#i came back after being disturbed enough

[sapphymayeyeplease]

if I had a nickel for every time I found a song and went “YIKES! these lyrics are super violent!!! I don’t think this is for me” and then picked it up again maybe months later listening to it on repeat—i’d have two nickels!

[guiltyasdave]

help me hold onto you

pairing: Logan Howlett/Wolverine x mutant! f!reader

word count: ~3.5k

summary: Logan deals with feeling guilty after he's accidentally cut you with his claws in his sleep.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), able-bodied reader, reader has hair that can be pulled, no use of y/n, Logan lifts reader up but he's superhumanly strong, so-, graphic description of an injury, graphic description of violence, angst, nightmares, Logan's pov, fighting as foreplay, unprotected p in v, rough sex, biting, praise kink, a lot of animalistic behavior due to their mutations, like they're just a little... primal, it's cute i swear, also reader looks like a human being it's just the mannerisms, fluff

a/n: guess i'm a multi fandom writer now? this literally came to me in a fever dream, very much like the logan brainrot itself lol. this is my first time writing for the man, after watching the movies - also for the first time - last week, so please be gentle with me <3 something very similar happens in the origins movie and i wanted them to explore that more, but alas, i had to do it myself.

massive thanks to @kiwisbell for assuring me that this idea isn't terrible and for freaking out about logan with me in general, to @catchallfangirl for coming up with the whole cat theme and for being so supportive, to @sizzlingcloudmentality for matching my freak and taking the cat theme to the next level, for helping me plot and for being an amazing beta reader, and to @javier-pena for listening to me rant about this idea and being so lovely and supportive <3

dividers by @saradika-graphics who is a queen <3

notifications blog -> @guiltyasdavenotifs & full masterlist -> here

Most nights, Logan sleeps easier when you’re in bed with him. Your body pressed against his, your skin soft and warm against his bare chest. One of his thighs between your legs where you’ve wrapped yourself around him, your touch moving over his torso aimlessly, fingers curling into his chest hair, your hands kneading his flesh in your sleep. The soothing little purrs that emit from your chest when you’re sound asleep. None of it bothers him, no matter how many times it disturbs his own rest. 

It keeps him grounded, feeling you next to him. He’d rather spend the whole night somewhere in that haze between waking and sleeping, listening to your sounds, your breath fanning against his skin, than being pulled under into the depths of his subconsciousness. 

He’d rather open his eyes to see you disentangling your limbs from his, stretching your whole body, arching against him as you yawn. 

He’d rather greet you with a smiling “Good morning, kitten,” waiting for that adorable little crease to appear between your brows when you pout up at him. 

“Did I do it again?” 

He doesn’t hide his grin as he nods, growing wider when you flop back against the cushions with a groan. 

“What exactly?”

“All of it.” 

Your sorry comes out muffled as you hide your face behind your hands. 

“It’s okay,” he says, leaning over you to pull your hands away and kiss the pout off your lips. Caressing that spot under your chin with two fingers, watching you go all soft, baring your throat to him. “I like it.” 

He would much rather wake up like this. 

But it’s been a long week and he’s exhausted. Exhausted enough to get lulled into a deep sleep, encased in the safe cloud of your warm body against his and your touch on his skin. Exhausted enough to dream. And his dreams are not a safe place. 

His eyes fly open with a shout, his whole body jolting upwards, every muscle pulled taut. He doesn’t even register the claws shooting out between his knuckles, all of his instincts screaming at him to fight. 

He’s only faintly aware of the sudden yelp of pain from beside him, the movement of something jerking away from him. 

“Logan,” your voice rings through the buzzing in his ears. Smaller hands landing on his shoulders, fighting to hold him steady. 

It takes a few disoriented blinks before he recognizes the familiar bedroom, a few more deep breaths to stop his body from shaking. To clear the fog in his head enough to understand what you’re saying.

“It’s me, Logan. You’re safe, everyone’s safe, it’s okay.” 

His eyes find yours in the semi-darkness. Wide with worry, but firmly trained on his face, repeating that everything’s okay. He finally registers the familiar weight of you straddling him, understands that it’s your fingers digging into his shoulders. 

He’s still panting, not daring to look away from your face again. The one tether that keeps him from getting lost in his mind again. 

“Are you with me?” you ask, your voice softer now. 

He manages a nod, tries to smile, to wipe the deep worry of your face, but he’s not sure if his mouth even twitches. 

As the feeling slowly returns to his body, he notices something else. A kind of wetness, warm and sticky where your right hand is connected to his skin. The unmistakable tang of iron in the air. He stretches to turn on a bedside lamp, jostling you along with his movement. A quiet whimper hits his ears, so low that he’s sure you tried to suppress it. 

With a new kind of panic surging through him, he grabs hold of your arm, bringing it to his eye level. 

Three scratches ooze in deep red, just beneath your wrist. It forces a gasp from him, eyes dancing frantically between the wounds on your arm and your face. How much blood did you lose already while you were busy helping him? As if he deserved it. 

“Fuck, I’m— I’m so sorry baby, we gotta—” He stumbles over his own words, grasping at you almost blindly, panicked tears blurring his vision. He did this. 

“Logan,” you say, still so inexplicably calm. “It’s fine. Look. It’s fine.” 

You gently pry his fingers off your arm and bring your wrist up to your mouth. Your tongue darts out, drawing long licks against your marred skin, collecting the blood and gliding over the cuts in your flesh. 

It pains him to watch, but it’s the least he can do. The least he owes you. He watches you clean the blood off, watches as the wounds start shrinking at the touch of your saliva, as the skin smoothes over before his very eyes until there’s only three thin marks left, a shade lighter than the rest of your skin. 

“Look,” you tell him again, extending your arm towards him. “I told you it’s okay.” 

He knows you can do this, of course he does. Has watched you multiple times, his fascination with your powers never wavering. How fluidly you move, how quick you attack, how skilled you are at surviving. You just never had to survive him. 

You lean down on top of him until your whole torso rests on his, your thighs still on either side of him, burrowing your head into his chest. “Which war did you dream about?” you ask quietly.

Most of the time, the dreams don’t grant him the mercy to zero in on one single memory. It’s a constant stream, one fight after the other, until all he knows is shouting, fighting, blood and death.

“All of them.” 

You sigh deeply, your breath cool against his sweat-dampened skin. Raising your head a little, you start placing kisses on his chest, pressing your lips into his skin where you can feel the faint beating of his heart.

“I wish I could kiss this better, too,” you mumble. 

He chuckles humorlessly, one hand reaching into your hair to scratch at your scalp. You shudder at the touch, an approving little purr traveling up your throat. 

“It’s okay now,” he mutters, leaning in to inhale the scent of your hair. “Just— I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be.” 

It sounds so simple, falling from your lips like this. But it’s no match for the aching guilt that’s already eating at him, the questions of what if that start swirling through his mind. 

Your body is growing heavier on top of him as you relax, your breaths evening out and your eyelids fluttering shut. It soothes him, has his own breathing slowing down, but he can’t risk falling asleep again. Not like this, not with your body so close to his.

“What are you— Logan?” comes your instant protest when he moves you to your side of the mattress, your eyes flying back open, wide and mildly confused.

“I could’ve killed you,” he mutters. It could have happened so easily. Just a little deeper, just a slightly different spot. 

“No, you couldn’t,” you quip, arching an eyebrow at him. “Cats have nine lives, remember?” You sneak another quick kiss on his chest before finding his gaze again, a teasing smile on your lips. “Even kittens.” 

It’s an attempt to lighten the mood, to make him laugh. He knows that. You hate the pet name he’s given you. 

“And you’re not gonna waste one on me,” he grits out. 

Hurt flashes over your face, more pain in your eyes than when there was an actual wound on your arm. 

“It wouldn’t be—”

“Don’t you dare say it wouldn’t be a waste.” 

The words come out as a low growl, aggressive enough to send most anyone running. You don’t run. 

Your animal doesn’t like it when he growls at you. He can feel the tension rolling off of you, your hair probably standing on end. Gritting your teeth, you take a deep breath, release your fingers’ grip from digging into the sheets.

“Let’s talk about it in the morning,” you tell him, resignation in your voice. 

Your eyes fall shut again, your head for once resting on your own pillow instead of his chest. He misses the weight of it instantly. You doze off quickly, your hands still pawing weakly at his side, like your body can’t help it. He almost pulls you closer himself. 

While you sleep, Logan forces his own eyes to stay wide open, staring unseeingly into the darkness. 

It’s a quiet day. You had tried talking to him, tried to convince him that it’s okay, that it’s fine. He can’t keep listening to you insisting that him almost killing you is no big deal. He should have known, should have been more aware of the risk instead of letting himself get lost in the blissful sensation of your body curled around his every night. You’ve trusted him so completely, only for him to let you down. 

Just like he always does, the voice in his head whispers.

No matter how many times you swear that you can take care of yourself, he should still be protecting you, not actively putting you in danger while you’re fucking asleep. It’s happened once now, so it can happen again, and he knows that he could never forgive himself. 

He knows that he’s hurting your feelings. Sees how your brows knit together when he barely kisses you back throughout the day. How you bite your lip when the way you’re butting your head against his doesn’t make him chuckle like it usually does. 

He should be angry at himself. He is. But you shouldn’t be the one to catch the brunt of it, and it makes him feel even worse. You always say that he should talk about his feelings more, that it would help to let them out. He suspects that you’re right. He just doesn’t know how.

By evening, you’ve grown uncharacteristically quiet, but he keeps catching your burning glares at him when you think he isn’t looking. Finally, after you’ve stared at him for what felt like an eternity and he’s pointedly ignored you, you seem to snap.

“Can you stop it?!” It leaves your mouth in a hiss, triggering his instincts before the words even register in his brain. 

“Stop what?” he growls back. 

Your fingers curl as a low snarl escapes you. Normally, neither of you lets your animalistic side take over like that. Normally, you’re good at soothing each other. 

But tonight, he can feel the energy crackle between you, the tension begging to be released. 

“You know what! This fucking— sulking or whatever it is you think you’re doing!” 

He rises to his feet, pulling up to his full height. One of your hands twitches. 

“I’m not—” 

You charge at him with an angry shout before another word can leave his mouth. You’re on him in a flash, grabbing onto his arm and letting your momentum carry you until you’re behind him, your nails digging into his shoulders until you’re perched on his backside. 

Whipping his head around, he bares his teeth at you, growls rumbling in his chest. You angrily hiss in his face and swing a hand at him in return, leaving angry red scratches down his cheek. They heal and fade as quickly as they came, but a triumphant grin flashes over your features regardless. 

“Come on, Logan,” you breathe into his ear. The edge in your voice sends fire straight through him. “Fight. You’re not gonna break me.” Your canines nip at his earlobe, somewhere between affectionate and challenging.

He tries shaking you off, but your grip on him only tightens. He collects a fist of your hair instead, pulling harshly to keep your teeth away from his throat. 

“Enough,” he grits, trying desperately to regain control, to become more human again, to smother the primal need to match your aggression. 

He finally grabs hold of one of your hands as well and manages to rip you off his back and in front of him, holding on tight to your upper arms to keep you in place. You’re snarling and twisting in his hold, but he doesn’t let up. 

“Enough,” he repeats, searching your wild eyes. Your movements slow down a fraction, giving him a moment of hope, before you surge forward and bury your teeth in his lower lip. It hurts like hell and he can taste blood on his tongue instantly. 

“Fight me,” you demand again, baring your teeth at him.

He pulls you back by your hair with a roar, gathers both your wrists in one large hand and holds you steady. You could still break free if you wanted to, he thinks. He might be stronger than you, but your movements turn almost liquid when you want to escape, he’s watched it more than once. 

The pain in his lip has already subsided, but his blood is still coating your mouth, a stark contrast against the white shimmer of your teeth. 

“Are you done?” His voice is harsh, his jaw clenched, carefully keeping the desire to strike back at bay. 

You deflate a little, some of the wildness draining from you before his eyes. 

“I just— I’m not fragile, I don’t want you to be scared of— of touching me.” Your voice grows small at the end and he’s horrified to see wetness glistening in your eyes. 

The fight mode leaves him as fast as it came, replaced with the overwhelming urge to care, to protect what’s his. His pack, in a way.  

He gathers you into his arms, curling himself around you. It feels good to hold you close again. Breathing you in deeply, he smells the adrenaline still oozing from you, hears the rapid beating of your heart. But mostly, it’s your unique scent, one that he thinks he could recognize anywhere. His tether to this world. 

“I’m sorry, kitten. I’m not scared of touching you,” he mumbles into your hair. 

You sniffle against his chest, but when you finally raise your head to look at him, new determination is glinting in your eyes. 

“Prove it,” you coo, tracing the shape of his lips with one fingertip. “Please.” 

That he can do. He nips at your finger playfully, your responding giggle the best sound he’s heard all day, before he shoves it out of the way to connect his lips with yours. It’s rough, a clashing of teeth and tongues, the tension that has been building and warping all day finally finding a release. 

You gasp into his mouth when his tongue moves against yours, your hands pulling at his hair, needing him closer and closer still, never close enough. His groan at the taste of you travels through you both as he’s grasping at your clothes. 

He longs for your warm skin under his palms, longs for how you lean into his touch so needy all the damn time. You pull away with a moan, helping him to pull your sweater over your head and stepping out of your jeans as he sheds his flannel. 

You bring both hands up to cup his face, to search his eyes. “Don’t be gentle,” you plead, “please, I need—” 

You don’t have to keep talking for him to understand what you need. I’m not scared of touching you. 

With a growl, his hands find your hips, holding you tight as he’s walking you backwards until your ass connects with the backside of the couch. He crowds you in, paws at every inch of bare skin he can reach, his cock already hard and aching at your soft warmth and the sweet mewls that tumble from your lips. 

Hitching one of your legs up to open you for him, he grinds himself against your barely covered center. A keening sound escapes you at the friction from his jeans against your sensitive flesh and he allows himself a grin. 

“Feels good, kitten?” 

You nod mindlessly, holding onto him and rocking your hips against his while you’re letting him move you however he sees fit. 

“Do you want more?”

“Please, Logan.”

You sound so sweet when you’re like this, when you put your body into his hands. I’m not scared of touching you.

Setting your leg back down, he watches with hunger as you hastily take off your underwear while he pulls the white tank top over his head and opens his belt buckle. He could swear that your pupils dilate a fraction at the sound of it, filling him with a possessive sense of pride. 

As soon as his jeans hit the floor, he’s all over you again, palming the weight of your breasts, tugging and pinching at your nipples as he swallows down your mewls. You’re soaking wet already, covering his cock in your slick as he nudges against your folds. He’s impatient to feel you all around him, to sink into you, to stake his claim again and again and again. 

He normally works you open longer, gives you more time to prepare, but your impatience is just as apparent as his own, with the way you whine and plead for him, your fingers digging into his flesh, trying to pull him nearer. 

He follows your pull, pressing your backside into the couch once more as he crowds your space. Leaning in, he kisses you deeply, licking into your mouth, one hand buried in your hair and holding you close. 

“I love you,” he breathes against your lips as he lets go of you. I’m not scared of touching you.

You smile softly, echoing the sentiment back at him. 

A surprised squeak escapes you when he turns you around suddenly, bending you over the back of the couch. He lines himself up at your dripping entrance, desperate to fill you up, to give you what you’re craving. 

“Not gentle?” he rasps once more, one hand curling around your neck from behind, both in reassurance and dominance. 

“Not gentle,” comes your breathy answer. It breaks off into a shriek of a moan when he slams into you with one long thrust, stretching your tight walls around his length. The sting of his sudden intrusion has to hurt at least a little, but you push back against him eagerly, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. 

Logan holds himself still for a moment, mesmerized by the sight of your squirming body and your needy little sounds, before he pulls out almost entirely, only to push back in forcefully. Your toes barely reach the floor with how far he’s bent you over, lifting you into the air with every harsh thrust, but he’s holding you steady with ease, both hands possessively spanning over your waist, positioning you exactly where he wants you. 

“Taking me so fucking well, like you were made for me,” he growls, gently scratching over your back with his nails. You arch up to chase his touch, tightening around him, almost purring with pleasure. Wetness pours out of you, coating his cock. I’m not scared of touching you. Not when it feels this good. 

“M–more, please,” you whine, blindly reaching backwards to him. 

He leans over you, cages you in, his arms on either side of you, his breath hot against your skin. His teeth sink into the back of your neck, not so deep as to draw blood, but enough that he knows the indents will stay there for quite some time. 

Your whole body goes limp at the sensation, a surprised mewl escaping you as you clench around him wildly. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, his own hips stuttering, “give it to me kitten, come on—” 

He reaches around your hip, fingers teasing through your slick folds and up to your clit, rubbing with slight pressure as he keeps pistoning into your heat. 

“Logan—” you gasp, getting almost impossibly tight, before you shatter around him. He keeps thrusting into you, keeps up his ministrations on your clit, until the pulsing of your cunt around him sends him over the edge as well. He spills his release deep inside of you, the thought of leaving a part of him with you always filling him with a primal satisfaction. 

Pulling you up instantly, he gathers you in his arms, your body soft and pliant against his chest. Walking around the couch and sinking into the cushions to lie down, he gently moves you until your weight is resting on top of him, his embrace wrapping around you.

You stir a little, needing a moment to take in your position. The look of uncertainty that you give him damn near breaks his heart. “Is this okay?” You sound uncertain, too.

God, he’s such an idiot. 

“Yeah, kitten. It’s— fuck, of course it’s okay.”

thank you so so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed, and if you did, a comment or a reblog would absolutely make my day :)

[baurem]

cw: children, bakugo being a tired dad and then some wc: 604

with the soft patter of small feet and the door’s hinges quietly crying as it was pushed open, you feigned sleep. through ajar lids, in peeked your mixture of love, your husband and your own affections personified into something you both cradled and loved undoubtedly.

biting back a grin, you listened for the shuffling of your bedsheets as your daughter forcefully settled in between the spooning position that bakugo held you in. 

“papa..” your three year old called out in a whisper, her palm lightly tapped his cheek.  still in his drowsy in between, bakugo hummed roughly to let her know he was listening. 

“move over..” she whined as she pushed his shoulder to create more space for herself

“no, i was here first.” bakugo’s tongue languid with sleep but unmoving to your daughter’s attempts.

her little lips pursed like yours and her brows furrowed like his as she conceived a way to convince her hard-headed father to move. she turned her body to you, preparing to wake you up until a large hand interrupted her. 

“no, don’ wake y’er mama up.” his voice mellowed by fatherhood and patience. katsuki’s daughter turned with a pout at his whispered chiding, the same one he often wore against you.

  still, even while unconscious and in his grasp, he sought to preserve your sleep though there wasn’t a need for it (not that he should know). 

he lured her back with his hand splayed out on her tummy which earned yet another whine from her as she sat back into the tight space between you and your husband. 

she stared back with a disgruntled expression he knew all too well; cheeks puffed up, eyes narrowed that were still swollen with sleep, and a deep frown all at the lack of space her father provided. 

katsuki stared back, now more awake than before, but still just as adamant and stubborn as the red-eyed girl before him. 

“gotta use your manners if ya wanna be here.” 

after a beat of contemplation, your daughter spoke up, “papa..?”

“hm?” katsuki hummed, attentive.

“can you— can you pleeaase move over?” she asked, softer as to not disturb her mother. 

katsuki deemed it good enough since it was too early in the morning for a lesson. abiding by her plea, he shifted over which opened up the space for his little one. 

“mm.. thank you.” his daughter murmured as she squirmed into her place under the sheets and between her parents. 

katsuki hummed in a quiet response. his attention on the way her eyes fought sleep, nestled in the warmth and scent of her parents. once he’s sure she’s asleep, his attention shifts over to you.

“were you going to help at all?” he huffs. 

“i knew you had it.” you toss over to gaze to your family with a sapped grin at his discovery of your consciousness; your husband furrowed his brows at you like your little girl would when she didn’t get what she wanted and your daughter’s face squished on the pillow like his would whenever he came home from a long patrol.

katsuki saw you too in that moment, you think; with her hair disheveled in the mornings just like yours would be and the light snoring from her— the snoring you both vehemently denied though he insisted on it. 

he must’ve also been feeling that same swell in your chest too, the overflowing of love seeping out of your chest and into your throat. the kind of feeling that only mornings like these could bring out of you both; you, your husband, and the whole of you both combined snuggled in bed together.

“you always do.” 

[shotmrmiller]

I like to think that Simon has no game. He's large, he's unapproachable, his stare alone scares away the women. Which was totally fine, until one day, he saw you as Johnny's screensaver on his phone. He was entranced, mesmerized. He's seen more than enough beautiful women on the orange youtube (his hand being his only source of relief for years) but there was something different about you. Maybe it was the tender smile you had on your face, or maybe it was how you glowed with happiness.

Or your eyes. Your eyes twinkled with affection, you looked at the camera with love. Love. That's it.

He can't remember the last time someone aimed a fond look his way. And whenever he stares at your photo, it looks like you're lovingly gazing back at him— and it gets him fucking hard.

Johnny once left his phone behind, for whatever reason, and Simon waited a solid minute, (60) seconds, before he picked it up, and took out his own phone to take a picture of you.

Simon wanked himself raw that night, his thick cum splattering over his screen, over your face. His refractory period that night was nonexistent.

And when Johnny one day was on the phone with you? When Johnny said, "Simon's here too, hen. Say hello." The way your melodic voice said his name? His cock was achingly hard within seconds, and he shifted around uncomfortably, willing for it to disappear.

It didn't. Simon walked with a wide gait, legs stiff, straight to the nearest bathroom and took himself in his hand. He gripped his long, thick length tight, and when he closed his eyes, he squeezed even harder, almost painfully. His tip was an angry red, from how tight he held himself, and that's how snug he imagined your undoubtedly pretty pussy would be around him.

He had to clench his jaw— grit his teeth hard, to keep the pathetic whimpers from escaping. Simon leaked pre-cum like a juvenile, stringy like egg whites, all over his knuckles and he hadn't even started pumping yet.

When someone knocked on the door, the snarl he let out was feral, a "Fuck off" so nasty, no one disturbed him again until he came with his head tilted back, and the vision of you riding him behind his closed eyes.

And then in the comfort of his own quarters, he pulled up your picture again— a blurry, too zoomed-in photo of a photo, and rut into one of his pillows, again imagining it was you. He thought of you on your back, legs open invitingly and waiting for him to fill you. He imagined the delicious moans you'd breathe out in his ear, your nails digging into the expanse of his broad, scarred back. He imagined your walls fluttering around him, the tell-tale sign of your upcoming climax, and you'd squeeze him so bloody tight when you finally did come, he'd move to pull out because there's no way he's not finishing with you. But you, you'd wrap your legs around his waist, and cross your ankles— effectively keeping him inside of you.

