#i was in the middle of doing the echo grind for that

[asleepinawell]

wait they nerfed knifegate???

[l0velysmut]

₊˚ ୨ miguel o’hara x fem!reader ୧ ˚₊

contains: fingering, size kink, short!reader, miguel’s big asf.

wc: 853

You're sitting on Miguels lap, legs spread wide, as your head leans back against his muscly chest. He has one arm wrapped around your torso, holding you close to him.

“M-Miguel..” You whimpered, hips rolling under his touch, causing your clit to rub against his palm. Your eyes were filled with tears as you looked down at his middle and ring finger slowly pumping in and out of your pussy, glistening his hand with your wetness.

“What’s the matter? My fingers too big for you?” He teases into your ear, dragging his fingers against your walls. He felt you clench around his long fingers, and smirked down at your small frame.

He knew he was big, so asking you if any part of him was too big would be a silly question.

The truth was, his fingers were too big for you. You could take his cock way better than you could take his 11 inch fingers, surprisingly.

All you could do was moan in response when he purposely curled his thick fingers into your g-spot so that you couldn’t respond to his question.

“Please, Miggy…” You whine, desperately needing him to go faster and make you cum. He had been teasing your pussy for so long; he had been lazily pumping his fingers, brushing his thumb over your clit for not even a second, and not putting his fingers all the way in. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Please what, chiquitita? What do you need?” He asks, even though he knew damn well what you wanted.

“P-Please go faster.” You grip his forearm, trying to use whatever strength you had left in your jelly-like limbs to push his fingers deeper into you, but when he didn’t budge because his strength was much greater than yours.

You huffed and craned your neck to look at him. “Please? I’ve been good.”

He hums and sinks his fingers deeper into you, nearly reaching your cervix. “You’re right, you have been good.” He nods, maintaining eye contact.

His fingers slowly, but surely, began to move in and out of you faster, making you moan and lean your head back against his shoulder, giving him full access to kiss and suck at your neck.

He plants kisses on the side of your neck, sucking darks hickeys whilst occasionally nipping at the skin.

“You’re always so patient, never begging for more than what I give you, and never being a needy brat. Such a good girl.” He whispers into your ear shakily, holding back a growl that bubbles in his throat when he hears your sweet noises.

He then pushed his two fingers in knuckle deep, causing your back to arch and a pretty moan to fall from your lips.

Miguel smiles at your reaction and kisses your temple, his fingers beginning to fuck your pussy relentlessly, coating his fingers with your cream. Your body squirmed against him, and moan after moan left your lips.

“Is this what you wanted, baby?” He asks, watching as his fingers disappear and reappear.

“Y-Yes, fuck, yes.” You nod, whimpering when his thumb came in contact with your clit. A heat began to boil inside of you which made your toes curl. “I’m so close, miggy.”

He hums, closing his eyes and leaning his head into the crook of your neck, listening to your noises and the wetness of your pussy that echoed throughout the living room.

He let out a muffled groan into your neck, and his hips began to grind up against your ass. You could feel his thick hard-on pressing against your bare ass cheeks, and that sent you over the edge.

“Miguel! I’m- fuck! I’m coming!” You practically screamed as your orgasm washed over you.

Goosebumps littered up and down your body as your thighs closed around his hand, shaking in the process. Waves of ecstasy flowed within you and your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath.

You turn your head to look at your boyfriend through half-lidded eyes once you came down from your high, but he was already looking at you, studying the way your face contorted when you came.

He loved watching you as you came, that’s why he loved fingering you so much. He loved to see just how much pleasure he could give you with only his fingers. He loved that he didn’t even have to use his cock to get you off.

“Did so good for me, mama.” He says, pressing a passionate kiss to your lips. He pulls his fingers out of you and grabs your hips, turning you around on his lap so that you were straddling him.

One hand holds your lower back while the other rests on the back of your head, and in the blink of an eye, you were flat against the couch and he was hovering over you, holding himself up with his hands on either side of your head.

“But, I think you need something bigger to fully satisfy that pretty pussy.” He says, grinding his leaking cock which was still in his boxers against your bare, and still dripping pussy.

[writersdrug]

MDNI, Somnophilia, consent discussed off-screen

Waking up with an all-too-familiar wetness between your legs, mind racing to the gutter before you were even fully aware of your surroundings, suddenly remembering that your boyfriend Johnny came home from the mission in the middle of the night.

You lazily toss a leg over his hip, pulling yourself as close as you could, heart fluttering as he instinctively wraps an arm around your lower back and pulls you against him. Soft puffs of his warm breath dancing over the top of your head, fingers twitching against the small of your back... his thigh is thick and firm between the apex of your own, warm and muscular, skin soft and covered with coarse hair... you can't help but roll your hips against it, the pressure nice and hard on your clit through the soaked fabric of your panties. You bite your lip and muffle your whimpers - you don't want to wake your tired soldier, now do you? - sighing prettily as you drag your cunt up and down his leg, your one hand fisting the nape of his shirt.

