one another. Granted, you were a sociable hybrid, which seemed to bother him less than the sight of you biting on a König’s tentacle.

He knew you were somehow teething, but it bothered him how you were dealing with it with someone else instead of coming to him for a solution. Ghost would have to talk to you later.

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