He'd cum on the spot, because you were effectively giving him your permission to finish inside. You'd rhythmically clench your walls to milk him dry, to take all of his seed.

And when his warped, fucked mind imagined you whispering an 'I love you' on his lips, he actually came, and he whimpered.

Simon's hips stuttered as his cock twitched and spasmed, spurting thick globs of cum all over his pillow, his bed. His breath came in shaky pants, his heart slamming against his ribcage.

After he stopped shaking, and was able to move his limbs, he cleaned his mess up shamefully, the post-nut clarity hitting hard, and as he switched bedsheets, he saw his phone light up with a notification.

Bonnie just sent this picture. Doesn't she look cute?

It was you holding a cup of iced coffee, and what stood out to him the most was your brightly colored nails.

He touched himself to the thought of those manicured hands wrapped around his cock, as you took him in your mouth 10 minutes later.

this was my inspo for this simon

@pieckyghost i really only have porn on my mind :( pussy on my mind, tighter than a headband.

[sanarsi]

You’re doing great, sweetie

no-outbreak!professor!Joel Miller x student!f!Reader

Summary: You came to your professor to ask for help with your essay. He accidentally discovers one of your dirty secrets which is him. Warnings: +18, MDNI, age gap (reader is 20, Joel is 50), soft!dom!Joel (oh you’re gonna love him), unprotected/protected PIV, pet names (honey, baby, sweetheart, sweetie), blowjob, fingering, cum eating Wordcount: 4,8k An: I am WEAK for caring and sweet Joel so that's who he is here. He’s wonderful and I love him with all my heart so I hope you love him too xx Music I worked with: Ultraviolence - Lana Del Rey

Masterlist

Studying was hard. You shed sweat and tears there.

You tried.

You really tried.

Despite this, you weren't proud of yourself. You knew you could do better. You were like an executioner to yourself. Sleepless nights, thousands of notes and liters of coffee. That's what it cost you to pass a measly 95%.

Fucking 95%.

Where's the missing 5%? Where did you make a mistake that cost you as much as 5%? You had no idea. But you knew where you could find out.

Professor Miller's office was always open. Always invited stray students. Or in your case, perfectionists. Always welcomed with warmth and the smell of herbs. His office was a place of momentary respite and the feeling that the world wasn't really running, it was you. And that's why when you knocked on his door and were greeted by his warm smile, you finally felt like you could breathe.

“Professor,” you said with a smile, tightening your grip around a few notebooks.

"My favorite student," he replied in a warm but tired voice. No wonder, it was Friday and already late. Nothing worse than you could have happened to him.

“I'm sorry to disturb-”

“You know very well that you never disturb me,” he interrupted you immediately. You pursed your lips into a line, feeling your stomach tighten. He was always like this... And you still haven't gotten used to it. "Come in, I'll make you some tea," he offered, moving to the side. You smiled nervously and slipped inside.

"Actually, I prefer coffee."

"Coffee then," he nodded, closing the door and heading towards what replaced the small kitchen. You placed the stack of notebooks on the table and placed your bag on the ground. You looked around the office decorated in shades of dark brown and beige.

Everything here was thought out. Delicate accessories. Perfectly arranged books. Large oak desk. A table and a few chairs. And a large leather sofa by the window.

You liked being here. But the office itself was not enough. It was Professor Miller who gave it life. It was his energy that permeated every inch that made you feel at home here. Or at least that's what you wanted home to feel like.

You looked out the window at the small park in the middle of campus. The leaves on the trees were yellow, heralding the beginning of autumn. And everything would be beautiful if it weren't for the nasty weather. You don't even remember the last time you felt the sun's rays on your skin. Everything was as if under a dome of thick clouds.

“There are upsides to this weather,” professor's voice rang out behind you. You turned around just as he was placing two cups of coffee on the table.

"Like?" you asked, walking closer and sitting on the chair. Joel followed your lead and sat down with a soft groan. You smiled in amusement.

"Well..." he began, raising his eyebrows and leaned back, "actually, there aren't any," he finished after a moment's thought. “Unless you like rain and greyness,” he added with a smile.

You chuckled to yourself at his words. Sometimes you wished Joel was your main teacher. He was the only one who was just normal.

“What are you coming to me with?” he asked finally. You blinked a few times and cleared your throat, shifting in your chair. How should you tell him this...?

“I wanted to talk about the last essay we wrote,” you began calmly, seeing understanding immediately appear on Joel's face. "I wanted to know why you subtracted 5% from me."

"Of course you would like to know..." he muttered under his breath, amused, and shook his head. He looked at you with warmth in his eyes and was silent for a moment before sighing. “Honey, are you really going to fight for the stupid 5%?” he asked, hoping that maybe you'd change your mind and save you both from having to work on nothing.

“It's important 5%” you corrected him and he just looked at you in amusement. His smile was like a ray of sunshine on these cloudy days. Joel sighed, shaking his head and took off his glasses to wipe his tired face. He looked at you one more time before standing up and moving towards his desk. He pushed his glasses up his nose as he looked through the stack of papers, looking for your name. After a while he returned to his place with a few papers. He began to silently look through your work while you calmly drank your coffee. The coffee he made was always the best.

“Yeah okay…” he spoke after a few long minutes before he dropped your work on the table and slid it towards you. You put down your cup and took the papers. “The first half is good. Very good actually," he began to explain as you looked through a few pieces of paper, "But somewhere in the middle you completely changed your writing style. I didn't like it.” He glanced at the papers, wrinkling his nose. “The sentences were so…empty,” he explained, so you looked at him.

Was it really just about that? About the stupid writing style?

You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling a pang in your heart.

“Is there anything I can do to improve?” you asked, sounding so delicate as if the slightest stimulus could break you. Joel was silent for a moment, staring at you. And he might start cursing you for how soft his heart was towards you.

He nodded slowly and drank his coffee. Every second of his silence seemed to drag on forever. The sound of the cup being placed down echoed in your head. You blinked a few times, waiting for him to speak but your leg began to tremble restlessly under the table.

“I'll do anything,” you said, unable to bear the silence. Joel smiled shaking his head.

"I know," he replied warmly. He cleared his throat, shifting in the chair. "Read the whole thing and mark the moment when you notice the change I mentioned to you," he instructed, to which you nodded and immediately got to work. In the meantime, he got up and continued what your visit had interrupted. Organizing papers wasn't his favorite thing to do, but he had to do it someday.

For several minutes you were focused on every word you wrote on these papers a week ago. The work was still satisfactory, but only now you were able to notice what the professor had mentioned. You winced as you read the sentences that looked like they were written by a robot. You understood why he deducted 5% from you.

“I can see it now,” you said, looking up. Joel stopped reading and placed the papers on the shelf before heading towards you. He stopped behind you and rested his hand on the back of your chair. His fingers touched your sweater, making you sit up straighter. You glanced at him as he leaned closer, looking at your work.

“Mhm,” he murmured, nodding. His attention was focused on the text until he finally straightened up. “Start from this point again. Write, I will come and check,” he ordered, looking down at you. “Then we'll talk about those important 5%,” he finished and you nodded automatically. You liked it when he was professional. Gravity and authority suited him. You followed him with your eyes and only when he returned to looking through his papers, you did get to work too.

You sat in silence for an hour, writing your papers. For an hour, the only thing that broke the silence was Joel's soft murmurs. He watched you from time to time as you dealt with your writing, and a small smile appeared on his lips when he saw how focused you were.

It was starting to get dark outside, so a few warm lamps gave a nice atmosphere. You were staring at the last sentence you wrote when suddenly a cup of hot coffee appeared next to you. You looked away from the text and looked at your steaming drink.

“Thank you,” you said quietly and glanced up at Joel who was looking into your notebook. He carefully followed the text you had written. You remained silent, waiting for him to speak. Finally he nodded gently in approval.

“You're doing great,” he praised, making eye contact with you. You smiled gently and he responded in the same way. He straightened up, tapping your chin teasingly and winking. "Write," he nodded and then left.

You swallowed hard, staring at his back as your heart beat so loudly that it drowned out everything around you. You blinked a few times in confusion and shifted nervously in your seat, returning your gaze to your notebook.

He had such a warm smile...

Another hour passed. Joel continued to stand by the bookcase arranging papers and books while you walked around reading your work to him.

“Repeat that last sentence,” he spoke, catching your eye for a moment. You stopped and looked at the text.

“Her gaze was empty and sunk into the depths of darkness,” you read and immediately looked at him, expecting disapproval. Joel was silent for a moment, wrinkling his nose and passing the papers between his fingers.

"Next."

“Like death slowly emerging, she stood up too. The black lady who heralded no tomorrow…”

“I like this one,” he said, cutting you off halfway through. You looked at him with a smile and continued reading.

Several minutes passed before you finished. You stood in the middle of the room with a grimace as you read the last few sentences in your head again.

“I don't think I like the ending,” you said hesitantly. Before long, you felt the professor's body behind you. His hand came to rest on your arm as he leaned over your shoulder. You immediately stopped breathing, feeling your skin begin to burn where he touched you. He focused on reading and you focused on the way his chest pressed against your back.

Damn…why did his touch send such pleasant warmth? Why was his closeness so pleasant that you were afraid to move lest it be interrupted?

“I don't see any problem,” he said, frowning. His voice so close to your ear sent shivers down your entire body. You swallowed, forcing yourself to say a few sentences.

Why did it take so much energy for you to speak?

“I'm reading this and it doesn't feel like it's over,” you explained and glanced sideways at him. “Do you see what I mean?” Joel caught your eye for a moment and then started reading the text again.

“I understand, but I still don't see the problem. You ended it in a simple way," he said, tracing the text with his finger.

“You know I don't like simplicity,” you muttered under your breath, earning him a sigh. The sound made your stomach tighten.

“Honey, listen…” he started and tightened his fingers on your arm. “I know you try like no other and always want everything to be perfect,” he said calmly, not wanting you to take it the wrong way. You looked at him and immediately locked eyes. “But sometimes simple is best option,” he finished, smiling softly. You stared into his eyes in silence and slowly swallowed when your gaze fell to his lips for a moment. You immediately looked away at your notes, feeling your breath shudder.

"I'm still not convinced"

“Of course you're not,” Joel sighed and snatched the notebook from you before walking away a few steps, starting to read again. You stood there, watching as he slowly started to spin in circles.

“I would give you 100% for this” he commented.

“I wouldn't give 100% for this,” you muttered under your breath, but not so quietly that he couldn't hear it. He looked at you, stopping.

“It's good that you're not me,” he replied with a gentle smile, which immediately made you feel a blush of shame on your cheeks. Joel went back to reading and you started mentally cursing yourself at your long tongue.

You started playing with your fingers behind your back and looked down at your shoes for a moment. Only the sound of pages turning caught your attention. Joel indifferently studied the remaining pages in your notebook, and then you felt a twinge of panic. You were about to open your mouth to speak when he interrupted you.

"I will give you a deadline for corrections," he continued, flipping through the pages until he finally stopped at one. "This is interesting," he commented under his breath, starting to read. You felt a cold sweat cover your body as you realized what could have caught his attention.

“Professor…” you spoke warningly. Joel silenced you with a wave of his hand. You fell silent, pursing lips tightly. You swallowed the lump in your throat, watching him closely. You watched for any signs of what he might be reading. And more importantly, how he reacted to what he read.

A soft smile appeared on his lips before he looked towards you. You looked like you had seen a ghost, what amuse him even more.

"You're even better at non-fiction than short stories," he commented, raising an eyebrow and closing notebook. You blinked a few times as if his words were completely lost on you. Only after a while you waking up from the stasis.

"Non-fiction?" you asked confused. You frowned, wondering if you had ever written something non-fiction, but nothing came to mind.

“I mean…” he started with a snort and slowly moved towards you. "I thought my eyes were just brown," he laughed softly. And that's when your heart stopped.

You felt every muscle in your body tense as you watched him in horror. He read... He read the fucking poetry about his eyes. You were screwed…

“Professor-” you started, wanting to explain yourself. Say anything that could get you out of this ridiculous situation.

“Joel,” he interrupted you.

You froze with your mouth parted and you could have sworn you heard your heart start beating again.

You stared at him when he stopped two steps in front of you. Joel seemed completely relaxed while you were having a nervous breakdown. Your silence only made his smile widen.

"Do not get me wrong. I really like it” He lifted the notebook, tapping the cover with his finger. You followed his every move carefully in silence. Really, you couldn't be in a worse position. “I'd love to read about other things, too,” he added with a smile and held out notebook towards you. You hesitantly raised your trembling hand and took your notebook, hugging it to your chest as if it would protect you from everything that was happening.

You blinked a few times, your eyes darting. As long as you don't look him in the eye. You nodded in agreement, feeling like nothing could come out of your mouth.

“Hey…” he started gently and grabbed your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him.

His hand… on your face… Oh god.

“Don't be ashamed of your poetry,” he said, gently stroking your skin with his thumb. You swallowed hard, feeling yourself start to shiver. You nodded almost invisibly. “Use your words,” he encouraged.

“Okay,” you whispered weakly, your breath shaky. One word cost you more effort than writing several pages of text.

"That's my good girl," he smiled wider, pleased.

His fingers slowly traced your cheek and he tucked a broken strand of hair behind your ear, following every move with eyes.

“So what can I read about in the future?” he asked as his fingers slowly moved down to your neck. You felt like you were burning alive. You were so damn hot that you started sweating. Your heart wasn’t slowing down and you could barely catch your breath.

Was this what dying was like?

“I-” you trailed off, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Maybe hands?” he suggested, raising an eyebrow. His fingers slowly moved your hair behind your shoulder. “Hm? What do you think?" He asked, looking back into your eyes.

You felt like you were in some movie. You weren't even able to think straight when he touched you like that. You nodded in response.

“Words,” he reminded you.

“Yes, I'd like that.” Joel smiled warmly before removing his hand and sighing.

“Great,” he nodded and walked past you towards the door. You turned around, watching his every move. “I have time next week. You can come to my class and write your essay," he said on his way to the door.

You took a few steps after him but stopped when he did too. Joel turned towards you, his hand on the doorknob. He still had that warm smile on his face as he looked at you.

“Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere,” he said, raising an eyebrow when he noticed you had moved from your previous spot. His fingers slipped from the door knob and closed the door in one motion.

Then you realized what was about to happen.

You parted your lips, trying to catch your breath, but Joel was already in front of you again.

And this time, his lips were the reason you stopped breathing.

Soft and warm lips surrounded by rough stubble.

A mixture that made your knees weak in a second.

You sighed at the feeling of his lips pressed against yours, leading you in a slow dance. His hand on your cheek and the other wrapped around your waist. You sighed again as he pulled you closer. His tongue found yours and his fingers tangled in your hair. He kissed gently and tenderly. Exactly as you imagined. Exactly as you needed.

“Tell me,” he started, pulling away from your lips, breathing heavily. “Tell me that you want this.”

His breath mixed with yours. Your gaze was fixed on his lips and his on your eyes.

“Mhm,” you nodded because that was all you could do. But it was enough for him to crash his lips against yours again. You moaned at the intensity with which he started kissing you. Like he was thirsty.

Joel took the notebook from your hands and threw it on the table. His lips collided with yours over and over again. His arm wrapped tightly around your body. A scenario like one of your wet dreams.

“On your knees,” he whispered against your lips and loosened his grip. You took a moment to calm your breathing and licked his saliva from your swollen lips. You looked into his eyes, filled with warmth and desire. A look you would do anything for. Including falling to your knees in front of him.

You watched as his fingers slowly unbuckled his belt. And he just watched your sweet face. Your eyes reflected soft lights and your lips were slightly puffy. You looked like an angel.

He slowly unzipped his zipper and then your eyes met his. And you had to admit that this was the perspective from which you could look at him forever.

His hand disappeared into his boxers only to take out his semi-hard cock a moment later. You weren't able to take your eyes off his, causing a smirk to appear on his lips.

“Come on baby, you gotta help me out a little.”

His gentle words and warm smile immediately encouraged you to do whatever he asked you to do. You looked at his cock and slowly moved closer to place a kiss on the tip. That was enough for Joel to moan quietly with satisfaction. You licked the precum from his tip, immediately moisturizing all his length. Another moan escaped his lips as you took him into your mouth. His hand found its way into your hair as you slowly began to caress his cock with your mouth. With each movement of your tongue you felt him getting harder and harder. Until you finally started choking on him.

You pulled away for air and looked at him as he took off his glasses to wipe his face. He looked like he had run a marathon, but his eyes were full of you. He was breathing heavily as he decided to put his glasses on the table. And then you wrapped your mouth around his cock again.

“So pretty,” he moaned, stroking your head affectionately.

You felt his tip teasing your throat again so you pulled away, gasping for breath. His thumb was immediately on your lips, wiping away the saliva. You looked up at him like an innocent deer.

“Good, baby,” he praised you and tugged on your chin, forcing you to stand up. He immediately leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on your lips. You melted under his lips, making him smile.

His hands slid down your waist to your hips, pressing his fingers against your skin. A second later he was unbuttoning your jeans only for his hand to slip into your panties. You both moaned at the same time as his fingers traced your entrance. You grabbed onto his arms as your knees buckled beneath you. His arm wrapped around your waist as he felt your reaction.

“You're so wet,” he whispered against your lips. His eyes never left yours as he began to spread your juices over your clit. You shuddered, breathing heavily, and dug your nails harder into his skin. Then his fingers slowly slipped into your wet hole.

He watched in delight as your lips parted and your eyebrows furrowed in pleasure. The moan that left your throat as he slowly moved his fingers was like music to his ears. Every movement of his fingers echoed throughout your body. Like you were getting drunker with each thrust.

Joel couldn't help himself and started drinking your moans like the best wine. For the first time, it didn't take much to feel your orgasm building between your legs. He groaned into your mouth, feeling you slowly tighten around his finger.

"Already?" he asked with a smile.

“Please,” you moaned sweetly and he smiled wider. He stole a gentle kiss from you.

“Of course,” he whispered, pleased with how intensely you responded to his touch. He was flattered.

You closed your eyes as your body began to chase your orgasm. Then his fingers flexed slightly and you felt stars all over your body. You moaned as you came on his fingers. Joel didn't stop until he saw the beautiful post-orgasmic bliss on your face.

When you finally opened your eyes, you immediately saw him licking his fingers clean of your juices. And honestly, it was the sexiest sight of your life. You swallowed, wanting to moisten your dry throat.

“Turn around,” he ordered, continuing to lick his fingers. You followed his instructions without hesitation.

You felt his large, warm hands on your hips and your heart beat faster in your chest with excitement. His hand pushed your back gently, causing you to lie down on the table. His lips kissed your shoulder a few times before he straightened up, looking down at you.

And he would be lying if he said that this sight had never crossed his mind.

In a second your jeans were sliding down your thighs. You heard his soft laugh when he noticed your panties.

"You're really sweet," he commented, running his fingers over the white panties with colorful strawberries. A blush burned your face, but you smiled to yourself anyway.

A few seconds later, your panties also stopped at your thighs. Joel crouched down and spread your thighs so he could look at your wet pussy. A soft growl left his throat, making you tense as another drop of your previous orgasm left your entrance.

“I could eat you all night long,” he said, his voice laced with desire and your stomach twisted into knots. His words echoed against your pussy, making your knees tremble. “Another time, sweetheart,” with that he stood up and spread the wetness between your legs with his fingers. You moaned at the feeling and closed your eyes, snuggling into the table. He leaned over you and ran his nose over your ear. You shuddered. "Because there will be another time, hm?" he whispered, sending shivers down your entire body.

He slowly positioned his cock perfectly at your entrance and ran the tip along the length of your pussy to wet it. You started panting as you felt him ready to enter you.

“Yes, please,” you moaned. Joel laughed softly and then slowly entered you until the end. You both moaned as he stopped his hips against yours.

And then reality hit him. He straightened up, looking at the place where you were connected.

"Shit, baby, I didn't put a condom," he cursed due to his stupidity. You immediately glanced at him over your shoulder, seeing that he was surprised by his own carelessness.

“I'm taking the pills,” you replied quickly, not wanting him to interrupt. You felt him so damn good…

“Are you sure?” he asked, a bit worried about whether you wanted him to continue.

“I am,” you nodded. You looked at each other for a moment and then Joel leaned down to capture your lips in a slow kiss. His hips slowly came back to life, thrusting into you slowly and intensely. His cock stimulated every wall of your pussy perfectly. You moaned into his mouth, feeling him in every part of your body. As if his cock was made just for you.

His fingers dug hard into your hips as he slowly buried himself inside you. It quickly drove you crazy. You couldn't even kiss him back so you fell on the table, choking heavily.

Joel rested his forehead on your shoulder as he entered you again and again. Taking his time, enjoying you. He loved the way you tightened around his cock every time he entered you all the way.

His moans disappeared in your skin and his cock in your pussy, creating a deadly mixture that quickly brought you to the brink of breaking. You cried as you felt his slow movements drive you to sweet madness. You wanted to beg him to speed up, to do anything to speed up your fulfillment. But Joel knew very well what he was doing. Your needy moans only confirmed to him how good he was doing you.

“You're doing great, sweetie” he breathed against your ear as you cried his name once again. His movements were like slow torture. Perfect to bring you to the edge of pleasure and too slow to end it.

But then he changed the movement of his hips, pushing himself even deeper into you. You choked on air as he growled, holding you even tighter. You didn't need much now.

“Can you cum on my cock?” he asked, panting with thirst.

“Mhm,” you nodded, pressing your lips together to keep from squealing. Joel let out a satisfied groan and started placing kisses on your shoulder. You closed your eyes, moaning with desire.

“You're fucking perfect, baby,” he moaned, stroking and squeezing your hip and thigh. He was insanely hungry for you. Like an animal. Like a worshipper.

One last push of his hips and his name fell from your lips like a prayer as you came. Joel groaned as he felt you tighten on his cock. He stopped, enjoying the feeling, feeling that his orgasm was fast approaching. He then started thrusting into you again, at a slightly faster speed. This only prolonged your pleasure to the limit.

“Cum inside you?” he asked, his fingers tightening on your hip.

“Yes, Mr. Miller,” you moaned. Joel growled, grabbing your neck and pulling you to his chest. His lips crushed yours in a hungry kiss in a second. A few moves inside you and his moan disappeared into your mouth. His cock twitched inside you, filling you fully with his orgasm.

You both panted into each other's mouths as he gave you sweet gentle kisses. Eventually his breathing calmed down and he pulled away so he could look at you with a blissful smile. He ran his gentle fingers along your cheek and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I'll make time for you tomorrow. The sooner you write your essay, the sooner I can enjoy you, deal?" he suggested.

You smiled softly and nodded, “Deal.”