He must have sensed your arousal in his dreams - he slowly comes to, sliding a thick, calloused hand into your hair and inhaling deeply. He presses his thigh further in between your legs, ears picking up on the way your breath hitches in your throat, soft hiccups falling from your lips as you grind your pussy against him. He groans, sliding his other hand back to grab a handful of your ass and squeezes the flesh, warm and spilling in between his fingers.

"Cannae wait 'til I get a proper sleep, eh?" He taunts, voice heady and thick with sleep, the timbre rumbling thriugh his chest and straight into your core. Bouncing his leg against your puffy folds and smirking down at you. You feel his cock come to life under his briefs as he delivers a harsh slap to your ass cheek, the sound echoing through the bedroom and making you yelp. He grabs your hip and you helps you keep up the rhythm, rolling your pelvis to find that delicious balance between your clit throbbing and your hole clenching.

"Ye woke me up n' grind on me like a bitch in heat? Go on, Bonnie - tha's it, ye hoor, grind tha' pussy on me baby..."

[hispg]

Love can't wait

Pairings: r2! Leon X Fem! Reader

Summary: Someone's horny in the middle of the night, and you'll have to take care of his 'problem'.

Wc: 2.2k

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, p in v, making out, oral (f receiving), sloppy sex, whiny Leon.

An: Last week was a real mess. My birthday, I ended up being sick all week, I'm slowly recovering. And to make matters worse, I'm in my exam week💀

My brain is melting😭 Tomorrow I promise to answer the comments and asks🤝

I've only just managed to post, I had this draft ready and thought I should post it so I wouldn't run out of things to post. I didn't read it, so sorry for any mistakes.

"Baby, please..." Leon whimpered in your ear, hugging you from behind, leaving a trail of wet kisses on your neck.

He was grabbing you by the hips, his erection bumping against your ass as you tried to sleep, which was impossible with you being humped by the man behind you.

He'd been awake for a while, desperate to fuck you, who knows why he woke up with his cock hard in the middle of the night. Jerking off wasn't enough, he needed you.

"Leon.... Tomorrow..." You mumble, trying to bury your head in the pillow.

You heard him protest in a whimper, pressing his erection hard against you, making you moan softly into the pillow, and he grunted at the contact. He wasn't taking no for an answer.

"Love...." He pleaded, giving your jaw a light bite, not wasting a second and promptly sliding his hand under your clothes, caressing your belly, feeling your skin slide under his fingers.

His other hand went behind your neck, up to the back of your head where he began to massage, bringing his lips to your cheeks, giving wet kisses all over your face.

"Please..." He whispered, not caring if he sounded desperate or not, he just wanted you, it was the only thing on his mind.

You didn't even have time to answer, he was quick enough to move his hand down to your ass, opening your ass cheeks and pressing his erection in the middle, rubbing back and forth.

He was so needy that you could already feel him leaking through his underwear, his hoarse, whimpering voice echoing in your ears. Just by the state he was in, you were already starting to feel wet.

"You feel so good..." He whispered, moving against you harder, eliciting several low moans from you.

You could feel his nails digging into your soft flesh, holding your ass open for him to rub against you.

He was drooling on you, his kisses on your neck becoming more and more desperate, his tongue coming out of his mouth to lick the whole length of your skin, his body shaking with precipitation.

If you didn't let him do what he wanted to you, he'd certainly be able to cum in his pants.

"I need you so much..." He whispers, bringing his hand up to your breasts, gently caressing them up until then.

"Leon... Mhm..." You murmured in a somewhat sleepy voice, shifting a little in bed.

He whimpered in your ear, pushing you down a little further, grinding against you with a little more vigor, and it wasn't long before he had your nipple between his fingers, rolling it between his digits.

"I need to fuck you... I want it so bad it hurts." He purred, giving your nipple a vicious tug, and the unexpected action made you gasp.

Seeing that he wouldn't get any response from you at this point, he quickly turned you over on the bed, laying you on your back.

Before you could protest, he captured your lips in a languid kiss, his lips crashing against yours in a primal way, as if he couldn't help himself.

He kissed you so hard that at one point you could feel his teeth chattering against yours, he kissed you in such a sloppy, desperate way. Just as he began to press his erection into the mattress, wanting to relieve himself in some way.

You were so trapped at this point that at some point you just started moaning against each other, as if the kissing session was all you needed to go over the edge.

Almost painfully, the two of you broke apart, breathing heavily and quickly, almost out of breath from the intensity of your kisses.