[heirofnight]

meddling

azriel x reader drabble

word count: 2k - longest drabble ever, i'm so sorry

summary: reader just escaped a horrific past that has left her closed off and in need of isolation. she takes up residence at the house of wind, finding solace in the private library. she's content to keep to herself, but a meddling house and a stray little shadow have other plans.

a/n: i wrote this very quickly, this is more like a stream of consciousness than a well-planned piece of writing lol. also my first time posting so pls be kind 😭 i just felt like writing and then ... this happened. ok enjoy!

azriel was a silent, watchful protector of yours when you initially arrived at the night court. studying you, observing you from afar. you spend most of your time on the third level of the house of wind - shy and in need of isolation. your past was something you were desperate to forget. but, even after your relocation to velaris, your mind was murky. you'd tried sorting through thoughts and emotions that you'd pushed deep down in order to survive, but it all felt akin to wading through waist-deep mud in heavy, laced-up boots. you'd found solace in the private library on the third floor, only doors down from your own chambers. many mornings you awoke, dressed, and shuffled to the warm library that was lit with beams of light from dawn's glow. you'd curl into your favorite chair that overlooked velaris and the glistening sidra far down below, taking in a centering breath. it felt like muscle memory, and the house had learned of your routine. a warm teacup waited for you, right beside your well-loved armchair. your tea was the perfect temperature: the house had learned that too. and every morning, a sly, stray tendril of shadow wove its way through the half-opened library doors. it noted your presence, your general state of well-being, before darting away playfully to relay this information back to its master. yes, rhys had asked azriel to watch over you, but even az knew that this level of attentiveness was overkill - even for him. you'd peek up at the tiny shadow each morning, expecting it now. at first, shortly after arriving at the house, you'd blink up at it - not having the mental energy to delve into its motive. now, a couple of months later, you'd felt more settled. more relaxed. and you almost considered this lone shadow to be a sweet little companion, the only being that dared approach you this frequently. you'd give it a soft grin each morning, and it would swirl happily, lazily, before departing as quickly as it came.

you were always cold. try as you might, you often only felt true, comfortable warmth when bundled beneath the layered blankets that adorned your oversized bed. you knew you shared this hallway with azriel, but rarely ever saw him. you'd hear him arrive late at night every now and then - assuming that he'd just returned from some sort of mission. what you didn't know, however, was that azriel had tried his hardest to silence the thump of his boots against the stone floor every single time he approached the arched door of your room. before, when he only shared this hallway with cassian, he'd make noise on purpose upon arriving home. his own way of letting his brother know that he was home and safe, without having to strike up any sort of conversation. he was drained after most missions, had enough of speaking. but with you occupying the room next to his own now, he wouldn't dare disturb your well-deserved, peaceful slumber. az assumed with the past you'd endured, that you'd trained yourself to sleep light. not a sound, don't fuck this up, he'd think to himself, willing his shadows to silence his footsteps entirely. even with the suppressed steps, he still tightened every single muscle. stepping so slowly, he knew he must look ridiculous. if cassian ever saw this, saw him, he would never live it down. on several occasions, your heavy wooden door had unlatched on its own during the night, leaving just enough of a space between the frame and the door that azriel could see the beige drapes that fluttered lightly against your windows through it. your sweet shadow companion would leave az's silent side to dart through the crack, and return just as quickly to whisper cold, shivering against his master's ear. to deter the draft from chilling your bones any further, azriel would reach a scarred hand out to the doorknob, closing it as silently as possible - making sure to pull until he heard the slight click of the latch.

you'd often opted to eat your meals either in the library or in your room - the house setting out a plate and silverware for you wherever you'd decided to spend your time that evening. you didn't allow yourself to wonder what the members of rhysand's family must have thought of you - a secluded, timid female that went out of her way to avoid the members of a family that had tried so hard to give her a home, a place to heal. you'd always quickly push those thoughts to the back of your mind, wanting to focus on taking care of yourself, and not others for once.

tonight, you'd chosen the library. you'd recently begun a trio of books that you'd found on one of the overflowing shelves, and you were unable to put them down once you'd started. you didn't notice the time, didn't notice the mid-afternoon sun become dusk, making the sidra glow like wildfire. you did, however, notice the grumble of your stomach once it became evening. the light of day was gone - the library now filled with the warm glow of faelights, dim candles sitting in golden candelabras, and a crackling fire within the hearth across from you. you frowned to yourself, noticing now that the house hadn't placed dinner on the mahogany coffee table that sat in front of the fire. you glanced around, the thought of verbally speaking to the house itself feeling a bit silly. you briefly told yourself that asking the house may offend it - that was even more laughable. could you offend a house? while silently mulling over these questions, that sly, sleek little tendril of shadow slowly approached you from the door of the library. it curled and twisted its way to you, stopping at your right hand to weave its way around your wrist. you looked down at it curiously - it had never touched you before, had never gotten this close. you'd deduced at this point that it was one of az's shadows - figured that it was just curious about the new presence in the house. however, it began to twirl, trying its best to get your attention. "yes?," you whispered aloud. speaking of silly interactions, you thought briefly. it weaved through your fingers, as if it were trying to hold your hand, before darting towards the door and stopping in the doorway. it was waiting for you; wanted you to follow. you cocked a curious eyebrow, slowly closing your book to set it on the table before you. gathering your linen dress in your hands, you stood, hesitantly walking towards it. "where are we going, little one?," you whispered towards it. the shadow responded immediately by darting down the hall and to the left, towards the stairs. you quickened your steps to catch up to it, only to find it waiting on the landing of the staircase for you. once you spotted it, it darted away again, down one level. peering over the railing, you noticed it twirling towards the doorway of the dining hall. family dinner was taking place, and judging by the various muffled voices and laughter you were able to hear from the staircase, everyone was present.

you tiptoed quietly down the stairs, which you realized was probably pointless. you were sure at least one of them had already picked up on your approaching scent by now. the patient shadow still waited by the door for you, swirling and twirling happily. inviting you inside to dine with its master and his family. you took a deep breath, watching as the shadow darted back to azriel's shoulder, whispering something against the shell of his ear. immediately, az's head snapped towards the doorway, meeting your own nervous gaze before you had the chance to escape without being noticed. his presence felt grounding - it had since the first time you met him. he didn't speak much, but neither did you. he felt familiar, safe, and you wondered briefly if it was due to the affection you'd grown towards his shadow that checked on you dutifully since your arrival - an act that you assumed was azriel's doing.

your hands were clasped in front of you as you nervously played with your fingers. you surveyed the room, taking everything in: the relaxed family, the spread of delicious food on the table. azriel continued to watch you with a calm, yet indiscernible expression on his face. the corner of his lips turned up just slightly, trying to convey that it was okay, you could come in. rhysand noticed you next - he followed azriel's distracted gaze to the threshold of the door, finding your small frame standing there. "well, look who it is," rhys drawled politely, loud enough to quiet the rest of the family sitting around the table. everyone's gaze found you at once, and you swallowed thickly. your eyes darted back to azriel's in a silent plead, his hazel eyes feeling like a lifeline. az nodded once, gaze soft and kind. "why don't you sit down and join us? we were hoping you would," rhys stated sincerely, gesturing a sweeping hand out over the spread of food. “help yourself, y/n. if you don’t see something you’d like, the house will prepare a more suitable meal," he smiled warmly. as if on cue, a goblet of wine, plates, and silverware appeared in front of an empty chair - courtesy of said house itself. you smiled softly, at the high lord, at the house's display of affection towards you. "thank you," you spoke warmly, perhaps the first time most of them had ever heard you speak at all.

the empty seat that was now prepared for you was right next to azriel, and you slowly made your way towards it. you felt the prying gaze of everyone at the massive dinner table, and silence still encompassed the room. your eyes flitted around nervously, and azriel tracked the movement immediately. he cleared his throat once, a silent, stoic glare tossed to his family. they got the hint, and all fell back into comfortable conversation amongst each other - attention no longer all on you. you took your place next to him, staring down at your empty plate. your hands fell into your lap, your fingers fiddling together once more. azriel watched you from his peripheral, not wanting you to feel balked at.

he leaned over finally, speaking so only you could hear, "would you like to try the potatoes?", his tone was warm and soft - comforting. you darted your gaze over to him, only meeting his eyes for a moment. he was much more intimidating up close, and you were far too shy.

"they're my personal favorite," he continued on, the corners of his mouth curled upward. you let out a small breath of a laugh, playing with a stray thread on your gown. "yes, please," you whispered to him, eyes raking over the large elaborate plates and dishes set in the middle of the table, searching for the potatoes he spoke of. before you could reach towards the gold serving spoon that sat within the buttery dish, his hand had already grasped it, bringing a heaping serving right over to your plate.

"i've got it," he spoke softly, dishing your meal. you nodded once, cheeks heating at the action. it continued this way, azriel asking if you'd like to try each entrée and side, one by one. he'd offer his own personal opinions on each one, and you'd both laughed at the way he'd described the asparagus - "absolutely abysmal," he'd report, nose scrunching dramatically.

after your plate was adequately filled, az went back to his own food. you began to poke at yours. "thank you," you whispered over to him after a moment. he glanced over at you and replied with a friendly smile, and over his shoulder appeared a small tendril of a shadow - your meddling little companion that had also apparently conspired to bring you closer to its master. it twirled your way happily, looping through your fingers and up your arm. you laughed softly, meeting azriel's sparkling hazel eyes. he smiled fondly at his shadow, "i'm sorry, sometimes it feels like they have a mind of their own," he paused for a moment, watching the smoky tendril weave through your hair. "they like you," he whispered, meeting your eyes with a grin.

"don't apologize," you replied softly. "i like them too. i think they knew i needed company," you said pointedly, not dropping his gaze for the first time all evening. he nodded in understanding, plopping another bread roll onto your plate.

"well, welcome to the family, y/n," his words were soft, but the weight you felt in your chest was overwhelming. warmth, true warmth, spread through your limbs, snuffing out the chill that had left you constantly shivering.

[littlelightfish]

Holm nation... I have a heartbreaking announcement to make.

We didn't get to see this panels animated.

(I wanted to see Laios helping him, this one isn't the one this post is all about)

I feel it's important to his character enough that Kui decided to dedicate three panels about how he aproaches and resurrects Kabru.

He is used to resurrecting people, his party sucks at keeping themselves alive. He walks up to Kabru's corpse with a worried look on his face. Then he kneels besides him and takes a second to process what he is seeing. He is seeing a young man, Kabru, dead. It makes him feel unseasy, a bit of shock that he can't take the luxury of process at the moment. He doesn't want to look, so he closes his eyes and focuses on his spell. He is realizing he is the only one alive from his party (he doesn't know where Mick is or how he is). He is the last one standing. The reality of it all slaps him in the face.

The panel of him just... looking at the mess Kabru's corpse is was just... It was important. It talked about him as a character. "I'm not doing this because I want to, but because I have to". He doesn't has time for emotions. He has a job to do.

It's just three panels. But they provide lots of context between the ones that came before and after.

He doesn't just rubs Kabru's head because he's being afective. He does it because he cares. He does it out of relief. "As long as I'm here, any of you'll be dying soon. And I'll always be here. Don't worry." He is far from being OK after all this. Marillier died, Daya died, Kuro died, Kabru died, Rin died, Mick probably died too (but he doesn't saw it). He... By the time he was the only one standing, the fight was over, and he could alredy resurrect them. He wants to feel sad. To worry, to be concerned, to mourn. But he can't. It isn't necessary.

He is a cleric. He for sure has a notion of dead way different than anyone and feels a certain way about resurrection. "Dying is dying, even if you resurrect." It's a bug at the corner of his mind, he doesn't pay it any attention. He gets resurrected multiple times, he is gratefull he is alive. But seeing all his friends dead? And the most of them mutilated? Covered in their own blood? He has this desire to mourn. To cry the loss. To panic. "They are all dead."

He knows they'll come back. He has to make them come back. So he does. And they are alive. But they weren't a few seconds ago. And he just plays it off, he puts his calm face on as soon as there is another party member alive that could ask him what happened that it disturbed him so much. He throws all those sad feelings under the rug and focuses at the task at hand.

They're going to be ok, he just has to do his job: bring them back from death. They shouldn't even be dead. But they are. And he's going to fix it. No point on feeling sad about them dying if they can be alive soon!

I think the concern that the anime puts here it's something that could come close to what he feels inside. Those seconds are the only ones we see him looking something akin to worried for his friends.

But then...

His worry vanishes in seconds. The moment Kabru revives, he does it in such a "Kabru" way, that he tells himself: "This is fine, they're going to be back soon, nothing to worry about, I just have to hurry". He wants them all back to live. We know for sure that in his priority list there wasn't any "reviving Toshiro's party members first". He was going to make sure all his party, all his friends, were alive before even thinking of resurrecting other people if he still had the magic.

Those three panels they didn't animate are something that was there for a reason. To give depth to Holm. This last episode is definitely the one in wich he shines the most. He isn't the main character at all this episode, but he does the most important stuff on the background. He revives them all. This all lack of something if you don't show what Kuy drew on those panels.

Here he just... goes to work. He says: "lemme handle it" and he does. No concern, no worry, no, nothing. He just does. No thoughts.

It makes me sad. Those panels were important. :(

[aliteralsemicolon]

Technically, I didn't stay up.

Just you and Spencer being fluffy when he comes home from work and falling asleep in each other's arms.

Spencer Reid X GN! Reader. 

DISCLAIMER This story is completely SFW, minors do not interact regardless!  You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read. 

Word count: 1K See notes at end for authors note, any spoilers & update schedules.

I was listening to Margaret when I initially started writing this:

Spencer’s abnormal work hours were something you were entirely used to. You never knew when he was going to be called away and although he would text you when a case wrapped up, it was never a guarantee that he was going to make it home. Actually more often than not, he was usually hauled right back in for another case. What could you do? Serial killers didn’t really care about his convenience. Regardless, you always insisted on being present to greet him at the door, even if it meant testing your sleep schedule.

from: Spence ❤️

20:42 | The jet took off not too long ago. We should land in roughly five hours. Please don’t force yourself to wait up.

20:42 | I love you!

You were quick to respond to everything except the not waiting up part. Your plan hadn’t actually gone that smoothly, you’d fallen asleep on the couch not long after making yourself comfortable there. You didn’t hear him unlock the door. He took extra care to be as quiet as possible when abandoning his shoes and satchel at the entrance. He even put a lot of thought into making his steps as light as possible when he began to make his way to the bedroom, only to spot you curled up on the couch. 

He smiled to himself at the sight in front of him. The only lighting was a small lamp in the corner of the room, but to him, you were the brightest presence in the room. Your expression was neutral and your breaths shallow as you lay dead to the world. You looked so peaceful, he considered it to be almost criminal if he were to disturb you. He couldn’t just leave you there though. It wasn’t good for your body to be curled into a cramped position. 

Spencer made his way over to you, crouching down next to your face. He couldn’t help but admire whatever features were visible. He brushed a strand of hair out of your face and leaned in to kiss your forehead. “Honey?” he whispered when he pulled away. His voice was so soft. He didn’t want to disturb you, but he wanted you to be comfortable in your own bed. “Hmm?” Your brain registered his voice, but it took your body a second to register his presence.

Spencer still had a hand in your hair, lightly stroking it. Your eyes fluttered open momentarily before they shut again. “You’re back!” You mumbled groggily, reaching out to brush your fingers against his hand. “I am!” He whispered gleefully. Your other hand made its way to his face so you could stoke his jaw. You could feel a little bit of stubble coming in. Spencer’s ears perked up at the little giggle that came out of you when you dropped from the couch into his lap and wrapped yourself around him. 

“I’m sorry to wake you. I did tell you not to stay up.” His long arms swallow you into his embrace as he speaks. 

“Technically, I didn’t stay up.” You counter letting your hand make its way into the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Sleeping on a surface that isn’t firm enough can contribute to back pain and because the surface of a couch tends to be softer than a mattress, it might not offer enough support for your back. Also, falling asleep while sitting up on a couch could result in your head pushing forward, which puts stress on the neck. Sleep posture is an important predictor of stiffness, back pain, and neck pain, according to several studies.” 

“Thank you Doctor. I remember why I missed you so much.” You pull back as you speak. “Who else is going to be as concerned about my sleep posture as you?”

“I missed you too.” He scoffs in amusement and smiles into the kiss you lean in for. 

You nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck when you feel a yawn coming. “Let’s go to bed, okay?” He whispers, sensing your sleeping demeanour. 

“Only if I can take you with me.” You whisper into his skin. He huffs a small laugh as he pushes you off him so he can stand and offers his arms down to you. You grab them and he pulls you up. Neither of you let go of each other's hand as you walk into the bedroom. “I’m just going to brush my teeth first, then I’ll be right with you.” Spencer announces. Still ever the germaphobe.

“I’m gonna join you, that nap made my mouth all dry.” You follow behind him. Spencer grabs both of your toothbrushes and holds them out, as you grab the toothpaste and squeeze an equal amount on each brush. You then take yours out of his hand and the two of you begin brushing. You’re both trying to make up for his time away by leaning into each other, stealing glances in the mirror and smiling if you get caught. 

When you both finish up in the bathroom, you make your way back to the bedroom together. It's like both of you are incapable of being away from each other right now, even for a second. Spencer decides against changing into more comfortable clothes, wanting nothing more than to hold you. He joins you under the comforter, immediately pulling you as close to him as possible. 

Neither of you have enough energy in you for conversation right now, you’re still sleepy from your previous nap and Spencer is entirely drained from the case. Still, you acknowledge each other through light touches and kisses. Spencer’s hand now makes its way to your hair while you draw little patterns against his chest. 

‘I missed u’ 

‘I <3 u’

‘♡’

‘:)’

He doesn’t recognise the little messages, but he appreciates the feeling all the same. You begin drifting off into sleep, revelling in the warmth emitting from him. Spencer smiles when he hears light snores coming from you. He truly considers himself the luckiest man alive. You don’t hear it but before he drifts off himself, he makes his feelings known to the universe in a light whisper.

“I love you so much you know. I’m gonna marry you someday.”

Spoilers: Fluff, Domestic! Spencer, entirely fluffy & domestic. Literally a comfort blurb for the people who take hot showers for too long and just need a hug.

AN - Hey so sorry for any errors, I drafted this in like 20 minutes to make up for the fact that my originally planned story for today would not be complete in time. Enjoy this short blurb. I was in a salty mood and made an entirely angst blurb too, but decided fluff was what society needed today. Also sorry for the shitty fucking title, my brain is shutting down. Also side note - I’m a WHORE for domestic! Spencer. I just loveeeeee when everyday tasks become so cute and fluffy and romantic. PLEASE recommend domestic Spencer stories!!!

Update Schedule: Original plan drops Monday or Tuesday (Sunday or Monday night EST time). (soooo apparently I'm a liar)

Feel free to drop helpful constructive criticism, I’m always looking to improve. Remember to stay real and respectful :)

Thank you for reading!

[fastandcarlos]

Obsessed With You : ̗̀➛ Oscar Piastri

summary: how does it feel to be so in love with someone that you can't be away from them? allow oscar piastri to tell you

As yet another chuckle came from you, Oscar couldn’t help but watch on as you continued to read through your book, engrossed in the blossoming fairytale that was currently gripping you between two of your favourite characters. 

You were in your own little world as your eyes focused on the pages before you, unaware of the eyes that were glued to you from across the room. Oscar’s smile was wide as he noticed your expression change each time you encountered a new emotion. Happiness. Upset. Betrayal. He felt it all with you. 

Despite the many things surrounding him that could have kept him entertained, none of those things compared to you. Watching you enjoy the simplicity of sitting, cuddled up in your seat reading your book was an indescribable feeling for him. 

As you reached the end of your chapter you finally looked up from your book, reaching across the table to pick up your mug of tea. It was almost cold, your own fault for refusing to leave your book, but still you drunk it with a smile. 

It was as you came back into the room though that you felt the eyes that had been staring at you for the best part of twenty minutes. “Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked, finally meeting Oscar’s eyes, taking note of the shy smile on his face. 

His head shook as he realised that you’d caught him, feeling his cheeks begin to heat up. “I’m just watching you and wondering how I ever got so lucky to be yours.” 

A faint chuckle came from you as Oscar spoke, suddenly finding yourself unsure of where to look. At times you hated the effect that Oscar could have on you and his ability to always know the right thing to say.  

You didn’t quite know what to say to Oscar, opting to place your mug down and return to your book. You shuffled slightly in your seat to make yourself comfortable again, turning the crisp page of your book. It didn’t stop Oscar from watching you though, even if he didn’t quite realise that he was doing it. 

The next chapter soon had you gripped again, but that didn’t last long for long. After a couple of minutes, you felt a pair of hands wrap around your frame, lifting you up and swapping your place in your seat for a place in Oscar’s lap instead. “What are you doing?” You laughed up at Oscar. 

His grip was secure around your frame as he watched your thumb panic to mark your page and make sure you didn’t lose it whilst Oscar moved you around.  

“You’re impossible.” 

Oscar’s head shook as you settled against his chest, feeling him press a kiss to the top of your head. “I don’t want to be that far away from you any longer, I want to be right here by your side instead,” he whispered, thankful that you couldn’t see the wide smile that was on his face. 

A chuckle came from you as you placed your book down, sliding your bookmark in to make sure that you didn’t lose your page. “I wish sometimes that other people got to see just how needy you actually are.” 

Oscar couldn’t help it, to say he was obsessed with you was an understatement. He loved being in your company, hearing your voice, seeing you smile, feeling your arms wrap around his frame, he couldn’t get enough of it all. 

He knew he should’ve felt bad for disturbing your read, but selfishly he just couldn’t, he wanted to have you all to himself again and feel you right by his side. Oscar couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was that drew him to you so often, if he was honest, there were just too many things. 

As the two of you settled, his fingertips brushed delicately along your waist, his other hand on your legs that hung over the edge of Oscar’s lap. “I’ve been thinking, maybe we should read a book together? Like our own little book club just for the two of us,” Oscar whispered into your ear. 

Your eyebrows raised in surprise at his suggestion, you couldn’t remember the last time you saw Oscar pick up a book, but he always loved the expression on your face whenever you read one of your own. 

Your face made it seem like it was magic, a magic that he didn’t want to miss out on. With reading being something that you loved to do, Oscar wanted for it to be something that he enjoyed with you too. 

After a few moments your head tilted back to meet Oscar’s smile, seeing just how sincere he was from the look in his eyes. “You really want to read? I mean I’m sure that I could find some books that might interest the two of us,” you told him, watching as his head nodded in reply to your question. 

“You always support me and my hobbies, so I want to do the same for you,” he grinned, feeling your hand cup against the side of his face, stretching up as high as you could so that you were able to press a kiss against Oscar’s lips. 

A chuckle came from you as Oscar pulled you back for one more kiss. “Lando used to tell me that you were obsessed with me, and now I’m beginning to think that maybe he is.” 

“He is,” Oscar proudly told you, watching as your eyes rolled. “I’m so obsessed with you love that it actually hurts my heart, do you know how hard of a job it is being so madly in love with you?” 

You didn’t quite know what to say, shaking your head almost in disbelief back at Oscar, surprised by his sudden boldness and confession. 

“I’m being serious, even after all these years I can’t get enough of you,” Oscar added, keeping his eyes on you so that you could see just how open and honest he was being with you, “you’re just my favourite person in the world.” 

“I don’t know what to say,” you whispered, taken aback. Your heart raced as Oscar spoke, finding yourself feeling flushed and a little bit lost for words.  

“You don’t have to say anything, I just want to make sure that you always know how I feel about you,” Oscar assured you, kissing the top of your head once again. 

“You know that I feel the same, don’t you?” You asked Oscar, smiling in relief as his head nodded, knowing exactly how loved you made him feel. 

Oscar never imagined that one person could make him feel so many strong emotions. It overwhelmed him at times just how close the two of you were, he always dreamt about the sort of relationship that he saw in the movies, like the ones you read about in so many of your books, but he never imagined how true it would become for him.  

It was a feeling that he never took for granted, everyone told him what he had with you was special, but no one knew just how special it was aside from him.  

All the little things were the things he treasured the most, how you could lay together in the most comfortable silence and still feel yourselves smiling and your hearts racing with how close the two of you were together. 

They were all the feelings that Oscar knew he would never lose, quite simply because...he was obsessed with you. 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[eloves-writes]

🎮 with Lando Norris, I feel like that fits him the best as spicy as you feel like 💖💖

i agree it fits him well!! hope this is ok for you anon🫶

song lyric prompt: “touch me while your bros play grand theft auto” so high school ~ taylor swift 🎮

warnings: exhibitionism (recurring theme in my fics i know, let a girl live), thigh riding

minors dni

————————————————

when lando texted you to ask for a glass of water whilst he was streaming, you didn’t think much of it, filling a glass in his kitchen and knocking onto his gaming room door before entering. he briefly smiled at you when you walked in, concentrating heavily on the game he was playing. you heard voices coming from his console and assumed he was playing with friends, so you quickly placed the water on his desk and started to walk away as to not disturb them, but he instead used one arm to grab your waist.

“it’s ok, baby, stay,” he said, glancing away from the screen again for a second. he guided you onto his lap so his arms were either side of you holding the controller and you were straddling his thigh.

“hi y/n!” a voice said through the call, the others echoing after. you said hi back, feeling comfortable being so close to lando with your back pressed against his chest and his head resting on your shoulder so he could still see the screen.

he was pretty into the game, but after a while the pressure of his toned thigh against your centre was getting you a little bothered and there was only so much gaming you could watch without getting bored, so you experimentally grinded onto him just slightly, careful to keep the top half of your body still where the camera could see you. lando thought at first you were shifting to get in a comfier position, but when you did it again he realised what you were trying to do.

“needy, y/n?” he whispered directly into your ear so the microphone wouldn’t pick it up.

you tried not to blush, suddenly watching the screen intently as if his game was the most interesting thing in the world to you. he began to move his leg beneath you, flexing the muscles in his thigh and rocking you back and forth, enough to stimulate you but not enough that it looked like anything untoward was happening to the viewers of his livestream. you kept your eyes firmly on the screen and bit back the moans threatening to come out of your lips, especially as you felt his dick harden against your ass. he kept up his gameplay and lighthearted banter with his friends but you could hear in his voice that he was turned on by what he was doing to you in front of them. it turned you on too, an orgasm building in the bottom of your stomach until the waves of pleasure crashed over you and you came on his leg with great effort not to let it show on your face. lando slowed his movements as you came down from your high, conveniently finishing the round they were on so that he could drop his hand below the desk and rub your thigh as a silent token of appreciation and care. he agreed to one more round before they ended the stream, which you spent with your head tilted back to rest in the crook of his neck, in a state of post-orgasmic bliss. seemingly, every stream after that one lando conveniently forgot to get himself a drink beforehand, texting his pretty little girlfriend to bring one to him.

[oikasugayama]

YOU CATCH HIM M@STURBAT!NG pt. 2

MDNI, this is NSFW content for adults!!

pt. 1 Fyodor, Poe, Chuuya | pt. 2 Fukuzawa, Kunikida, Dazai | pt. 3, Ranpo, Akutagawa, Ango | pt. 4 Sigma, Mori, Tetcho | pt. 5 (finale) Atsushi, Nikolai

Fukuzawa

ok this one you did NOT expect. you've seen dazai get a hard-on at work, you've heard junichiro and naomi (NOT siblings though they grossly pretend to be) talking about their sex plans after work, but YOUR BOSS? THE PRESIDENT??

he's in his office palming his boner through his clothes when you open the door. you come in like always, using your shoulder to hold the door open as you turn and come in backwards so that the tray of tea you're holding doesn't get knocked over by thumping against the door.

you're almost across the room to his desk by the time you realize that there's a VERY DISTINCT tent in his yukata that he can't decide if he should push down with his hand or not--either way it's obvious that he's hard.

his face is flushed, he's shocked, embarrassed, and extremely apologetic.

you're frozen for a moment, but when he says your name and "i'm so sorry" you decide to pretend like you don't see anything. you put the tray down on his desk, pour him a cup of tea, and tell him to page for you if he needs anything.

you close the door behind you and have to take a moment to gather yourself. he's your boss so there's absolutely no way you were about to come onto him, but god he's so kind and handsome and his deep voice is just so fucking hot. you feel like a creep being there while he was trying to have a private moment, but he was at work, he should have known better than to touch himself when you were scheduled to bring his afternoon tea-- wait, did he do it on purpose? should you go back in? no. no he wouldn't have done that. it must have been an accident.

you tell yourself it must have been an accident and go back to work like nothing happened, though it's all you can think about all day.

Kunikida

he desperately needs to relieve stress after an incredibly tiresome and busy week. he just got back to his dorm, looking forward to two days off work. he wastes no time settling onto his couch, cracking open his laptop, and playing a random porn video (it helps him get the job done more efficiently because watching makes him cum faster)

he uses earbuds so he doesn't disturb his neighbors, unfortunately this means that while he's in the midst of it he doesn't hear you unlocking his door (he gave you the key for emergencies because you're responsible--you occasionally drop groceries off to him if you're making a trip out and he needs something, much like is happening right now)

you open the door and there he is, vest and shirt unbuttoned, pants and boxers pulled down just enough to get his cock out. one hand works over his length steadily while the other cups his balls. you gasp and drop the bag of groceries, turning and slamming the door closed behind you.

his eyes were closed, though, so he didn't notice until the slam of the door echoed past the sound of the video he watches. when he sees the bag on the ground he immediately knows what must have happened and he's so fucking embarrassed that he feels sick. he hopes you don't think he did it on purpose; he couldn't have known you would come over right now.

he tries to go to your dorm a few hours later, but you don't answer when he knocks, and you don't respond to his texts all weekend.

on monday in the ADA office he waits until you're the only two in the room, then he quietly approaches you and says he owes you an apology.

"for what?" you ask, playing dumb.

"i suspect that when you came by my dorm to drop something off you may have seen me doing something inappropriate. i sincerely apologize that you had to see that. i had no idea you would be coming over."

you take a few seconds to think of what to say, but eventually settle on "it's not inappropriate to touch yourself, kunikida. you're an adult, you can do what you want in your own home"

he blushes deeply, feeling warm all the way to his toes.

"that may be so, but regardless, i apologize that you had to see it. i hope we can forget about this soon."

"oh, I'll never forget," you say wistfully, turning away in your spinny chair. "it's burned into my eyes. every time i close them, there you are......."

Dazai

he's on the roof of the ADA building, lying in the middle instead of near the edge. he's staring up at the sky, pondering how small he is in such a vast universe.

and then he gets a random surprise boner and thinks, well i might as welllll.......

you were downstairs working when kunikida asked you to find dazai and make him go back to work. dazai tended to listen to you, after all.

you checked all of his usual spots--the couch, under his desk, under atsushi's desk, in the supply closet, in the cafe downstairs, and finally you went to the roof, hoping he wasn't sitting a hair's width from the edge again like he was the last time you found him up there.

when you open the door, you first notice that he's spread out on the ground with his head turned away from you and think maybe he's passed out--then you notice his hips buck up into his hand and his back arch up a little.

the wind carries the sound of his voice over to you, and you swear he just said your name.

"dazai?" you say meekly, and his head whips to the side, eyes wide in surprise as he sees you. he sits up quickly, turning away from you, using his coat to cover his crotch.

"um... kunikida... he wanted me to find you."

"...okay... please don't tell him what I was doing."

"I really, genuinely won't."

"...okay... do you, um... are you, um... did you hear what i, uh.. what i said when you... got here..."

"yeahhh..."

"shit..."

"hm... i didn't know you were into me, honestly," you say, shrugging.

"oh, yeah," dazai says, feeling very vulnerable since you caught him with his literal pants down. "ranpo told, like, everyone. i'm surprised you didn't, um... you didn't know?"

"no, i didn't know... i think you're cute, for what it's worth."

"oh?"

"yeah. you know, maybe we could talk about this another time? i don't feel like this is the most appropriate setting for this conversation."

"agreed... wait, so you're not, like, gonna run to HR or something, or-- i have a chance?"

"yeah, you have a chance. you're a fucking disaster, though..." you turn back to the door, but throw one more sentence over your shoulder. "oh, and dazai, you know we don't have an HR department."

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 8)

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

-

Now a nocturnal animal emerges into the daylight hours.

A week becomes two and your shoulders untense. It’s not something you notice at first because you’re used to an ever present strain between your shoulder blades and an ache in your jaw from grinding your teeth at night. Then a fortnight goes by without so much as a missive with your name on it floating across John’s desk or a stranger appearing in town after tracking you down, and you wonder if maybe the world really is big enough to hide in. 

It sure feels that way at times. The woods beyond the bounds of John’s property stretch out farther than the eye can see and even walking it feels like you could disappear into another realm. Old spruces shoot up high into the clouds, and deeper into the woods, huge rock formations grow more and more prominent as you near the mountains. John takes you through the woods on horseback, following the rough trails carved into the dirt by a century of wagons and carts using the same path. The footprints of a different time. 

Up in the trees, birds warble and chirp, talking to one another in songs that you’ve never heard before. A woodpecker drills into the side of a tree. Pinecones snap out of the upper branches and drop to the forest floor. 

There is only a single trail and it’s easy to lose. You grow a bit nervous when John takes you off the trail and deeper into the woods, but he does so with the confidence of a man that knows these woods like the back of his hand. You go quiet when he stops Buttercup to let a herd of deer wander by, the stragglers hurrying to catch up with the group, throwing the two of you nervous glances before they disappear into the thicket. 

“Should we be out this far?” you ask in a whisper, reluctant to disturb the silence. Though the woods are full of animals that bleat, chirp, chatter, and hoot, the sound of your own voice feels preternaturally loud and shrill. 

“We won’t get lost, darlin’. I know my way around,” John reassures you, curling an arm around your waist to hold you to him. These days, you hardly worry about tumbling off the horse. Not with him at your back anyway. 

“That wasn’t really my worry,” you mumble, trailing off.

“Then what’re you getting all worked up about?”

“Aren’t there wolves out here? Or bears?”

He snorts, the sound making you jolt. You don’t topple over because he has such a firm hold around your waist. “They don’t usually come this close to town. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

“That sounds like something mothers tell their children to stop them crying,” you say flatly. You draw your legs up automatically when John directs Buttercup through a shallow basin, a shortcut back home. It makes you anxious for a moment, but the water barely goes up to her ankles, so you relax when you realize that you’re in no danger of being swept away by the current.

“That doesn’t mean a bear or wolf can’t wander by, but it’s rare.”

“And there it is.”

You can feel the heat of his glower on the back of your head. “We could spend the night out here if you want to see for yourself.”

At that, you shut your mouth. Even if he were to prove his point, you have no interest in camping out in the woods now that you’ve become accustomed to the luxury of a soft bed. Granted that you’re forced to share that same bed, still you’ve never slept half as well as you do these days. You wake up rested after nine hours of blissful shut eye, a sleep so deep that your dreams only come in half-remembered flashes. Often they involve the man you wake up wrapped around, and for that you’re grateful that they remain submerged. 

A new desire has started to burrow its way into the back of your mind in recent days. It starts out as a thought so brief that you hardly notice it before it skitters away. 

And then it lingers. 

You wake up in the middle of the night hot, sweat dripping down the nape of your neck and a fire burning in your loins, a red-hot coil wound around itself, fit to burst. Pulsating. At some point throughout the night, you must have thrown a leg around John’s waist because it rests there now, your hand planted in the middle of his chest and your sex all but rubbing up against his thigh. Under your hand, you can feel his heart pump strong and steady.

You hold very, very still, waiting for him to wake. But John sleeps on, his palm loose where it rests along the curve of your hip, fingers curling into the flesh of your backside. 

You can hardly look at him these days without shaking. You’ve come to fixate on the sway of his hips when he walks and the flecks of silver in his beard. The grooves in his weathered hands. The way your head fits in the palm of his hand when he cradles it to his chest. The fond glimmer in his eyes that shines the brightest when he puts his hat on your head and it slips past your eyes, too big for your head. 

When you tip it up in order to see, the folds around his eyes become more pronounced with the force of his smile.

“There you are, bug,” he says, taking the hat off your head to set it back on his and reeling you in for a kiss. 

Bug, love, honey, darling. The constant flux of endearments makes your head spin. John never calls you by the name on your marriage license. It’s like that name means nothing to him, cast away at the first opportunity and replaced by an endless stream of pet names.  

He hasn’t touched your sex since making you come on the porch swing the week before. He pulls you into a chaste embrace at night, the only evidence of his own desire being the stiff shaft nestled against the small of your back in the early morning hours, which he takes care of on his own in the bathroom downstairs after pressing a kiss to your cheek. You feel robbed of something, though you don’t know quite what. 

You’re tempted to offer your help, but you don’t know exactly what that would entail. Inexperience and fear of rejection hold you back, stay your tongue. In the two weeks you’ve been married, he hasn’t once tried to pin you down and rut between your thighs like you expected and dreaded that very first night. 

Now that that time has passed, you don’t know how to initiate that moment again. 

John promises to teach you how to ride a horse. You can’t see a reason to protest, much to your chagrin. Despite your apprehensions, even you can’t deny that it would be a helpful skill. A train only goes one way after all, confined to a single track. A horse has no such laws to obey.

The thought stays nestled at the back of your mind as the days continue on.

You flounder around in the kitchen on the day that John invites his deputies over for supper. You’ve met the big one—Simon—now a small handful of times, each encounter marked by a silence that sucks the air out of the room when he turns his gaze on you and holds it. Perhaps you’ve simply ascribed too much importance to his person, given that every time you’ve seen him, your life has changed irrevocably. His presence is always followed by revelation it seems. The archangel of vicissitude. A harbinger of uncertain times.

The other two are new. John introduces you to them when you bring out the cutlery and crockery to set the table, and you nearly go cross-eyed when they reach across the table at the same time to offer their hands. You go to meet them halfway, but flinch when John brings his hand down on the table with enough force to make the silverware jump.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he apologizes to you first before turning his glare on the other two. “That ain’t proper, boys. You wait for the lady to offer her hand first—you don’t treat a woman like she’s a mutt you’re teaching to shake.”

“Ah, sorry, hen,” the one on the left says, his voice a thick Scottish brogue like a purr. He’s possibly the handsomest man you’ve ever met, but there’s something dangerous and wild in his eyes. When he smiles, it curls up in a roguish sort of way that makes you falter, like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. “Dinnae mean to offend. No’ often we get ta meet such a pretty lady.” 

“Sorry—” the one on the right apologizes in a voice far more earnest than his counterpart’s. “And sorry for him. We think he was raised by wolves.”

“What’s yer excuse then?” the Scot sneers, knocking his knee into the other man’s under the table. “Dinnae see ye waitin’ for her fuckin’ hand like a gentleman—apologies, hen.”

“Christ,” John sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. 

Simon stays silent at the other end of the table, but the whole table jumps when he aims a kick at the Scott’s leg. He hisses and blurts out a word in a language you’ve never heard before, the word unmistakably vitriolic. He clutches at his shin and shoots a nasty look at Simon, though he doesn’t make a move to retaliate. 

“Name’s Kyle. Kyle Garrick,” the other introduces himself, and you finally reach across the table to offer your hand. His hand is warm against yours when he takes it, dark skin burnished in the candlelight. There’s something inviting about him; something about his eyes, so dark that you almost fall into them. Thick lips curl up into a smile. “And this here is Soap.”

You frown. “Soap?”

The man in question runs a hand down his front, emphasizing the cut of his shirt and the way it clings to the muscle of his chest. “‘Cause of how well I clean up.”

Simon barks out a laugh at that. The sound comes so sudden and sharp that it startles you. “You got it ‘cause your mum had to wash out your mouth with soap.”

It’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him and you can only stare wide-eyed at the lot of them as they dissolve into bickering and squabbling after that. It’s almost a relief to head back into the kitchen to finish cooking. 

Dinner is a similar messy affair, punctuated by the sound of Soap practically gnawing the meat off the bone. He only apologizes when John barks at him for making a mess, more food on the floor around him than on his plate, but his table manners don’t last very long. John doesn’t seem so much embarrassed on their behalf as annoyed, but it’s an annoyance that comes with an aftertaste of warmth. You can tell without asking that they’ve known each other for years. 

There’s room enough in you for food and envy. Back home you had friends. Never close friends, but acquaintances at least. Maids you could recognize by face. Small talk while ascending single-file up the servants’ staircase. Perhaps little more than that. You’d never been particularly close to any of them, but how could you? You worked from morning ‘till night, up and down the stairs, moving in the shadows. Never making too much noise lest your employers take notice of you. 

Like he did.

You shake it off. That’s no matter now. You’re hundreds of miles away and living under a new name. A married woman, to the county sheriff no less. It only sometimes hurts your heart to think of how lonely you’d been. 

When they leave, you stand at the window and watch as they disappear into the black of the night, Simon at the front of the pack, his torchlight leading the way. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt recedes the farther they get. 

His hands warm your shoulders. You don’t know how long he’s been there, standing behind you while you stared out the window after the boys. All you know is that his hands are warm, and the kiss he presses to the back of your head makes you arch back into him, unconsciously gravitating closer to him. Needing to be near. 

In bed, you curl your fingers against his chest. On a rough exhale, you wake. You dream still of something terrible that happens somewhere else, in another city, in an old life. His heartbeat lulls you back to sleep.

John takes you to the local seamstress to have you fitted for a pair of pants and suddenly you’re out of excuses. They fit you comfortably, like a second skin, and you find yourself pulling at the legs at your final fitting as if to stretch out the material. The seamstress nearly jabs you with a pin and glares up at you until you stop fidgeting. 

You come to terms with it when he brings you into the stables and makes you fetch the saddle from where it rests on its stand. It’s heavier than you expected. You stumble back over to where John now has Buttercup standing in the middle of the stable, holding her by the lead fixed to her bridle. 

“I don’t know if—” you start, trepidation climbing up your chest until it grips you by the throat. For as many times as you’ve ridden her, you’ve never done it alone. 

John fixes her lead to a post and walks over to you, taking the saddle from your hands and letting it drop to the ground. He cups your face in both hands to tilt your head up. “Hey, honey. We’re not doing much of anything today, alright? Just a walk around the paddock so you get used to sitting on Buttercup on your own. I’m not gonna smack her ass and send you down the trail at full tilt..”

That gets a laugh out of you. “You promise?”

He smiles. “Promise, darlin’.”

And he keeps it. The only thing you do that day is learn how to tack a horse and how to properly mount and dismount her. The latter part of the lesson is devoted to you trying to find your balance while John leads the two of you around the pen at a leisurely pace. He calms you down when he sees you grow too stiff, stopping to coo and rub your thigh until you gradually relax. It’s heartwarming until Buttercup begins to tense up too for a reason unbeknownst to you and you watch in righteous fury as John calms her down the same way.

John gets you a hat to keep the sun from beating down on you, but there’s little he can do about the soreness between your thighs and the stiffness in your legs the next day. All you can do is hiss and moan in pain, hobbling around the house until he forces you down into a chair and hikes up your dress in order to apply an arnica salve to your inner thighs. 

It’s a relief and an affront at the same time. The duality of man. The salve soothes much of the ache, but you twitch nervously around John for the rest of the day, the memory of him pinning you to the chair and forcibly spreading your thighs haunting you. The lingering ache in your core is just the salt in the wound. 

It rains another day. A light drizzle while the sun is still out.

Every day you sit and you think, will it be today? And then the wash basins are emptied out in the field, the horses are taken out to the paddock, you pin the laundry up on the line to dry, and John presses a farewell kiss to your forehead when he leaves you with Kate and nothing happens. Every inch of you waits for more, anticipates more. Throbs when he leaves you wanting, only a chaste kiss and a squeeze around your waist before he’s off. 

You can feel it coming to a head. An itch you can’t shake. 

That day comes with another ache you can’t shake. 

“Please,” you beg, clasping your hands in front of you. “One day of rest. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t do this anymore, John.”

John snaps the lead in his hands. “Let’s get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”

You hang your head low on the march over to the stables, John taking up the rear like he expects you to bolt. An executioner’s walk. The thought of escape has never seemed further away—not even because of its feasibility, but because all you want to do is lie down and rest.

���You can quit your moping,” he says as you tack up Buttercup, a pout on your lips. “Got something special for you today.”

That makes you perk up, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t specify what that is. Anticipation mounts in you when he helps you up onto Buttercup and then climbs up behind you himself. He steers her away from the paddock and towards the trail leading into the woods, the sun at its zenith now, illuminating everything as far as the eye can see.

You’ve ridden this trail before. A week ago, with John at your back as he is now. Through the fields and over the hills until the trees start to number in the tens and then the hundreds, no clear delineation between plain and forest. Simply there and then everywhere.

By now, after hours of sun beating down on the path, the trail is mostly dry, yesterday’s rain long since having sunk into the earth. You think it’d still be a tough hike on foot, but on horseback you cover acres of land at a brisk pace, Buttercup hardly breaking a sweat. You cross paths with a small group traveling by horse and wagon, but John breaks off from the path not too long after that, steering Buttercup deeper into the wilderness, where the only gullies are the ones carved out by years and years of rainfall. 

You only see it when the land begins to dip and you’re forced to hold onto the horn and tighten your thighs around the fenders to keep steady. At the bottom of a hill, a small stream opens up into a larger river, narrowing out at the other end where the land rises again and the water can only trickle over the pebbly riverbed. On the other side, a rocky outcropping cuts the stream off from view.