When he looked at you, seeing your cheeks so red, the way your chest rose and fell with every heavy breath you took. Oh, and those lips, the way you looked at him so slyly like that.

At the same moment he felt his cock throbbing inside the confines of his pants. As if it were a last desperate act, he stuck his face between your breasts, sticking his tongue out in a clumsy way, sucking on your nipple as if it were the last thing he was going to do.

You moaned against the pillow, pushing his head against your breast. He grunted at the sudden contact, sucking on you desperately.

Despite not wanting it at first, you found yourself soaking wet now, grinding your pussy against his thigh that was between your legs, and he grinned like a bastard when he saw the state you were in.

"Mhm.... I want to fuck you..." He whispers, taking his mouth off your breast, searching for air, and he could already see the imprint of his lips around your breast.

You smiled slyly, rubbing your wetness against him hard, and in response he put a wide palm on your chest, lowering his face so that he could kiss you, leaving no part of your face untouched.

"Can I taste you? Please, please." He pleaded in a sly voice, tugging on your nipples once more, his mouth kissing you wetly and incessantly all over your face.

Fuck, how could you say no when he was asking so nicely?

When he saw you nod, Leon gave you a sly smile, turning you over so that you lay on your back properly, lifting your clothes to gain access to your thighs.

Once he had your legs open, he licked his lips, looking at your pussy which was already wet and waiting for him. In the blink of an eye he buried his face in your folds, sticking his tongue out and licking the entire length of your flesh, lapping at your skin like a hungry man, making loud, impure slurping sounds.

You could feel his nose hitting your clit every time he stuck his tongue into your needy hole, his hot muscle moving in and out in an incessant manner. His hands gripped your thighs in a firm way, leaving red marks from his fingers, from how hard he was holding you.

"So good, mhmm, you're so hot..." He murmurs against your slit, giving you an awkward smile, then going back to licking you all over again.

You were so red, your cheeks burning as you squirmed on the bed, your lips parted as you moaned, your hips moving back and forth, searching for more friction. Leon groaned when he felt your hand on his blond strands, which you took advantage of to push him against you, making him sink into your heat.

"Fuck-" You whimper, tugging at his hair, and he lets out a low murmur in response, giving your clit a hard suck, then sinking his tongue into your hole once more.

His cock was aching and throbbing in his pants, and he couldn't help himself, unconsciously humping the bed, eating you out desperately, wanting to taste your sweetness again and again.

You soon began to feel that warm sensation forming in the pit of your stomach, your mind becoming more and more blurred with each caress of his tongue. Your furrows running down his chin, his mouth completely moist from the result of your arousal.

"Cum, cum, baby, cum on my tongue." He whispers, working tirelessly on your cunt, with no intention of stopping.

And there you went, unable to hold back the orgasm that washed over you when he licked and caressed you like that. You gushed out your juices, your eyes rolling into the back of your head once you felt the hot liquid being squirted out of you.

"Fuck Leon!" You let out a moan mixed with a sigh, your face all red with pleasure.

Faced with the scene, Leon didn't have much to do, his cock, which was throbbing painfully in the constraints of his pants, no longer hurt, he just felt the warmth forming in his body. Only to feel the thick ropes of cum spilling out, staining all his clothes. He didn't even realize it, he couldn't even hold back his own urges.

Leon couldn't even hide the blush that appeared fiercely on his cheeks, he felt so ashamed that he hadn't been able to hold back. But you couldn't blame him, every time he stared at your wet folds he couldn't help it, he felt all his blood pulsing to his lower body.

"I love the taste of you." He says in a sweet voice, as if he hadn't just eaten you out like a starving man.

When you regained your senses, you focused your gaze on him, and watched as he licked up all the rest of your fluids, licking his lips when he'd finished, then getting down on his knees.

"I promise I'll make it up to you. I promise." He says in a purr, soon putting his pants down, along with his underpants.

You saw a part of his cock, the pink tip that was dripping, not only that, but it was all sticky with his cum. At that moment you felt your pussy get even wetter.

Your legs remained open as you watched him, his hand wrapped firmly around his cock.

When he started masturbating, dirty, erotic moans came out of his mouth, whimpers so sly that you could spend the night watching him.

Leon could feel his cock getting harder and harder in his hand, with every movement, a little trail of pre-cum running down his pink tip.

"Mhm.... I'm going to fuck you. You're going to feel so good." He said, so sweetly, but at the same time looking at you in such a naughty way.

Once again he positioned himself on top of you, his tip resting lightly against your entrance. His cum mixing with yours, your fluids mixing with his, making a slippery mess.

You gripped the sheets tightly, biting your lower lip, your body moving involuntarily against him, begging for any other movement.

"You're so beautiful..." Leon purrs, giving you a little distraction, because right after that line he thrust hard against you.