“Is this where you used to come to bathe?” you ask, recalling an earlier conversation.

John sighs. “Thought I’d take you for a swim as a treat, but if you’d rather just tease me—”

“Well now, let’s not be hasty,” you say, already trying to dismount on your own, eyes glued on the stream glimmering in the sunlight. John chuckles, keeping you pressed to him until he guides Buttercup under a tree for shade and dismounts first, helping you down after him. 

All you want to do is wade in the stream up to your ankles, so that’s what you do. Boots kicked off, Buttercup relaxing in the shade of a tree, John standing by the water’s edge with his hands on his hips and watching you tiptoe over the smooth rocks below. You roll up your pant legs, but eventually you feel the ends grow damp as you venture farther out. At its deepest, you would probably sink up to your waist.

“Don’t you want to swim?” John asks from somewhere behind you.

You splash around a bit, kicking your feet through the water. “Hard to do that with clothes—”

When you turn back around to face him, your eyes dart down momentarily at the sight of skin before you squeak and whirl back around, sending up an arc of water. Twice now you’ve seen him naked. 

“You’ve no clothes on,” you state, bluntly enough that it almost sounds stupid. 

You hear the water splash and ripple when he takes his first step in. “Right—you better think about doing the same if you don’t want to ride home soaking wet.”

“I was perfectly fine just getting my feet wet,” you say indignantly.  

“We came out here to swim, not get your feet wet,” John laughs. You stiffen when his hand comes down on your shoulder, conscious of the fact that your husband is standing right behind you, entirely divested of his clothes. “So best get to steppin’.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Oh, honey,” he says pityingly. “Yes, I can.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you make your way back to shore, careful not to allow yourself a glimpse of him. Your boots are stacked beneath the shade of another tree, John’s clothes folded neatly beside them. You strip slowly, attentive to the world around you; though unlikely, it’s not impossible that someone might wander by. Your only consolation is that John is still within sight, though you keep your back to him because in recent days, you’ve developed a hunger for him that even now makes your stomach hurt.  

Though the air is warm, you shiver. When you turn around with your arms crossed over your breasts to hide them from sight, you find John wading in the river up to his waist. You’ve seen him like this once before, the hearty body of a man in his prime. Sturdy and strong. The hair on his chest is darker than that on his head, wet too from the dip he must have taken when your back was turned. His hair is slicked back too, a wet hand combing it back. 

“Come on, darlin’,” he calls, beckoning you forward with his hand.

The water is a cold shock when you step in past your ankles. Ice cold tendrils wrap up your legs, sucking the warmth from you. 

You suck in a soft breath when he pulls you into his arms and heaves you up, big hands gripping under your thighs. Your breasts press against the wet skin of his chest, nipples already pebbled. The river is deeper than you assumed; John pulls you deeper in until it pools around your waist and then your chest. Cold enough that you shiver until John dips his head down and the kiss he presses to your lips melts you from the inside out. 

You can’t escape the intimacy of water-slick skin. When John drags you up his chest, your nipples brush over his and the shudder that passes through you is violent, toe-curling. You know that he can feel the heat of your core even underwater. With your legs wound around his waist, every inch of you is plastered to his front. Even your fingers play with the ends of his hair, arms draped over his shoulders. You can’t look away.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, breath hot on your face. “Eyes on me.”

As if you could look anywhere else. 

He reaches down under the water to readjust himself and you gasp when his shaft is suddenly right there, trapped between his belly and your heat. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to coitus, his glans nestled between your folds. You’d only have to shift slightly for him to slip right in. The thought makes your breath quicken. 

He doesn’t make a move to take you though, even knowing that he could. How easy it would be. How it’s due to him. Your husband that’s waited a fortnight to take you as his own. John kisses you until each slick pass of his lips grows sloppier, clumsier—his lips barely parting from yours before they’re on you again, rendering you a creature of base needs. 

But his hands don’t shift from your backside where he holds you in place. His fingers dig into the flesh hard enough to bruise, but they don’t move to part your folds to make room for his manhood. You expect him to—practically yearn for it and squeeze him around the neck all the harder when he subverts your expectations, doing no more than letting you grind your heat against the base of his shaft. 

“John—John, please,” you beg, mindless for what. You don’t know what you’re asking for. 

“What d’ya need, darlin’?” he asks into your mouth, stealing your answer with another kiss. 

You fall under the swell of another wave. When the root of his cock glides over your clit, your core clenches on nothing, a sob half-bitten off in your mouth, ripped from your chest. 

It doesn’t matter how close to him you get—he gives you nothing. The heat could very well burn you from the inside out. Cold water caresses your skin as it flows past, but the center of you runs so hot that you hardly notice it. 

When he hikes you higher up against his chest, you clench your fingers in his hair, whining when he takes your nipple into his mouth. Your gasp comes out sharp and hurt when the coarse bristles of his beard rub rough against your breast. He sucks at your breast tender at first, gentle, eyes half-lidded like his mind has gone somewhere else, but there’s a glint in his eye that grows wild and dark, that turns him rough. You don’t know what to do except shake and let him use you how he wants. 

Desperation nips at your heels, urging you up the length of him. If you had more nerve, you’d reach down and grasp him under the water, notch the head of his member against your sex and sink right down on him. You need him like you've never needed anything before. Every part of you aflame, searing hot under the sun at its highest point; right overhead, right on top of you. 

His teeth sink delicately into your areola, tongue lapping over your nipple to soothe the hurt, and suddenly, you break.

“Please—” you gasp, wrenching his mouth away from your breast and whimpering when he resists at first, glaring up at you like he might bite. “Please, John—I can’t take it. I need you.”

His eyes darken, the pupil swallowing everything up. “Need me where, wife? Here?”

A hand dips between your thighs, pointer finger gliding over your sex, plump with blood. So tender that your mouth hangs open on a whine when he touches you. 

“Y-yes,” you whimper, gaze swimming. 

John’s breath comes out in a harsh, ragged pant. Completely undone in a way you’ve never seen before. “Get out, darlin’. I’m taking you home. Gonna give you what you need.”

[slushycoookie]

9:30pm ~ Logan Howlett x Fem! Reader

✩ Word Count: 1.8k

✩ Content: Fluff, you and Logan take a night to relax, bathe together, you wash his hair, etc. You also do face masks and each other nails (more like Logan does yours). Hairdresser! Reader.

✩ A/N: Just wanted to do something sweet and wholesome with him. This man deserves to relax and take a breather. Enjoy!

Masterlist | Commissions

A long sigh escaped Logan's lips when he dragged himself into the apartment. Duffel bag filled with his cut of the mission was immediately dropped on the floor.

To say he was tired was an understatement.

It didn't stop him from searching for you, though. You weren't in the kitchen, but he saw a note on the fridge with a cute smiley face telling him there were leftovers. Logan checked the bedroom, but you weren't there either.

A faint sound of classical music came from the bathroom, along with your light hums. Logan's shoulders automatically relaxed when he knocked on the door.

“Sugar? I'm back.”

When you opened the door, your face lit up when you saw him. “Welcome back!” You went for a hug, but Logan stopped you, seeing your clean clothes compared to his worn suit.

“Wait, I don't wanna get you dirty.”

You suck your teeth and go for it anyway, hugging him tight around his neck. He doesn't get annoyed at how stubborn you are when he hugs you tighter, missing you.

“I was about to take a bath.” You open the door wider so he can see the water for the bath, as well as your beauty kit for extensive self-care. “You wanna join me?”

How could he say no to that?

You helped him get the suit off. At one point, you were fighting with the belt because it was looped around his waist. Logan chuckled at your struggle before coming to your rescue. You put his suit to the side to wash it later, then removed your own clothes, creating an odd pile in the corner.

With low music in the background and an arm wrapped around your waist, the two of you relaxed in the tub, surrounded by bubbles. Your head was on his chest while he was against the wall. The silence between the two of you occupied the space—quiet enough to fall asleep in the bathroom.

“How was the mission?” You ask, voice soft as if you didn’t want to disturb the serene atmosphere.

Logan groans while recalling the mission. He went with Wade and Domino to deal with an arms dealer who obtained vibranium weapons. The mission wasn't difficult until Wade got his leg chopped off. It set the mission back as Logan and Domino had to wait for his leg to grow back. He wanted to rip Wade's other leg off, frustrated that his partner let that happen, but he knew it would keep you further away from him.

“I would've been home earlier if that didn't happen.”

“It's okay.” You kiss his knuckles. Logan still admits to tensing up whenever you're near where his claws come out. Afraid they'd have a mind of their own and hurt you. But he reveals in your warm touch. “I'm glad you're home safe.”

Logan doesn't let go of your hand, returning the favor when he kisses your inner palm, “How was your day?”

You went over your day at work. How it was decent until the middle of the day when a man was rushing you for a haircut. You were okay with a customer being on a deadline, but he was rushing you for things that shouldn't be rushed, like washing and blow-drying his hair. Plus, he complained about the seemingly reasonable price for a haircut.

“Want me to kill him for ya?”

“No, not yet.” You snort a little, “It was just a little annoying.”

Logan holds you closer, “I won't hesitate to do it.” He smiles against your head at your amusement.

“I know.”

After enough lounging, you two start washing up, taking turns washing each other's bodies. Logan takes the washcloth and drags it across yours, getting the hard-to-reach areas like your back. He's determined to wash every inch of your body while you protest, saying you can wash yourself up. He knows you can, but he prefers to do it.

Logan knows your routine by heart anyway. When he does join you in the shower to fool around, he takes in your washing habits. Using a bar of soap to get rid of the dirt and then a body wash. He sees the lather form on your skin, making sure you're squeaky clean.

Once he’s done, you take over, running the cloth against his body. You're straddling him, making sure his face is clean. You move to his shoulders before pausing. Logan sees you lean in, taking a quick sniff of his hair.

“Ugh, even your hair smells like sweat.”

“I know. Don't worry about that-”

“Too late; I'm washing your hair, too.”

Logan sighs. Nothing could get past you.

He holds in a scowl as you start scrubbing his hair, bubbles forming around him.  At least the scent of mahogany was nice, not too overbearing on his nostrils. You kiss his cheek for comfort was also a bonus.

You two take turns drying each other off. Logan takes this opportunity to try and cop a feel under the excuse of making sure you were dry everywhere. You counteract by pinching his bottom cheek, earning a teasing scowl.

“Let’s do face masks.” You suggest as he’s rubbing lotion on your body.

“You talking about that green shit you put on your face?”

“They're not always green, but yeah.”

Logan grunts, focusing on making sure the lotion is rubbed into your skin. He admires how you take in his hands, appreciating when he doesn’t miss a spot on you. Your chest, arms, torso, thighs, legs.

“So?” You push further when it's your turn, running your hands across his hairy arms and chest.

He softly groans at your soft hands, “What do they even do exactly?”

“It rejuvenates your skin, making it glow.”

“I can think of better alternatives.”

Logan leers at you, rubbing the lotion along his legs, and you roll your eyes. “You just got back from a mission.”

“That’s never stopped me before.” You shoot him a look, and he sighs, “Fine. Let's do it.”

He prefers you being naked in the apartment, but he keeps quiet when you throw on panties and one of his shirts. He notices you’re practically matching once he puts on his tank top and boxers, joining you back in the bathroom. He holds completely still when you put the face mask on him, pressing against his skin to make sure it's still. Logan gets a whiff of peaches as you put yours on.

“Smells good.”

“It does.”

Clearly, you don't need help when you put yours on, a pink sheen across your skin.

Logan snorts at how ridiculous he looks when looking back in the mirror. “How long we gotta leave these on?”

“About fifteen minutes.” You hold his hand, observing his nails. “We should cut your nails too.”

He snatches his hand away, “They’re fine.”

“Yeah, right.”

Usually, when Logan comes home from a mission, he relaxes by grabbing a beer, lounging in his pjs, and hanging out with you for the rest of the night. He didn’t think after taking a bath with you, he ended up getting a face mask and his nails trimmed. Yet, you pull out your nail kit, instructing him to hold out his hands.

“You know this will give Wade some more ammunition, right?”

“Only if I paint them.” You freeze momentarily, “Can I paint them-”

“No.”

“I'll call Laura and have her convince you.”

Logan scoffs, seeing through your bluff. “You're not calling her.”

You playfully pout before continuing to file down his nails, “They're not gonna be as pretty.”

“They will be if you're doing them.” He grins at you, holding back a smile as you keep going. Logan watches you, taking in your eyes filled with concentration, brows scrunched. He does his best to not move for you. Although, he wasn’t sure he liked the feeling of you filing his nails.

“You want me to do yours?”

“Do you know how?”

“I don't have a damn clue.” He admits, “But it gives me an excuse to touch you more.”

You bit your lip, holding back at how flustered you were getting at his words. Still waiting for the time to remove the masks, it was your turn when you sat on the bed. Logan tried to hold your hand gently, listening to your instructions on how to do your nails. He asked for your opinion multiple times to ensure your nails were correctly filed down.

Once he got the word of approval, he took it a step further, grabbing your kit and seeing the rows of nail polish colors you had.

“Wait a minute, I can’t do yours, but you wanna do mine?”

“You got a problem with that?”

You tsk and grab the kit from him, searching for a decent color to put on. You end up picking a silver color, reminding you of his claws. Logan admires the color before crouching in front of you. For some reason, he’s a little nervous, thinking back to how calm and collected you are doing other people’s nails. You encourage him by saying to take it slow.

“Why is the brush so fucking small?” He complains when twisting off the top.

“You know our nails are small, right?”

Logan shakes his head and lets out a shaky breath. He starts with a thumb, swiping the brush across it. It wasn’t bad. He only managed to get the sides a little bit. He does it again and feels his heart swell with confidence when your nail looks decent.

“It looks good, baby.”

“Yeah?” He perks up, and you giggle.

“Yeah.”

Logan does the rest of your nails, taking his time to avoid making a mess. He managed to get the sides a few more times, but they looked really good.

To make sure your nails matched, he unleashed his claws. You gaped at how the color was identical. And that makes his heart soar.

“Think I’m good enough to be your assistant now?”

“Hmm, come back to me after you’ve had more practice.” You kiss him for thanks and hold your nails out to dry.

When it was time to remove the masks, Logan did yours first. Pulling yours off wasn’t much of a struggle, although you did flinch a bit as the mask clung to your skin. His eyes went wide, seeing your face glow under the intense bathroom light.

“Damn.”

“See? I told you.”

He pulls his own off in one motion, ignoring the slight pain from some hairs that were removed. He checks himself out in the mirror, clearly seeing a difference in his skin. Logan didn’t want to admit this in front of you, but he wanted to put on more of those masks.

As always, you see right through him, “Ooh, just wait until I tell Laura.”

“As long as you don’t tell Wade.”

[babygorewhore]

Daddy issues

After your dad is arrested, you try and beg for his job back. But Rafe Cameron decides another way for you to help your father. And his arrangement is different than you imagine.

Warnings! Daddy kink! Talks of violence! Slight reference to abuse! Choking! Blow job! Rough unprotected sex! Breeding kink! Virginity loss! Dirty talk!

You didnt know if you were more angry or surprised when you got the call from the officer that your dad was arrested and currently in jail for assault. You were finished working your late shift at the restaurant when your phone rang.

You screamed in your car on the way to the station. Your dad was a dead beat. An asshole who didn’t know how to fucking control his temper. Daddy dearest also liked to get loud with you, throw things when he didn’t get his way and one time he slapped you in the face.

You slapped him back and threatened to slash his tires. But the threat was empty considering he needed to work, which you had no idea how he kept his job at the docks while working for Rafe Cameron. It used to be his father Ward until his suicide. You’d met him often while picking your dad up, given you had to share a car.

He was…polite you could say. But he was also scary. He glared at everyone and he was short tempered. You usually heard him snapping or yelling if something wasn’t done right. Your dad complained about how strict he was.

But his status and wealth made everyone obey him and intimidated you. His attractiveness however was on another level. His height made you feel small and his blue eyes cut through people.

You slammed the door at the station and went to the desk. After signing in, you tapped your foot impatiently as an officer came up to you.

“Are you…?”

“My dad is here. He just got arrested.” You ground out. You hated being here. She nodded and looked at paperwork in front of her.

“Are you here to post bail?”

“I’m here to see if there’s any way we can clear this up as a misunderstanding.” You tried to plead but she shook her head.

“Ma’am, he attacked a man at a stoplight. He beat him up to the point he lost one of his teeth.”

You pressed your head against your hand. Jesus Christ it was worse than you thought. “How much is bail?”

She looked again at the paperwork. “Looks like we’re at 6,000 dollars.”

“What? I thought the bail was lower than that!” You shrieked.

“Ma’am. He also had multiple charges. Public intoxication, disturbance and assault. He caused a lot of trouble. I suggest you alert his job tomorrow. But until then, he’s going to spend at least 60 days in jail.”

You started crying. You couldn’t help it. It hurt so much. You couldn’t get a break. And now you’d have to face Rafe Cameron and face the humiliation of your dad being in jail.

You cried on and off the next day as you had to switch your schedule to the evening and make the phone call to your dads manager about his current situation. It was immediate termination and you broke down even harder in your bedroom. You refused to take his phone call, afraid you’d explode on him.

As you got ready for another dreaded work shift, your phone started ringing to a number you didn’t recognize. Hesitantly, you answered.

“Hello?”

“Your dads in jail, huh?” You immediately froze. It was Rafe’s voice. How did he-well he was capable of finding anything out.

“I-um. Yes. And he can’t work for you anymore. But if you’ll please reconsider. I know he’s a piece of shit but this is the only job he’s lasted out and we desperately need the money. I’m trying to get a car and we have to share one. I know this is probably pointless but I can’t help but try. So please, please take him back.” More tears came and you felt like a total cry baby but you pushed through.

You expected him to laugh but instead silence met you.

You bit your lip hard enough it bled.

“Meet me at my house. I’ll text you the address. I have a proposition for you.”

“Why can’t you tell me over the phone?” Your stomach tightened.

“Do you want me to help you or not?”

“Yes. Of course. I’ll be there.”

“Good girl.”

You set the phone down but seconds later his address came through in a text and your breath stopped short. He wanted to see you after work.

Five minutes before closing and after you finished cleaning, the drive to Rafe’s house wasn’t that far and now you knocked on his door. When he answered, you tried not to reveal how much you found him attractive. His hair was in his face and his eyes were glazed as he looked down at you. His fingers twitched and you imagined what he was doing with that hand…

Rafe gestured with his head for you to come in and you followed him inside the massive penthouse. He had everything you imagined. Expensive furniture, floors and lights.

You followed him to the kitchen where he pointed to the bar stool. “Have a seat.” He muttered.

You obeyed and watched as he circled the island in the center of the room. “So. You wanna save your dads job?”

“Yes. I’m willing to do anything-“ You stopped short when a smirk fell on his face.

“Anything?” Rafe challenged. “It looked like you hated him whenever I saw you talk to him.”

“It’s complicated.” You replied and his smirk grew into a cruel smile.

“Looks like someone has daddy issues.” Rafe countered and you crossed your arms.

“I-well when you put it that way-“

“I’m just bringing up what you’re telling me. Your dad beats the shit out of someone. He went to jail-and now you’re doing anything you can to fix it. Tell me if I missed anything.” Rafe’s voice was low and you hated that he was right.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound pushy. I’m just in a tight spot.”

“Oh I’m sure you’re in a…tight spot.” His meaning was clear and you swallowed.

That was the exchange.

“Look at you. Being a little smart girl and figuring it out. I’m gonna get to the point. You want me to take him back? Bail him out? I get to fuck you. Anywhere. Anytime. And anyplace I want. No condoms. No hidden birth control. No. I wanna see my cum leak out of that desperate pussy.”

Your mouth opened and closed. “I can’t just fuck a stranger. And no birth control? I can’t fucking get pregnant.”

“I’m a selfish whore, baby. And I can afford one. And those are my terms. Either that. Or your dad rots.”

You bit your lip. You weren’t in a position to say no. You needed the money. And Rafe was hot. There were worse guys. Rafe got closer, his big hands reaching to cup the side of your neck.

“Yeah? You want it?”

Slowly, you nodded.

Rafe crooked a finger, signaling you to come closer. You stepped down and approached him gingerly and looked into his gaze. Rafe then latched his hand around your throat. His grip was so strong your feet almost lifted in the air and your eyes widened as he crushed his lips to yours.

His lips devoured you as he shoved his tongue into your mouth. You weren’t experienced. Sure, you’d touched yourself and made out with people.

But actual fucking? You’d never done that. And you knew that was about to change.

“You want me to take care of you, don’t you?” Rafe loosened his hold on your neck and pressed you against the island counter, “need someone to be your daddy?”

Your hands flew to his chest as you brought him impossibly closer, his lips sucked your skin with bruising force. You opened your mouth as he slipped his fingers inside.

“Suck.” He commanded and you listened. Spit gathering on your lips as he kneed your legs apart and lifted you up on the counter.

“Need daddy to help you? Fill you up with my cum?” His dirty words made your cunt twitch as he started toying the end of your skirt. Your thighs dampened as he trailed his thick fingers along your flesh, his fingers grazing the wet patch of your underwear.

You started grinding to give any friction against your arousal as he apparently changed his mind and threw you to the ground by underneath your arms. Rafe gestured to the crotch of his pants. “Consider this your first payment, baby. You ever done this before?”

You shakily remained silent as he huffed an amused laugh.

“Really? A girl who’s such a perv that she’s willing to fuck someone giving her money? Never would have guessed. I guess I’ll be nice and help you.”

Rafe undressed his lower half, his cock leaked with precum and he took your hand. “Swipe it with your thumb, get it all wet.” His massive hand compared to yours was almost comical as he grabbed the back of your head.

“Open your mouth, princess. And remember to breathe through your nose.”

After that, he silenced whatever worries you had by shoving his dick forward. You run your tongue along the thick underside, lessening some of the heavy weight by massaging with your hand. You took the tip through your mouth, shoving down any nerves as you sucked. Rafe bobbed your head up and down as he pushed you further, your head bouncing as your eyes squeezed shut.

“No, no, open your slutty eyes and look at me.” He growled. He leaned over the arch of the space between the counter and where you sank on your knees. The skin of his cock was supple as you continued aiding with your hand. It was hot to the touch.

“Good fucking girl. Maybe I’ll reward you by fucking your pussy.” He started thrusting and hitting the back of your throat. “Breathe. Breathe through your nose.” He wiped a few tears away with his thumb as you listened to him.

You knew he was getting closer as he stopped talking, his breathing heavier as he moved your head. His cum spilled inside your mouth, as he released you and you coughed.

“Not bad for your first time. We’re gonna practice some more.” Rafe smirked as his face was flushed and his fist flexed.

He moved on top of you on the floor, hiking up your skirt and ripping off your panties. He spread apart your wet cunt and dipped his middle finger inside your clenching entrance. “You’re such a whore. Never done any of this and you’re already gonna cum. Should have known you’d be daddy’s cum slut.”

Rafe yanked your legs apart, and spit on your pussy. “Not that it needed it, but I’m gonna be a little more kind to you.” You shrieked as he grabbed your jaw.

“Are you on birth control?”

“No.” You quickly answered. “Never-never needed-“

“Good. And you’re not going to. Got it?” Rafe moaned as he pushed his tip in your pussy, “fuck you’re so tight.”

You winced from discomfort but then his knuckles hit your clit, aiding to relieve your tension as he circled them. “Gonna make you mine. Take you away from all that shit.” He grunted as he pushed further.

Rafe let you wrap your arms around his neck as he thrusted.

“Tell daddy you like it.”

“I like it.” You sobbed as he moved harder. “I like it, daddy.”

It was slightly shameful how quickly you came all over him and spilled onto your legs. Rafe also came again and you felt it inside you. He was serious about no protection.

He stayed for a few seconds before getting up. And pulling his pants back on. He extended his hand and pulled you up. You knew you were a sight to be seen, fucked out eyes and messy hair. You just lost your virginity to Rafe Cameron.

You cleared your throat and watched him sweep his eyes over your face. “So. My dad?”

He shrugged. “He’s already out.”

You paled. “What?”

“I posted bail a few minutes before you got here. But as for his job, you’re gonna have to work harder than that. I have conditions.”

“But I already said-“

“More than just fucking you, baby girl. I own you now. You are mine and no one gets to even think about fucking you. I will cross any line you make to keep me away. And if you try, I will punish you.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” You whimpered as he loomed over you.

“And?” He mocked. “You already agreed. You need me. Don’t you?” He cupped your jaw. Tightly but not as harsh.

“Yeah.” You leaned in to his touch. Your defenses are completely down. You needed care. You were always working. Always cleaning up after someone’s mess. And now…he was going to take care of you.

And either make your daddy issues better.

Or worse.

@xxhellfirebunnyxx @imyourdaninow @lesservillain @take-everything-you-can @slvt4jamesmarch @ifeeltoofuckingmuch @scene-and-dandylover @emsgoodthinkin

[illyrianbitch]

An Education in Malice — Part Three

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT lots of bickering, sexual tension, threats, name calling, slight torture and wound descriptions, two emotionally dysregulated cunts tbh

Word Count: 8.2k (whoops i got carried away sorry)

←Part Two | Series Masterlist | Part Four🡢

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

After Lucien left Autumn, you saw him once in a while, found time to meet with him in Spring when things weren’t treacherous at home. It wasn’t often, but it was a breath of fresh air when you usually needed it most. You always assumed that feeling came with the openness of Spring— the feeling of being able to laugh with your brother.

But it only got harder over time and things slowly got bitter. Lucien tried his best to persuade you, had convinced you of a future for yourself you never would’ve imagined. Tamlin was ready to welcome you, to give you a space in his court, in his home. But you declined. Over and over, you declined. And eventually, Lucien stopped asking— and stopped pretending he wasn’t deeply hurt by your refusals. 

Before meeting with Azriel, it had been quite some time since you’d stepped foot in the Spring Court.  You hadn’t seen firsthand the damage that was done by Hybern. 

The house you stood in was nestled amidst the Spring Court's grassy expanse, dainty and modest but still beautiful, something so reminiscent of a peaceful, lively history.  You could almost feel an echo in these walls, something dull and quiet, a haunting remnant of a life that was lived here. The silence was broken only by the soft shuffle of your footsteps against the dusty floorboards. 

Sunlight filtered through the large, dusty windows, casting golden hues upon the scattered papers that littered the floor like fallen leaves in autumn— you stared at it for a moment, at the rays of light pouring through as normal, as if there was still a family inside to bask in their warmth.

"This is not where we meet.”

You bit back a grin as you nonchalantly shrugged, casting a quick glance over your shoulder. Sure enough, there he stood, spine straight and eyes burning into your back. Azriel had an affinity for quiet entrances, you’d noticed. But no matter how stealthy he tried to be, you could always sense him. Somehow, somewhere deep inside you.

 "I do things differently than my brother.”

You ran your fingers along a worn tabletop as you walked past it,  turning to face him fully as you leaned against the wood. There was a casual ease about your movements that you knew made Azriel uncomfortable, something you did that made his shadows swarm around him like angry bees to a heavily disturbed beehive. 

Your gaze met his.  "Besides, it's not like Tamlin will mind. Or these people," you said, gesturing around the abandoned, empty room with a sweep of your hand. "Seems like this home has been devoid of life since your High Lady let Hybern decimate this court."

Azriel's rough growl rumbled low in his chest, his shadows quickly slithering up his body to curl around his wings. From behind him they flared slightly, shadows hovering on their apexes like dark sentinels. You watched the display for a moment. And then your gaze fell back to Azriel’s face. 

You raised a single eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips.

"And they call Tamlin a beast."

Your voice was laced with equal parts mockery and challenge, a talent you’d learned to refine over the years. It always filled you with such satisfaction to see the flicker of annoyance on the males you used it with, the anger that grew in the muscles of their body.

Azriel said nothing, gave no response aside from the clench of his jaw and a flare of his nostrils. He was never one for self-composure, never needed to hone the skill. If he wasn’t staying in the shadows, quietly absorbing any information that was willingly shared in the dark, he was using his methods to get answers— and those methods, that duty, didn’t require him to have self control. If anything, his simmering anger helped him. But he was being careful now— around you, specifically. 

Another moment passed and Azriel’s shadows returned to their original place around his torso. He tucked his wings tightly between his shoulder blades. You frowned at the motion, watching as he scanned you, took in your entire presence before him, and turned to leave. 

It was your turn to clench your jaw, for your nostrils to flare in anger. A feeling of deja-vu ran through you like a wave, a memory of how he’d walked away from you in that forest, of how he had dismissed you so quickly then, too. You glared at his retreating form, pushing yourself off the table to stand.

"And where are you going?"

There was a sharp edge to your voice, a dripping venom that Azriel quickly recognized. His footsteps faltered for a moment. 

"Away," he replied tersely.

You weren’t one to beg. If circumstances were different, you’d gladly let him leave, make some comment to push him out the door yourself. After all, the last time you’d seen him your sole goal was to ensure he was out of your hair— out of your business. But things had changed. Eris needed you, and you needed Azriel. You needed an edge– a starting point. Anything. And deep down you knew Azriel had something to offer, that his shadows, his time submerged in them, must have gotten some information, some whisper, that could help you. 

If anything, he’d be able to help you with your current situation. You tossed a glance toward the small hallway behind you, towards the closed door at the end of it. You let out a small growl. 

 "We haven't talked," you snapped, “You’ve been here for less than five minutes. Are you giving up so quickly?”

Slowly, he turned to face you, his gaze a smoldering ember, tense with a restrained fury. "We've talked enough." 

There was a small hunger burning deep inside his stomach now and Azriel knew what he needed to do. He needed to go home and tell Rhysand that he, in fact, wasn’t up for this job. He needed to tell him that he had better things to do with his time, that due to the recent silence, perhaps these meetings weren’t needed in the first place. He made a move to leave once more. 

If you were angry before, you were even more pissed now. You were willing to cooperate despite every fiber of your being itching to set him alight, to leave him and remind him of his place. And he was toying with you. 

With a sharp intake of breath, you snapped your hand out, inadvertently dislodging a piece of wood from the top of the doorframe. Azriel's shadows shot out, snatching the fiery fragment from the air before it could fall. With a swift motion, tendrils of black shadow extinguished the flames, engulfing the fire and leaving only the scent of smoke lingering in the air. 

You blinked, watching as Azriel looked down at the burnt piece of wood that now dropped at his feet. He kicked it off his boots in a gesture of casual regard. 

You took a deep breath as you repeated, "I said we haven't talked.”

Slowly, Azriel turned around, his gaze piercing, expression etched with a simmering anger that would send most fleeing. You matched it as best as you could. He began to advance towards you, each step deliberate and measured, agonizingly slow. You found yourself rooted to the spot, unable to tear your gaze away from his approaching form. Despite the seething anger that coursed through your veins, you forced yourself to draw in deep breaths, fists clenched at your sides, nails digging into your palms. 

Every muscle in your body screamed for action, for release, but you remained still.

Bending down slightly, he brought himself to eye level with you. His eyes scanned you, dissecting you with the precision of a predator sizing up its prey. And then, in a voice that dripped with authority and a burning fury, he spoke. "Tell Eris that if he isn't the one to meet with us, our agreement is over."

Your jaw clenched at his proximity, at the predatory gleam in his eyes that dared you to back down. But you refused to cower. You were growing tired of males in your life giving you commands. 

"Last I checked, you're a lap dog, not a High Lord. You don't give orders.”

His breathing mirrored your own, both turning shallow and erratic. As if in response to the heavy atmosphere, Azriel's shadows stirred, darkness swirling around him like a cloak of night. His wings extended. Then he straightened, the tension in the air easing slightly as he pulled away, breaking the almost suffocating closeness between you. 

“Why would I talk to you?” Azriel spoke. "Did you not threaten me the last time we spoke?"

You narrowed your eyes at his question, a bitter laugh escaping your lips as you shook your head in disbelief. "Oh my gods," you mocked, bringing a hand to your lips in exaggerated surprise. "Is this what this is all about?"

With a sarcastic lilt to your voice, you continued, "Did I hurt your feelings, Shadowsinger? Is that it?" 

Azriel's gaze hardened into something almost tangible, eyes narrowing into slits that bore into yours. Tension coiled in the muscles of his jaw. He gave no response. 

"Fine," you said, "If you're so sensitive, send someone else to keep this arrangement."

You waited for a moment, watched as Azriel stood quietly before you.

"Rhysand should have never agreed to working with your pathetic excuse of a brother."

A familiar heat rose within your stomach.  "My pathetic excuse of a brother," you echoed, "has saved your asses multiple times, whether you're willing to admit it or not."

A silence stretched between you. You clenched your jaw.

"Rhysand made this agreement," you hissed, "So be a good little Spymaster and spill your guts."

His demeanor remained stoic, but there was a subtle shift in his expression as his gaze scanned you once more, eyes narrowing slightly in contemplation. Something new gleamed in them, now, a hint of amusement deep within the hazel-brown. Even his shadows had stilled, coming to a slow circling around his arms. 

"I thought that agreement didn't apply to you?"

"Things have changed." 

"How very convenient for you.”

Frustration boiled in your chest.  "The sooner you give me any updates, the sooner you can crawl back into your shadows to wallow in self-pity," you spat.

Azriel's eyebrow raised in response. But still, there was no verbal answer, no indication of any real response. 

Straightening your posture, you adopted a facade of sweetness, a coy smile playing at the corners of your lips. "At this point, I'm starting to think you're finding reasons to stay and argue with me," you said, "If you want to fuck again, just ask. You’re getting desperate. It’s not a good look."

His eyes darkened instantly— as if you’d offended him in some deeply egregious way. "No updates,” he snarled.

You were torn on whether to smirk at his response or to offer a snarl of your own. 

"That's what you said last time we spoke,” you responded, “Over a month ago.” 

"Sorry to disappoint, princess.”

Azriel made it a point to emphasize the last word, to add as much venom as he could to the syllables that it contained. It practically dripped of contempt. His shadows flickered and writhed around him.

His silence, his nonchalance, his arrogant demeanor—  it was all beginning to eat at you, beginning to gnaw at whatever patience you had collected to be here before him. In the back of your mind you kept reminding yourself, kept repeating it over and over again: Eris needed you. And you needed Azriel. 

“You came here,” you said through gritted teeth, “You found me. Why bother making the trip if you had nothing of use to offer?”

Ever so slightly, like a dog curiously sizing up another animal, Azriel’s head tilted. He offered a half shrug. “It was expected of me.”

You scoffed. "As a good lapdog, I suppose."

A growl cut through the air like a warning. "Watch it," he cautioned.

"I don't think I will," you replied coolly, "You're all useless, as usual, so I guess I'll find out what I need to know by myself."

He raised an eyebrow in response, a subtle tick in his jaw as he scanned your face once more. Then, he turned to leave for what felt like the fifteenth time within the hour. 

You bit at the inside of your cheek. "And to think I had a little gift for you."

He stopped in his tracks, turning back to face you with a scowl. "What are you talking about?" 

“Doesn’t matter.” You shrugged nonchalantly, feigning indifference as you inspected your nails with exaggerated interest. "But, y’know, I always thought one of the perks of being a shadowsinger was being able to hear things other people didn't.”

You dropped your hand to look up at him. “Guess not.”

The muscles in Azriel's jaw tensed, his patience wearing thin as he took a menacing step closer to you. "You’re insufferable," he snarled, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through the room. “What are you hiding?”

“Rude.” You pouted. “And it’s not a what, so much as a who.”

Azriel’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes following the movement of your lips as they curved into a smile.  "Come on, pretty boy,” you taunted, voice laced with amusement, “If you’re not gonna use your shadows, at least use those arched ears of yours.” 

He scowled, letting his shadows fall from where he had been purposely containing them. Instantly they dispersed throughout the house. Az stood still— eerily, stone, still— as his eyes remained trained on you. A moment later, realization dawned on his face, his expression shifting from anger to something cooler. 

You chewed at your lip.  "Now, should I be flattered that my presence is so distracting?" 

A new grin began to widen as he shot you a glare, instantly moving towards the hallway of the small house, his shadows curling around his ankles while a few lone tendrils led the way.

The hallway was small, with only a few doors lining either side. He passed two in quick succession before finally reaching the room at the end of the hallway.

Pushing open the door, Azriel's shadows spilled into the room and he stilled, gaze falling to the unmoving form of a male sprawled on the floor. He was bloody and bruised, features twisted in pain as he lay in a pool of his own blood. 

He was alive. This Azriel knew from both his shadows and the shallow rise and fall of the male’s chest. He blinked, taking in the scene for another moment. From behind him, he heard your soft footsteps cease. 

When he turned to look at you, you were still grinning at him, a glint of something in your eye that made him nervous, of all things. 

"This is…" you began as you walked to where Azriel stood, positioning yourself next to him as you continued to speak. “One of my father's men.”

You gestured toward the man on the floor, shaking your head with a small chuckle of disbelief. "Somehow he’s one of my father's most trusted– has been out on a few errands for him.” You turned to look up at Azriel, only to find his gaze already on you. "Such a shame he’s on a drunken bender now... or at least, that's what everyone in Autumn is saying."

Azriel's gaze shifted from you to the man on the floor, his expression unreadable as he stared at the scene before him. "Did Eris bring him here?"

You scoffed at the suggestion. "I take offense to that, Shadowsinger. This was all me. Eris doesn't know.”

The answer drew Azriel’s gaze back to you, eyes narrowing with what you could only assume was a mix of skepticism and curiosity. 

"Why not?" 

You met his stare with a steely gaze of your own. "Don't worry yourself with the details.”

Your tone was cold enough to make him fall silent once more as he turned his attention back to the male on the floor. 

"You haven't heard even a whisper about Koschei?” You said, “Then he's probably your best bet, given Beron's incessant need for a power grab."

Beron. Azriel took note of how you used the term father interchangeably with his name. He stored the information away in his mind, reminding himself to think about it later– to assess if it was important enough to use against you in some shape or form. 

Azriel turned around to meet your gaze.  "What do you want?"

A smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you met his intense stare. "Maybe you're smarter than I give you credit for.”

But Azriel wasn't having it. He growled in frustration, patience clearly wearing thin as his scowl grew deeper. "What do you want," he repeated.

You didn't flinch. "I need you to be useful for once in your pathetic life and make him talk," you stated bluntly. “Obviously I can't keep him here. But I don't have spare dungeons just lying around. We're a bit more civil in Autumn than you night dwellers.”

"Civil isn't the word I'd use," Azriel gritted his teeth.

You rolled your eyes, biting back the answering remark that was on the tip of your tongue. You knew you’d have plenty more opportunities to tell him off, to make him simmer in his own anger and evident self-hatred. But you needed to buy that extra time first.

“I need you to take him somewhere and do your job. And I need you not to tell your owner about it—not yet, anyway."

Azriel sent a withering glare your way, but he didn’t bother to respond. If he were to acknowledge your words, acknowledge the jabs you were making at him, he was bound to lose control. He could feel it bubbling inside him already. 

“And why the hell would I do that?” 

You let out a small contemplative hum. The sound held a gentle caress to it, one that stood in such contrast to you— and to the bloodied male that lay before you both. It made Azriel shiver, made him itch to make a move. He wasn’t sure what move it would be, didn’t trust himself enough to think about it for too long. 

“You’re desperate,” you said, cocking your head at him. “I can sense it. This silence, the lack of any movement or threat, it has you unsettled.” 

Azriel’s glare remained fixed on you, a burning intensity that could have set you ablaze if he had been ‘blessed’ with powers just like you. It made you excited, the realization that you still evoked such strong emotions in an otherwise emotionless male. 

“I don’t think you know how to exist when you aren’t needed,” you murmured, “And your only skillset seems to fall in between fighting and fucking.”

His shadows swarmed around him as he rolled his shoulders back, wings extending out and high to tower over you— a reminder of who he was, in case you had forgotten. He was sending you a warning. 

“And what if I were to say no?” Azriel said, his darkened eyes drinking you in like a new challenge. “If I were to take him now, hide him somewhere and get the answers I needed?”

“You wouldn’t get far,” you said matter-of-factly, “You make the mistake of underestimating me.”

He thought back to his encounters with you, to the venomous bite of your tongue and the fire in your veins. He asked honestly, voice deep and rough like gravel, “Is that so?”

“All I care about is figuring out what my father is doing. Everything else? That’s on you.”

It was all true. You didn’t care about Koschei— not truly, not about him specifically. If it came down to it and there was a way to protect your family, to protect Eris and Lucien, to protect your mother and your hounds, even your other brothers, you would let him burn the world down. It didn’t matter to you. All that mattered was ensuring that power, that leverage, didn’t end up with your father. The savior complex of the Night Court could deal with the rest. 

“So if you try to cross me, I’ll kill him,” you pointed to the male on the floor. And then, you brought a finger to Azriel, “And then, I’ll go after someone you care about. I won’t lie and say that I haven’t dreamed of what it would feel like to make your sorry excuse of a family burn.”

Something snapped within Azriel, some thin sense of resolve that he had been delicately protecting by remaining quiet, passive even. In an instant, faster than his own shadows could process, he had you by the throat, pinning you against the wall with a force that stole your breath away. His eyes blazed with fury as he held you in place, grip tightening as he leaned in to share a breath with you. 

"You have a death wish, princess," he growled, voice low and dangerous, sharp like a sword. "I don’t care about Rhysand’s deal with your brother, with you. If you threaten my family, I’ll kill you."

Slowly, a smirk grew on your lips, tantalizing and wicked in a way that made Azriel’s own shadows still. Your smirk only widened as Azriel's grip tightened around your throat.

You could feel his anger radiating from him, could see it in the flare of his wings, in his breathing—heavy and ragged like a wound-up beast on the brink of attack.

"Is it killing me you think about when I run through that mind of yours?" you gasped out, your voice laced with a dangerous, intoxicating edge. "Or is it something else?"

The words seemed to strike a nerve, igniting a deeper, darker blaze of fury behind Azriel's eyes. He knew you were right, knew that thoughts of you had haunted his mind more than he cared to admit. Images of you, of your defiance and your vile mouth, had conjured themselves in his darkest fantasies, igniting a desire within him that he struggled to contain— how much he had enjoyed you, how starved he was to repeat it again, to make you submit in some form. 

"Shut up," he growled, his voice rough, strained.

"You want me dead, Shadowsinger?” you managed to taunt, your words punctuated by ragged breaths as his hand remained wrapped around your throat.  “Allow me to help you get a head start."

With a deliberate slowness, you raised your hand, revealing the glint of Truth-Teller, watching as Azriel's eyes flickered to the dagger, his expression betraying a hint of alarm.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through you as you observed his reaction, as you watched a sense of realization pass through his face— perhaps he had begun to realize that you were not just a challenge, you were an equal. A proper threat.

His shadows surged forward, pinning your wrist to the wall with a force that made a strained gasp leave your tightening throat. The dagger slipped from your grasp, clattering to the floor with a metallic echo.

Despite the pressure against your windpipe, you managed to maintain your composure, your voice steady, albeit broken, as you spoke, "I told you that you were underestimating me."

Azriel looked over his shoulder at the male behind him, running the scenarios through his mind. You were right. He was unsettled— not only by the silence, but by some unquenchable thirst he’d been feeling. He veered away from admitting the truth, from admitting that his duties as a Spymaster helped him relieve some deep tension that had forged itself into his very bones, anger that was born out of every event of his life. It made him feel powerful, made him feel useful, made him feel in control. 

He’d been lacking in that area recently. He wanted to be in control again. This scenario, the male before him, a secret deal with you— being with you, it made for some sinister compromise in his deeply troubled mind. Something that made him hungry, made his thoughts hazy. 

“I’m not a patient female,” you hissed, “Make up your mind or get the hell out of here.”

Azriel knew better— somewhere deep in his gut, even deep in his mind, he knew better. But his rationality wasn’t the part he tended to listen to. So against his better judgment, and in favor of the burning he felt in his chest, of the sickening sense of excitement that had begun to grow, and the allure of your grin, he let out a breath and released his grip on you.

 “Fine.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

It had been a few days now, a week almost, since Azriel relocated Renard– as he’d so kindly offered his name— to an area where he could interrogate him farther.

The day had been quiet, nothing beyond familial affairs and brotherly gossip within your home. So you decided to pay Azriel a visit— see just how much this deal was benefiting you.

You stood silently for a while, observing Azriel as he circled Renard with an eerie calmness. You held on to any words that he spoke, absorbing any information you could— just in case Azriel began to pick and choose what he wanted to share. You knew that he knew you were there, that he’d sensed you the minute you’d winnowed in. But he hadn’t made any move to acknowledge you. You doubted he would anytime soon. 

This was how it had been for the past week. Azriel, as you had come to learn, went into a certain headspace when he immersed himself in his duties. He was frightening enough on his own, in his normal stature shrouded in his own shadows, wings on display. But in this state, as an active spymaster, even you found yourself being careful. Not as much as you should have been, but far more cautious than you usually were. 

A few more minutes passed, minutes filled with cryptic talk and groans of pain. You pushed yourself off the wall and walked closer to the opening.

"For a Spymaster, you're awfully bad at your job.”

Renard’s head snapped up to where you stood and he sneered as he caught sight of you, eyes filling with contempt. "If it isn’t the backstabbing whore herself," he spat, "When your father finds out what you've been up to, he'll—"

You clenched your jaw as your gaze flickered to him, taking in his form– bound to a metal chair, covered in his own dried blood. The irritation in your gut calmed as you gave him a scowl. 

"For a male bound to a chair like a bitch, you sure are mouthy.”

Renard opened his mouth once more, but before any sound could leave it, a flurry of Azriel’s shadows snaked around his neck, curling up to his mouth to gag him. He thrashed against the movement, attempting to bite at the strange, foreign feeling that bound his mouth. You grinned. 

You shot a pointed look at Azriel. "See, I had him talking already.”

There was no response. Azriel didn’t even look back, didn’t mutter a sound. He seemed more stoic than usual, more quiet than you were used to. It was unsettling. 

“You’re holding back,” you said. A statement— an observed fact.

Azriel threw a bitter glare your way, but his gaze didn't linger, falling back down to his stained hands as he methodically wiped his blade clean with a rag. "You talk too much," he muttered, tone clipped with irritation.

You ignored his deflection. "Is it Elain?"

He stiffened, hands stilling around the blade. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft rustle of fabric against steel as Azriel continued to clean the blade with meticulous precision, opting to ignore you to the best of his ability. But you could see it, the tick in his jaw, the tension in his wings— his restraint was slowly chipping away. 

"I can't blame you," you continued, "I've heard she's a real sweetheart. I bet you can't wait to get those blood-stained hands on her, ruin her in some way she can never return from."

The color drained from Azriel's face as his jaw clenched further, the siphons on his hands flickering with blue heat. 

"But she wouldn't stay with someone so dark, would she?" you mused aloud, a mocking lilt to your voice. "Someone so starved for affection."

The room fell into another tense silence as Azriel's grip tightened on his blade, the bound male before you shifting uncomfortably in his chair. But still, Azriel remained silent, expression hard as he continued to stare at the weapon in his hands. 

You felt a surge of frustration building within you, prickling and hot. You wanted a reaction, to break whatever resolve he was clinging to so that you could get the information you needed. 

"I miss Lucien quite a bit," you remarked casually. “He’s always had a great sense of humor. Tell me, can you hear Elain’s giggles through those picture-perfect walls of your Velaris homes? As she chooses a Vanserra over you?”

Azriel finally let out a low, guttural growl, a cloud seemingly descending upon his mind— obscuring his thoughts with a haze of anger and frustration. In one fluid movement, he lunged forward, driving the dagger into Renard’s chest, the blade sinking deep into his flesh as if his skin were a sheath. You, his mind seemed to growl at him, you insufferable, pretentious- 

His shadows slithered up his arms like dark serpents, and before Renard could utter another word of defiance with his newfound freedom, Azriel's fist connected with his face in a brutal blow, sending his head down in a motionless heap.

Azriel turned to face you, eyes burning with a loathing intensity that sent a nervous flutter through your stomach. His jaw was clenched, features taut with a dark anger, yet there was something else there too—a glimmer of excitement, perhaps, maybe even a hint of begrudging respect.

You were torn between fear and defiance, heart pounding in your chest as you met his gaze. There was a part of you that continued to relish in the power you held over him, the way you could push him to the edge with just a few carefully chosen words. But there was also a part of you that held strong to the reminder that you were playing a dangerous game with not nearly enough leverage. 

His gaze bore into you with an energy that made your heart quicken. Wings extended, he rolled his shoulders and took deliberate steps forward. Despite your efforts to stand your ground, you found yourself instinctively stepping back. Fuck.

Azriel noticed the movement instantly, his gaze flickering down to where your foot had shifted. When he looked back up at you, there was a gleam in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Is this your way of begging for my attention?" he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Has your court finally grown bored of you?”

A certain heavy anger boiled under your skin. "Fuck you," you spat. Your hands curled at your sides. 

A chilling smirk curled upon Azriel's lips. "You already have.”

He took another step forward and you stumbled backwards until your back hit the cold, unforgiving stone wall behind you.

"It's interesting," Azriel mused, "You say so many things about me, yet you let me fuck you— begged me for it. Do you hate yourself, is that it?"

For a male of little words, Azriel sure knew the right ones to say— and the ways to say them. He was mocking you, playing with you in the same manner you’d toyed with him. You had to admit that being on the receiving end wasn’t as fun. And your patience was wearing thin. 

You met Azriel's gaze with a mask of annoyance.

"Contrary to what your life experience might lead you to believe, some people actually like themselves.”

A small cock of his head.

"I don’t see what there is to like.”

You blinked. Then, a spark in your stomach lit and you were biting back a smirk. 

“Saw enough to fuck me.”

His jaw clenched. Seconds later, something flickered across his face, rolling through the scowl he wore. His eyes narrowed, the intensity of his gaze boring into yours with a new kind of intensity— something hungrier. 

“You were right,” he said, his voice low.

The sudden shift in his tone caught you off guard, leaving you feeling unsettled and apprehensive. He was too calm now, too collected compared to moments prior. It was dangerous— dangerous enough to make your heart quicken. 

"What the fuck are you talking about?" 

Another step towards you, close enough to where you both stood practically chest to chest, sharing a breath. 

"It isn’t just killing you that runs through my mind,” Azriel murmured.

His hand slithered up your collarbone, a roll of anticipation coursing through you at the touch. 

Then, with a swift motion, his hand twisted, fingers wrapping around the base of your neck, fingers threading through your hair. You let out a small, breathless gasp as he pulled roughly at the nape of your neck, coaxing you to tilt your head back, neck exposed fully to him.

He leaned in closer, breath hot against your skin as his nose brushed against your neck— tracing a path to your pointed ear. 

"You have no idea," he breathed, "The things I've imagined doing to you..."

He pulled back to meet your gaze, eyes heavy and blown-out in a haze of lust. He brought a rough hand to grip your chin, the pad of his thumb moving to trail over your bottom lip. "Putting this mouth to better use.”

You let out a small breath, heart pounding in your stomach as a familiar hunger began to grow deep in your stomach. Your body hummed with desire as you locked eyes with him. Azriel stilled, his thumb settling motionless on your lip. His eyes flickered to yours. 

“Does this turn you on, Y/n? Being pressed against a wall, so eager to be put in your place?”

For a moment, you stared intently into those hazel irises, into the dark, sickening sense of desire that flickered in them. Far in the back of your mind, a realization gnawed at you, nipped at you like a small animal begging for attention. This was a bad, bad idea.

Which made it all the more fun.

You surged forward, closing the distance between you and pulling him into a rough kiss fueled equal parts by anger and desire. 

Azriel let out a growl as he pressed you further against the wall, hands roaming eagerly over your body. One hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer to him with an iron possessive grip while the other quickly moved to grip your ass, bunching the fabric of your dress in his hands. 

You indulged him, mirroring the aggression and pressing hard into the hands that grabbed you, into his chest as you pulled him closer by a rough hand around the base of his neck. You moaned into the kiss, the sound muffled by his lips as he ravished you, nipping at your lips in an attempt to coax the sound out of you once more. 

The kiss was forceful, violating. Your teeth knocked together as Azriel moved his tongue deeper into your mouth, moving it in tandem with your own as you met his mouth in conflicted familiarity — movements both desperate, hot and heavy, separated by only your own gasps.

Azriel’s shadows began to coil around him as a distant groan echoed through the room. With a heavy breath, he pulled away from you.

"What?" you managed to gasp out, voice breathless as your eyes shuttered open.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes falling to Renard’s stirring form, watching as he slowly came to from whatever hellscape Azriel's punch had thrown him into.

There was the clear choice: push you off, swear to himself that he wouldn’t indulge in such fantasies again and focus on getting answers for his family— information to protect those he loved from an imminent threat. 

And then there was the other choice, just as tempting as it was inherently wrong.

He looked back to you, to your swollen lips and dark gaze. 

Without a second thought, Azriel pulled you back into him, covering you both with his shadows as he winnowed away. 

The world spun in a dizzying whirlwind of movement. Disoriented, you pulled away, faintly recognizing the small home you’d grown familiar with, the same rays of sun peeking through wide windows. Azriel closed the distance between you once more— a kiss of tongue and teeth, rough hands pawing at you like an animal in heat, movements led by a hunger that matched your own. With a rough urgency, he guided you towards the small living area— the image of you pressed over a couch, bent over for him, grew in his mind. 

Azriel pulled apart, tugging at the material of your dress. A rough hand snaked up your waist, his large palm grabbing one of your breasts. 

"Take this off.”  He brought you in for another searing kiss. 

"Stop telling me what to do.”

With a swift movement, Azriel spun you around, hand gripping your neck as he pulled you into him. You could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against you through his leathers and you fought the urge to writhe in need. 

"There's that attitude," he growled into your ear. A wave of anticipation sparked in your stomach, his voice sending a wave of arousal that began to pool at your core. "I can't wait to fuck it out of you again.”

A smirk tugged at your lips as you turned your head to peer back at him. “And you say I’m the one who talks too much.”

Azriel's eyes darkened, jaw twitching as he removed his hand from your throat, wasting no time as he roughly threw you forward onto the armrest of the couch. You let out a small gasp at the sudden movement, arousal surging through you as his hands worked to push your dress up, the fabric bunching around your waist.

The fact that you were still clothed only added to the burning in your chest— something about it, in this abandoned home, made it feel even dirtier, even more sinful. The first time could have been written off as a bad decision in a lustful, angry haze, but this— this was deliberate. This was purposeful. And you wanted it— badly. 

A groan echoed in the air as Azriel finally stripped you bare of your lace underwear, fingers grazing over the soaked fabric with a primal need. With shallow, heavy breaths, he took in the sight before him, eyes dark with desire as he drank in the curve of your back, the way you instinctively arched in the open air. 

His hands found purchase on your ass, kneading the soft skin of your cheeks with a possessive grip. There was a haze clouding both of your minds now. Azriel felt like a starved animal, like a man already praying for release. 

For you, there was a deep, desperate need to be touched by him further, to feel him inside you again. 

Another moment passed as he gripped your ass in his rough hands. It was sickening how much he was enjoying it, enjoying the way his scarred hands ran over your skin, how his siphon glared and glistened with every pulse of desire that ran through him. His cock stirred.

You gritted your teeth together in response to the urgency in your body, at the fire his touch started beneath your skin. A sound of frustration left your mouth.  

“Are you just going to stare or are yo-”

Your sentence halted abruptly, interrupted by the sudden slap of Azriel's hand against your ass. 

The sting of the impact sent a jolt of electricity rippling down your legs, the feeling instantly intensified by the burning sensation of his finger tracing along your folds.

"Look at that," he crooned, "So eager for my touch."

Two fingers drove into you. Your back arched in response as a delicate moan left your lips. 

Azriel's voice, low and husky, wrapped around you like a caress as he observed your response to his touch. “So responsive.”

He drew fingers out, slowly working up to circle your clit with your own wetness. He curled his fingers into you again, pulling a faint whine from your lips. You bit at your lip, gnawed at it in an attempt to quiet yourself: With each thrust of his fingers, you felt yourself building to the edge of ecstasy.

You attempted to grind your hips back into him. 

But before you could fully indulge in the sensation, a faint tug wrapped around your legs. His shadows coiled around your ankles with a sudden force, yanking your legs apart and holding them firmly in place.

A gasp escaped your lips as you registered the movement, legs bowing under the pressure as his shadows— as Azriel and his fingers— exerted their control over you. His left hand grabbed hold of your ass, locking you in place as his fingers continue to plunge into you.

Azriel hummed in approval at the sight before him, his tongue running along his lip at your vulnerable position.

"You look even better restrained like a good little whore.”

The voice that spoke was almost unrecognizable, even to Azriel himself,  dripping in lust, deeper and rougher than you’d ever heard. A growl escaped your lips.

"A lot of talk and not enough action, Shadowsinger.”

His jaw clenched at the taunt, the muscles on his arms and throughout his back tensing in response. Instead of responding, Azriel’s fingers worked to undo his leathers, quickly freeing himself from the confines of his pants, his length springing free and throbbing with need.

He stroked himself once, twice, his gaze never leaving yours as you lay beneath him, breathless with anticipation.

“Do you want me to fuck you, princess?”

Your heart gave a throb and something in your stomach clenched. At the sound of his voice, your muscles tightened, and by the way Azriel’s breath hitched, the way his body tensed further, you knew he could feel it beneath his fingertips. “Yes,” you answered without hesitation, because how could you not.

He guided a fisted length along your slit until the thick head was pressed against your glistening core— teasingly, agonizingly slow, Azriel repeated the motion. Once, twice, a third time, watching as the tip of his cock slowly collected the wetness of your cunt— the slick that he had caused.  

He hovered above you, cock poised at your entrance as you ached for the release that only he could provide— a scary, insidious reality you’d come to acknowledge. 

Azriel let out a guttural groan as he pushed himself inside of you, your slick walls welcoming him eagerly.

"Oh fuck," he breathed, face contorting in pleasure as he watched himself disappear into your cunt.

The stretch of him was delicious, a sudden feeling of fullness pulling a whimper from your lips as you surrendered to him. Azriel moved his hips slowly, savoring the sensation of being buried deep within you.

He spread your cheeks with his fingers, wanting to admire the sight of his cock disappearing into you— his grip grew tighter the longer he watched, the harder he attempted to store the image away in his mind, somewhere he could reach for it at a later time. His movements were deliberate, each roll of his hips pushing his cock farther, deeper, into you. Agonizingly, teasingly slow.

But you wanted more. You needed more.

“C’mon, pretty boy,” you crooned from over your shoulder, pausing to bring your bottom lip between your teeth. “You can do better than that.”

He let out a growl— a sound more animal than it was fae. And then he was pulling himself out, quickly pushing himself back in to sheath himself to the hilt once more. The force of it alone sent your body forward, and Azriel was quick to grip your waist in his hands and pull you back into him, into his relentless pace. 

“Gods,” Azriel groaned, more to himself than you, “I’ve missed this tight cunt.”

Your back arched more each time he plowed into you, the bow of your spine more pronounced as Azriel’s hands gripped at the small of your back, pushing you further onto the arm of the couch. You gripped the couch cushions beneath you with tightly curled fits, leveraging your hips higher to meet every thrust.

A prickling heat spread through your body, collecting at the palms of your hand as you gripped onto the couch below you. 

“Prove it,” you managed to whine out— a challenge, an offer.

Azriel took it immediately. 

He pulled you back even more, moving your body so that your weight was leaning forward, stomach pressed against the arm rest, toes barely touching the ground as as he rammed into you at the new angle.

Azriel couldn’t explain the hunger he was feeling now, the deep-seated pleasure he was experiencing as he fucked you, watching as you writhed underneath him, watching how your ass bounced with every thrust. It wasn’t like this with any other female he’d bedded. This, you beneath him, was addicting. Every indecipherable sound you let out was intoxicating, the sound of your whimpers, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. It made him want to test every limit he’d ever set for himself, push every boundary he knew he shouldn’t. But as you moaned for him, as you met him at every jerk of his hips, Azriel couldn’t think of a better way to continue his life. 

“Thats it, princess,” Azriel murmured, “Fuck yourself on my cock.”

It was obscene, truly, the creak of the floorboards under the weight of the couch, the wet sounds of your bodies slapping together, your moans, his harsh breathing. You threw yourself back into every thrust, legs now aching as they remained spread apart, tied by his cool shadows at the base of your ankles. Pleasure laced and bloomed inside of you, radiating down from your fingers to your toes— an electric pressure building to a peak.

Azriel’s mouth salivated as he drank it all in: the sound of his balls against your ass, your breathy moans, the sensation of your wet heat wrapped around him. The room echoed back the sounds of your pleasure in an erotic melody that left you both embarrassed and breathless. He gave your ass a rough smack, a shiver running through his body as he observed the reddening print of his palm on your skin.

“Dirty, dirty, girl.”

You could feel his cock swelling inside you, could feel his hot palms gripping your skin— there would be bruising, you were sure of it, marks of his hands in such unholy, dangerous placements.

You let out a breath, attempting to brace yourself on your forearms as you turned your cheek to your shoulder, just enough to see him moving behind you, just enough for you to murmur, “I think you love it.”

The words seemed to sir Azriel even further and he  increased his pace, thrusts becoming even rougher, sloppier—  more urgent. Your body responded to his movements, cunt massaging him, clenching around him, making him groan instinctively in response.

His breaths were ragged as he bucked into you roughly, a string of curses falling from his lips. With one final snap, you felt the tension within you reach a peak, cunt clenching around him as your orgasm rolled through you, white-hot and dizzying. 

A shiver of pleasure shot from Azriel’s stomach to his cock — with a rough jerk, he emptied against inside you, an animalistic groan filling the room as he came, face contorted with pleasure. You felt the warmth of his seed fill you, felt it leaking as Azriel slowly pulled out.

You slumped over the armrest of the couch, body still tingling from the intensity of your orgasm. 

Azriel’s eyes were fixed on you, his cock still twitching with the aftershocks of his release. He watched his seed drip from your glistening folds. He fought a primal urge to stroke a finger along your folds, to curl them in your cunt again and push his seed even further--- to claim you in a way that would ensure you could never forget the pleasure he had given you yet again.

Slowly, his haze of euphoria slowly faded, his body now relaxed, the tension melting away as his shadows loosened their hold around you. He looked up, watching as you pushed yourself up from the couch, watching as your dress fell back into place as you turned to face him.

A wicked grin spread across your lips, sinful and enticing.

“Now isn’t that a lot more fun than just killing me?”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

←Part Two Part Four🡢

A/N:

and so we begin the fun lil enemies with benefits and forced proximity tropes… we love when 2 heavily traumatized people bond over torture <3

also confession time guys…writing the words whore or slut make me 😟 but in this case lil az using it as a means of trying to be in control… just imagine how he’s gonna feel later when he’s realizing how shitty it was and how he actually respects you omffff

TAGLISTS

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon @glam-targaryen

malice series tag list: @going-through-shit @sidthedollface2 @justasillylittlegoofyguy @mal-adaptive-dreams @alainabooks143 @mybestfriendmademe @sfhsgrad-blog @marina468 @wonderwomanlovesyou @the-darkestminds @circe143 @starsandsins @acourtofdreamsandshadows @ysmtttty @mendes-bae

@breadsticks2004 @tothestarsandwhateverend @kamastar39 @previousloversandmuses @judig92 @romanoffslegacy @sweetcarolina-24 @harryskissies @glitterypirateduck @justyouraveragekleemain @midnightnotice @teenagellamaangel @thesillyyogourt @reiincarnatiion @stinkinstuffie @formulahockey @pruvii @marina468 @nickishadow139

@cherry-cin @quinzzelx @sadiechar @glam-targaryen @moosemahboi @inloveallthetime

azriel tag list: @thisiskaylin

if your username is crossed out it means i was having issues with tagging you so hopefully it works 🫶🏻

[chosok-amo]

LITTLE LAMB ! : NANAMI KENTO

you and nanami kento have been dating for years since you two graduated from jujutsu high. one day he came back from work and found you whimper and cry in your sleep.

warning. trauma, blood, death mentioned, nightmare, lil bit angst.

OHHHHH, i just love how cheesy and corny and cringe this is 😭

nanami exhaled a low, weary grunt as he managed to remove his shoe, using one hand to brace himself against the unyielding, frigid surface of the concrete. his head pounded incessantly, each throb resonating painfully as if his brain was pulsating with discomfort. the relentless demands of working for the jujutsu organization, coupled with the constant, exhausting presence of gojo satoru, surely had drained his mental fortitude and pushed his sanity to the brink.

each day felt like an uphill battle against the mounting stress and strain that came with the territory, leaving him yearning for a reprieve that seemed perpetually out of reach. the cold concrete beneath him served as a stark contrast to the heated turmoil within his mind, a reminder of the relentless challenges he faced in his line of duty.

slowly, nanami lifted his head, his gaze drifting upwards to take in the sight of his living room. the room was shrouded in darkness, with only a faint, warm yellow light providing a dim illumination that cast long shadows across the space. as he gently shifted his feet, the quiet movement seemed to echo in the stillness. he glanced to the side, his eyes landing on the clock, which revealed that it was nearly 2 AM.

sighing softly, he exhaled a string of weary breaths, each one a testament to his exhaustion. with a heavy heart and tired limbs, he began to make his way towards the staircase, every step deliberate and slow. the path led him straight to your shared bedroom, a sanctuary of comfort and solace that he longed to reach. the journey felt longer than usual, each step up the stairs requiring more effort as the weight of the day pressed down on him. finally, he reached the door, his thoughts filled with the anticipation of finally finding some rest and respite beside you.

the gentle creak of the door echoed softly through the room as he carefully opened it, trying not to disturb the tranquility. the room was enveloped in darkness, with only the soft, silvery glow of moonlight filtering in through the window, casting delicate shadows across the walls. as nanami's eyes adjusted to the dim light, he noticed your serene figure lying on the bed, comfortably cocooned in a warm blanket, your breathing steady and peaceful in deep sleep.

a tender smile spread across his face, a sense of calm washing over him at the sight of you. the urge to crawl into bed beside you, to hold you close and press gentle kisses to your forehead, was strong. however, he felt the grime and exhaustion of the day clinging to him, a reminder of the long hours and relentless challenges he had faced.

despite his overwhelming desire to join you, he knew that he needed to cleanse himself of the day's fatigue first. the allure of a hot shower beckoned, promising to wash away not only the physical dirt but also the mental strain that had built up. with a quiet sigh and one last glance at your peaceful form, nanami turned towards the bathroom, each step bringing him closer to the relief and rejuvenation he so desperately needed.

after a good half-hour, nanami emerged from the bathroom, feeling refreshed and a bit lighter. a small towel hung around his neck, which he used to gently dry his damp hair. he wore nothing but a soft blue long-sleeve shirt and comfortable beige pants, his attire reflecting his desire for comfort after a long, arduous day.

as he stepped into the dimly lit room, he suddenly heard soft whimpering, barely audible but enough to catch his attention. the faint, distressed sounds seemed to fill the room, contrasting with the quiet serenity he had expected to find. his heart clenched at the thought of you being troubled in your sleep. the sound, it's heartbreaking.

nanami paused for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness as he tried to locate the source of the whimpering. his gaze settled on you, still wrapped in the warm blanket but now shifting restlessly, a pained expression marring your previously peaceful face. the sight tugged at his heartstrings, urging him to move closer and offer the comfort you seemed to need.

with gentle, deliberate steps, nanami approached the bed, each movement filled with a quiet urgency. he reached out, his hand hovering above your shoulder before he softly placed it there, hoping to soothe you without startling you awake. the tender touch was meant to convey his presence and reassurance, a silent promise that he was there to protect and comfort you.

you were whimpering softly in your sleep, the sound reminiscent of a fragile, distressed little lamb. it was a heartbreaking noise that spoke of deep-seated hurt, echoing faintly through the stillness of the room. as nanami watched you, his concern deepened. the soft glow of the moonlight revealed the glistening tracks of tears on your cheeks, a silent testament to the pain you were experiencing even in your dreams.

your face, usually so serene in slumber, was now contorted with sorrow, your quiet cries breaking the night's tranquility. each tear that escaped your closed eyes shimmered under the silvery light, highlighting the depth of your distress. nanami's heart ached at the sight, feeling a powerful urge to protect and comfort you.

he couldn't bear to see you like this, suffering silently. he knew he needed to be there for you, to offer his support and reassure you that you were safe and loved. with a gentle hand, he reached out and softly brushed away the tears from your cheeks, his touch light and careful, hoping to bring some comfort.

nanami sat down on the edge of the bed, his presence a solid, reassuring anchor in the darkened room. he whispered soothing words, barely audible, but filled with love and reassurance. leaning closer, he wrapped his arms around you gently, pulling you into a comforting embrace, hoping to ease your pain and bring you some measure of peace even as you slept.

he gently roused you from your troubled sleep, his warm hand tenderly cupping your tear-streaked cheek. instinctively, you leaned into his touch, drawn to the soothing warmth and comfort it offered. “hey, my love, wake up,” he murmured, his deep voice flowing like a gentle river, soft and calming.

nanami's thumb brushed delicately over your skin, wiping away the remnants of your sorrow as he continued to whisper sweet reassurances. his presence was a beacon of solace in the dim light, a comforting balm to your wounded dreams. he watched as your eyes fluttered open, gradually adjusting to the moonlit room, his tender gaze never leaving your face.

“come back to me, my dear,” he whispered, his voice a poetic blend of concern and love, each word carefully chosen to bring you back to the safety of his embrace. your heart responded to his call, and you felt the tension slowly ebb away, replaced by the gentle rhythm of his care and devotion.

“ken. . .” your voice emerged as a faint whisper, your throat feeling tighter and drier than usual. he smiled at you with such gentleness that it seemed to melt away the remnants of your distress. “hey,” he murmured softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

“you were whimpering and crying in your sleep again, my love. is your nightmare back?” he asked, his calmness so profound you felt you could lose yourself in it. as he spoke, his thumb gently caressed your cheek, his presence a grounding force beside you.

“was i?” you responded, not fully aware that your old habit had resurfaced. yet, deep down, you knew the nightmares had returned, creeping into your slumber like unwelcome shadows. his calm inquiry and tender touch provided a lifeline, pulling you back from the depths of your troubled dreams.

“mhm… you were.”

his voice was a gentle hum, his tone taking on a quieter and calmer demeanor than usual. he looked down at you closely as he lightly stroked your cheek, his fingers warm and soothing against your skin. his eyes studied your features in the dim light, noting the signs of tiredness and stress on your face.

“you have bags under your eyes, my love . . . how many nights has this been going on?”

“i-i don't know,” you mumbled, tightening as if a lump was obstructing your air, refusing to let you breathe freely. your head spun, throbbing with pain, while your eyes began to sting— the pain from trying to hold back your tears.

the memories and vivid imaginations of yuu haibara— your best friends, tormented your mind, each detail rendered in brutal clarity. you could see him sprawled on the cold, merciless ground, surrounded by a pool of his own blood. the sight of his lower body missing was a horrific vision etched deeply into your consciousness. the way his eyes shaking from trying to took a glimpse of you and nanami for the last time— it's was crystal clear in your mind.

these haunting images clung to your thoughts, casting a dark shadow over your mind. the crimson pool starkly contrasted with the cold, unyielding ground, creating a macabre scene that refused to fade. cach recollection was sharp and piercing, like shards of ice embedding themselves into your soul, cutting into your peace and pulling you back into the depths of sorrow and horror.

the weight of these memories bore down on you, making it hard to breathe, hard to think, as the anguish and helplessness you felt surged anew within you. it was as if you were ensnared in a nightmarish vision, each detail a cruel reminder of a friend lost too soon, of a moment too horrific to forget. the cold ground and crimson pool were forever imprinted in your mind, a chilling testament to a tragedy that time could never erase.

he was there too— with you and yuu when that tragedy happened, engraved in your brain and his just like a gift, handing to you in a red bow, the color of his blood. leaving a stain neither you nor nanami could not get rid of just by simply washing your hands, letting it disappears, running with the waters.

that’s one of the reasons nanami kento insists you stay away from the world of jujutsu after graduation. the thought of losing you as he lost his best friend is an unbearable weight on his heart. the memory of that loss haunts him, a dark shadow that he cannot escape, and the idea of history repeating itself fills him with dread. he refuses to let you step back into that life of danger and uncertainty, unwilling to risk your safety for anything.

he will be angry at the world if he loses you.

to him, you are too precious, too irreplaceable. the pain of losing you would be a burden he could never bear, a wound that would never heal. his love for you is a fierce, protective force, driving him to keep you safe, to ensure that you remain by his side, far from the perils that once claimed his closest friend.

he observed the shift in your demeanor closely, noticing the way your throat tightened and your voice seemed to falter. he saw the tears welling up in your eyes and the pain etched on your face.

seeing you like this… it was like seeing your heart breaking in real time. he gently slid an arm underneath your body, before he lifted you up and pulled you closer to him, pulling you carefully into his lap. the faint scent of mint on his breath lingered in the air as he wrapped his other arm around you, his arms holding you close and tight against his chest.

you in such distress made his heart clench inside his chest, a deep sense of helplessness settling over him. he gently took hold of your chin, tilting your head up towards his as he saw the glossiness in your eyes. his hand moved from your chin to lightly brush some hair out of your face, his touch a tender comfort against your skin.

“look at me, honey,” he said quietly. “it’s alright. you’re safe here. i’m right here with you.”

there you are, your eyes glossy and broken, gazing up at him with a poignant, silent plea. the tears magnify their shimmer, making them glisten like fragile, luminous crystals under the soft embrace of the moonlight. the ethereal glow bathes your face, highlighting the depths of your sorrow. each tear catches the light, creating a shimmering trail that reflects your inner turmoil.

his soft and soothing voice brought slight comfort to the storm raging within you. he continued holding you, one arm protectively around your shoulders, and the other gently caressed the top of your head.

“you're safe. i've got you.”

he repeated those words a few more times, knowing they would take time to sink in. he held you closer, your body now sitting against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat steady and strong. he continued stroking your head and your hair, hoping to soothe and calm you bit by bit.

his gentle touch and coaxing voice managed to capture your focus, shifting your gaze from the memories haunting you to his eyes, their color and soothing presence anchoring you in the moment. as he spoke, his words wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, banishing the darkness that had begun to cloud your thoughts.

the weight of the past momentarily lifted, replaced by the assurance of his presence and the safety of his arms. you held onto him tighter, seeking solace in the familiar strength of his embrace, your fingers unconsciously clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

nanami felt the shift in your grip, noticing the tightness of your fingers on his shirt, as you clung to him as if he was your lifeline. he held you against him, his embrace firm and reassuring. he continued caressing your head and your hair, gently tucking strands behind your ears, and letting his fingers linger at your nape. his heart ached as he saw the pain and fear in your eyes, but he remained calm and steady, his voice just a soft murmur, meant only for your ears.

“just breathe, i've got you.”

“i’m scared. i can still see him, ken. . . like-like he’s still there,” you sobbed, your voice trembling with raw emotion. nanami pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively, forming a shield against the torment haunting your mind. each of your sobs echoed in his heart, causing it to ache with a profound, sympathetic pain. the sight of your tears and the sound of your anguish tightened his chest, filling him with a deep sorrow and an even deeper resolve to keep you safe from the shadows of the past.

“he's not there, my love. je's not there... it's just us here, remember? it's just us.”

his voice, while calm on the surface, held a hint of a pain that mirrored your own. the painful memories of that tragic day weighed on him just as heavily as they did on you. as you continued to sob against his chest, nanami continued to hold you, his embrace tight and comforting. he felt the tears dampening the fabric of his shirt, each one a heart-wrenching reminder of your pain.

he whispered soothing words in your ear, trying to reassure you that he was here and that he wasn't going anywhere. every word he spoke was filled with love and reassurance, hoping they would help ease your fears.

“it's alright… everything's alright. just let it out, my love.” he held you tighter, his grip firm but gentle as he tried to soothe your fears. “listen to my voice, alright? focus on me. focus on my voice and nothing else. can you do that for me?” his voice was soft, just a low hum against your ear. he continued caressing and stroking your hair and head, his fingers running through your locks in a slow and soothing rhythm. he kept you held close against his chest, his heart thumping steadily beneath the fabric of his shirt.

as you listened to his voice and felt his touch, you found yourself calming down bit by bit. the sound of his steady heartbeat and the soothing motion of his fingers through your hair helped to ground you, bringing you back to the present.

you closed your eyes and took a deep, shaky breath, your sobs slowly subsiding as you continued to focus on him. the pain and fear still lingered, but they felt less overwhelming with him by your side. “okay,” you whispered, your voice still trembling slightly.

minutes passed by in a hushed silence, except for the occasional, quiet sobs escaping your lips. nanami continued to hold you tightly, his hands gently stroking your back in slow, soothing movements. he wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he could feel the tension gradually leaving your body, replaced by a weary exhaustion. he took a deep breath and spoke again, his voice low and gentle.

“are you feeling any better, my love?”

you slowly nodded against his chest, your body heavy with the emotional strain from the nightmare and the subsequent breakdown. “a-a little,” you mumbled, your voice hoarse from all the crying. you didn't lift your head from his chest, taking comfort in the closeness and the protective warmth of his embrace.

you felt a mix of exhaustion and relief, but the lingering memories of the nightmare still weighed heavily on your mind. despite that, being in his arms made you feel safer, like nothing could harm you as long as he was near. “how about i make you some tea and we can go to sleep after that, hm?”

you nodded again, the idea of a warm cup of tea and a good rest sounded like just the thing you needed right now. “yes, please,” you mumbled, your voice small and weary. you continued to cling to him, feeling the comfort in his arms and not wanting to let go just yet.

the thought of sleeping was a bit intimidating, as you feared the nightmares might come back, but you trusted nanami to stay with you and keep them at bay. after a few more seconds of holding you close, nanami carefully shifted his position, gently coaxing you to sit upright. je then stood up from the bed, keeping one arm around you for support. “here, hold onto me,” he said softly, guiding you to your feet. “can you walk, or do you want me to carry you to the kitchen?” you looked up at him, your eyes filled with gratitude and trust, and reached out, stretching your hands towards him in silent request.

nanami saw the gesture and smiled gently, understanding your unsaid request. he bent down and picked you up in his arms, lifting you with ease as if you weighed nothing. he cradled you against his chest, your body fitting snugly in his embrace.

“there we go,” he said softly, his voice warm and soothing. “just rest, okay? i've got you.”

nanami carried you to the kitchen, each step he took was steady and careful, ensuring that you were secure in his arms. as you reached the kitchen, he continued holding you comfortably against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around your body. once he got to the counter, he gently set you down on a stool, keeping a supportive arm around you as he spoke.

“i'm going to start brewing the tea. just rest here for a moment, alright?” he cupped your cheek for a moment, gently caressing it with his thumb, then leaned in to kiss your forehead. you just nodded your head as an answer.

with you seated on the stool, nanami stepped away to gather the ingredients for the tea. he moved around the kitchen, his movements graceful and efficient. he placed a kettle on the stove to boil the water, and then retrieved a box of tea leaves from a nearby cabinet.

he cast occasional glances in your direction as he worked, making sure you were alright and still resting comfortably. once the water was boiling, he steeped the tea leaves in the kettle, letting the aroma of the tea fill the kitchen.

as nanami prepared the tea, he noticed your unwavering gaze upon him. whenever he glanced in your direction, he met your eyes, the silent communication passing between you like a gentle current.

seeing your focus on him, he couldn't help but smile softly. the knowledge that you were watching his every move made his heart feel a bit lighter, knowing that you were still there with him, even if your mind had temporarily been taken by that nightmare.

“you're just going to watch me work, huh?” he asked jokingly, his voice was light and playful. “no requests or demands? i'm surprised,” he chuckled lightly.

he continued to move around the kitchen, his attention split between making the tea and comforting you with his presence, adding a bit of honey and lemon as you preferred. you shook your head slightly, a soft smile playing on your lips. “no, i just like watching you,” you replied, your voice gentle and filled with affection. “it's soothing. besides, i trust you to make it perfectly.”

your gaze never wavered as you continued to watch him, finding comfort in the simple act of observing his careful movements and the calmness he exuded. “thank you for always taking care of me, ken,” you added softly, your words carrying a deep sense of gratitude and love for your boyfriend.

nanami's heart warmed at your words, the sight of your smile causing a pleasant flutter in his chest. despite his usual calm demeanor, knowing that you appreciated his efforts and felt comforted by his presence never failed to affect him. he finished preparing the tea, a fragrant steam rising from the mug. he picked it up and walked back over to you, a tender smile on his face.

“of course, my love. i'll always take care of you,” he replied softly, his voice filled with sincere affection. “that's a promise i intend to keep.”

he placed the mug on the countertop beside you, and then took a step closer. he reached out and lightly caressed your cheek, his touch of tender reassurance, the touch firm but gentle. “you don't have to thank me,” he said softly. as nanami's hand touched your cheek, his thumb lightly stroking the contour of your face, he couldn't help but notice the exhaustion etched upon it.

the weariness from the nightmare and the emotional toll it had taken on you was still evident in your weary eyes and the lines on your forehead. he gently brushed a few strands of hair back, tucking them behind your ear, his touch gentle and soothing. “drink some tea, love. it'll help you relax,” he said, his voice a low, soothing murmur.

your heart warmed at nanami’s words and the gentle smile on his face. as he placed the steaming mug of tea beside you, you couldn’t help but tease him a bit. “maybe one day i'll actually have to wife you up with all this care and attention,” you said with a playful grin, your eyes twinkling, “you’re making it really hard to stay single!”

nanami’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he lightly caressed your cheek. “well, if it means i get to be your favorite tea-maker, i’ll gladly accept the role,” he replied with a chuckle. “you don’t have to thank me, my love,” he continued softly. “nut if you do decide to make that leap, i’ll be more than ready.”

as you teased him about marrying him, nanami chuckled softly. he couldn’t help but find it adorable how you teased him despite everything that had been going on, and he appreciated that you could find humor in the midst of all the stress.

his hand caressed your cheek gently, his fingers tracing small, soothing circles against your skin. he smiled at your playful banter, his heart light with affection. “i suppose i should consider myself lucky,” he said with a smirk. “you’ve got me wrapped around your little finger already.”

he picked up your pointy finger and gently brought it to his lips, your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected gesture. his eyes met yours as he pressed a kiss against your finger, the warmth of his lips sending a shiver down your spine. is gaze held a mixture of tenderness and a hint of amusement, as he couldn’t help but tease you back.

“see? wrapped around your finger,” he mumbled, his lips still lightly touching your skin.

your gaze was fixed on his lips as they brushed against your finger, making your heart race so intensely you felt it in your ears. after a brief silence, you cleared your throat. it always annoyed you how, whenever you tried to tease nanami, he effortlessly turned the tables on you, leaving you at a loss.

you cleared your throat, a tinge of embarrassment crept onto your face. nanami couldn't help but chuckle at your reaction, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. he knew that you loved to tease him, especially when you thought you could get the upper hand in a situation. little did you know, however, that he had more than enough tricks up his sleeves.

“ah, come on now, my love,” he grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “can't handle it when i turn the tables on you?��

nanami continued to smirk as he watched you trying to compose yourself, enjoying the way your little teasing attempt had backfired so endearingly. his eyes sparkled with a touch of triumph, as he fully relished the moment. he moved a little closer to you, leaning his hip against the countertop as he spoke in a low, teasing tone. “you’re not too embarrassed, right? you started it, remember?”

you blushed, feeling a warmth spread across your cheeks as you tried to avoid his teasing gaze. “shut up,” you mumbled shyly, your voice barely more than a whisper. you glanced down, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips despite your attempt to play it cool. the playful spark in nanami’s eyes and his gentle touch only made it harder to stay composed.

as you blushed and tried to avoid his gaze, nanami chuckled softly. he could tell that you were flustered by his teasing, and it only made him want to continue messing with you a little longer. he leaned in closer, his body almost pressing against yours as he continued to smirk.

“ah, such a cute reaction,” he teased, his voice a low murmur. “you know i can’t resist teasing you when you’re like this.”

“shut up,” you groan, dragging the 'p' longer, your voice laced with a mix of shyness and playful frustration. your cheeks burned even hotter, and you quickly covered your face with both hands in an attempt to hide your embarrassment.

nanami chuckled again, clearly enjoying your embarrassed reaction. he carefully grabbed one of your hands, gently tugging it away from your face so he could see your expression. “no, no, no, don't hide from me now,” he teased, his voice filled with mock disappointment. “i love it when you get all flustered.” you let out a small, high-pitched squeal as you buried your face against his, your giggles escaping despite your attempt to hide.

as you screamed and hid your face in his chest, nanami found himself laughing quietly at your adorable behavior. the high-pitched sound and the feeling of your face against his chest only made his heart clench with affection.

he wrapped his arms around you and held you close, his hand gently stroking your hair, trying not to burst out into full-on laughter at your antics. he loved it when you acted so shy and cute, especially when you tried to hide your blushing face from him. “ah, my beautiful soon-to-be wife,” nanami murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

as he kissed the top of your head, his lips lingered for a moment, as if he was trying to imprint that affectionate gesture into your memory. he held you close, his arms strong and protective around you. he could feel you nuzzling against his chest, still trying to hide your burning face. nut he knew how much you loved it when he called you his ’beautiful soon-to-be wife’ it was a playful nickname he had used before, and it always seemed to get you just as flustered each time.

he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest against your cheek. he enjoyed the feeling of having you so close, and the way your embarrassment made you cling to him.

you gently pushed your face away from his chest, your chin resting on it as you looked up at him. the remnants of embarrassment still linger on your cheeks, adding a soft, rosy glow to your flushed expression.

as you pushed your face away from his chest, nanami looked down at you with a warm, amused smile. his gaze softened as he saw the remnants of embarrassment still lingering on your cheeks, the soft, rosy glow adding a sweetness to your expression. his hand moved to cup your jaw, his thumb lightly tracing the contours of your skin.

“there’s that blush again,” he teased gently. “you just can’t help it, can you?” you raised an eyebrow and gave him a playful eye rolling. “oh, please. if you weren’t always so charming, maybe i wouldn’t blush so easily.”

nanami raised an eyebrow in return, his smile growing wider at your sassy response. he chuckled softly, clearly enjoying your playful banter. “charm, you say?” he replied, his tone is lighthearted and amused. “so it’s all my fault then, hmm?”

he leaned down a little closer, his face hovering just inches from yours, his gaze unwavering. “well, i suppose i can’t help it if you find my irresistible charisma utterly swoon-worthy,” he teased with a grin. you smirked, hugging his waist tightly.

“oh, so this is what happens when you come back from jujutsu and gojo’s influence starts rubbing off on you. you’re getting pretty good at this charming stuff.”

you tilted your head, feigning contemplation. “i suppose i’ll just have to deal with it, since you’ve clearly mastered the art of being swoon-worthy.” nanami chuckled lowly as you accused him of getting influenced by gojo, a hint of mock offense in his expression. he knew that gojo could be hard to shake off, both in person and his impact on others.

“oh, absolutely,” he said sarcastically. “gojo's charm and banter are like a virus that spreads. i have no control over it.”

he smirked back, loving the way you continued to tease him. “and you're just going to have to deal with it, because i've mastered the art of being irresistibly charming just for you,” he chuckled. “gojo might have his tricks, but i assure you, my love— all this charm is entirely my own.”

you scrunch your nose, smile still colored in your face, “you're so cheesy and corny.”

nanami chuckled even louder at your scrunching of your nose and your blunt comment. he knew he sometimes did go overboard with cheesy lines, but he couldn’t help it when it came to you.

“cheesy and corny, hm?“ he teased, not the least bit bothered by your playful criticism. “maybe i’m just trying to get you to swoon over me some more.” he smirked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “or maybe i just can’t help but be disgustingly romantic around you.”

he leaned in, you tightened your arm around his waist, a smile spreading across his face. you mirrored his expression, whispering, “and i'm disgustingly in love with you,” your lips brushing against his as you spoke.

as you tightened your arm around his waist and mirrored his expression, a warm smile spreading across your face, nanami’s heart skipped a beat in response. his eyes softened, a tenderness in his gaze, as you confessed your love. he leaned in closer to you, drawn to the affectionate gesture. he relished the way you spoke, the words dripping with sweetness.

even after all this time together, your affection still had the ability to make him weak in the knees. he closed his eyes briefly, savoring the sensation of your breath against his lips. the words ‘disgustingly in love’ echoed in his mind, a reminder of the depth of your feelings for each other. he chuckled softly, his breath warm against your lips before you kissed him.

“and i'm disgustingly in love with you, too,” he whispered, his voice filled with affection.

as your lips met in a brief, gentle kiss, nanami felt a wave of affection well up within him. he drew back briefly, drinking in the sight of your flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, before leaning back in to capture your lips again with his hands come up to gently cradle your cheeks. this time, he kissed you with a deeper, more passionate intensity, his lips molding against yours hungrily, his tongue exploring your mouth with a familiar, intoxicating rhythm.

you could feel his body press against yours, his hands holding your face tightly as he claimed your mouth with a possessive, overwhelming force. he pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss, his hand moving up to gently caress your cheek. he looked at you, his gaze filled with tenderness.

“you know,” he murmured, his voice slightly hoarse with emotion, “i could say cheesy, corny things to you all night long.” as he pulled back from the kiss, his hand gently caressing your cheek, you could see the tenderness in his gaze. you relished the huskiness in his voice, the raw emotion behind it making your heart flutter.

you chuckled softly at his words, a mixture of mock annoyance and affection in your expression.

“oh, I know you could,” you retorted gently. “but please don’t. my poor heart can only take so much cheese before it melts into a puddle.”

nanami laughed heartedly as he saw your playful eye roll in response to his cheesy words. je knew very well the effect his cheesy lines had on you, but he couldn’t help himself sometimes. the way you tried to brush them off with a coy smirk only made him want to keep going.

he pulled you in closer, his arms wrapping around your waist and holding you tight in an embrace.

“ah, come on now,” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of playful pleading. “you love it when i’m cheesy. don’t deny it.”

and just like that, with nanami's cheesy and corny jokes, his comforting presence, and the warmth of his embrace, your nightmares and fears began to dissipate. his gentle humor and unwavering support created a safe haven for you, where the shadows of your past couldn't reach.

in his arms, the weight of your worries lifted, replaced by a profound sense of peace and security. nanami's love and tenderness enveloped you, turning your darkest moments into memories of light and laughter.