He entered you at once, completely, without even letting you breathe. You went to heaven when you felt all that stretching once again, your walls stretching to accommodate him, your tight pussy wrapping itself tightly around him, making him grunt in response.

"Fucking tight-" he growls, placing his hands on your hips, letting his fingers sink into your skin.

He slowly put his body up against yours, letting his weight rest on you a little. His hips jerked against yours, his fingers leaving red marks on your hips.

Your mouth opened to let out a silent whimper, while your eyes closed tightly as he thrust all the way in and hit that spongy spot that made you see stars every time.

You swore you couldn't even hear yourself anymore, or know whatever inarticulate sounds you were letting out. The only sensation that was in your body was the sloppy thrusts, his tip reaching deep points, touching your cervix from time to time.

" Tight little pussy, so fucking good." Leon purrs, his hips moving against yours in an almost involuntary way, as if he no longer had any control.

Just as he could no longer hold back all the noises he let out every time you squeezed around him, your walls wrapped around his cock so tightly that he was trying not to roll his eyes every time it happened.

You could already feel your body heating up once again, you could even see the bodily signs that it wouldn't be long before you went over the edge once more. And Leon would be lying if he didn't say the same thing.

In a failed and desperate attempt to drown out his sounds, he put his mouth on yours, kissing you passionately and hotly, increasing the speed with which he thrust into you. In and out, in sync with the roll of your hips.

You felt your body shiver when he put his tongue inside your mouth, exploring everything he could, wanting to feel everything you could offer him.

It was the last straw for you to come, creaming all over his cock, making another mess of the sheets. The sensation of you moaning against his mouth, or the way he felt you cumming for him so easily, was a spark of electricity in his body.

All you understood was some cursing that came out of him, then his hot cum inside you. He was going to pull out, hell, he knew he shouldn't cum inside you. But how could he take his cock out of you when you nestled so perfectly?

The two of you were a mess, barely able to breathe, his forehead resting under yours as he tried to catch his breath.

And then he smiled innocently, whispering, "Round two?"

You rolled your eyes, he wasn't serious.

"No, it's two in the morning. We should be asleep." You retorted, and he nodded with a displeased pout.

He promptly got off you, rolling onto his side and hugging you from behind once again, keeping you close. He seemed quite relaxed now.

It's a long night, although he's satisfied now, maybe he just needs a little more love throughout the evening.

[buckyalpine]

Slightly drunken ramblings. But imagine Bucky sneakily dragging you away to the bathroom in the middle of a party because that pretty little sparkly pink dress is driving him fucking crazy. He's dressed in all black from head to toe and you look like the most delicate sweet thing beside him, his pretty princess. On top of that, your doe eyes keep flicking over to him while you innocently sip on your wine glass and he knows there's nothing but filth behind those eyes.

"Bambi..." He practically growls, pushing you against the counter tops after locking the door shut, slotting himself between your legs.

"Jamie" you shyly giggle, wrapping your legs around his waist, gasping at his erection pressing against your core, his hands going to your waist to grind himself on you. "What are you-

"You're here lookin' like sin and you expect me to keep my hands to myself" He scoffs, the clink of his belt buckle hitting the floor making your stomach flip. "Look what you do to me baby"

He purrs by your ear, taking your hand and wrapping it around his throbbing cock, moving it to stroke his thick length up and down.

"This is your fault Bambi, coming out here, looking a me like that"

"Like what Jamie" You let out a needy whine, spreading your thighs apart to show him where you need him most, feigning innocence.

"Acting like you're not a little cockslut for me baby, batting those pretty eyes as if you're not thinking about my fat cock stretching you" He groans when he swipes his fingers through your folds, feeling your lack of panties, "Dirty girl, not even wearing panties, you wanted this, didn't you baby"

"Please daddy" you beg this time and he doesn't waste a second shoving his cock in with zero prep. You choke out a scream as he grabs your hips to hold you in place while he starts to fuck you hard and fast, your heels digging against his ass.

"That's it, take my cock baby, take daddy's big cock" He groans feeling you clench around him, your sobs of pleasure echoing and bouncing off the walls. "Pretty little slut for daddy, s'perfect, gonna make me cum so hard baby"

He grits his teeth, biting into your soft skin leaving marks along your neck and shoulders so everyone knows who you belong to. He moves one hand to pull the front of your dress down freeing your breasts so he could latch onto your nipples, tugging them between his teeth before laving at them with his tongue.

"Fuck princess, you're gonna make daddy cum" He tries hard to control it but when he's with you his voice always slips into a whine. He wants to hold it, he loves the way your tight cunt makes a creamy mess all over him, he could stare at the sight of his cock stretching your pussy all day. "Cum for me Bambi, m'gonna cum, fuck-

"D-Daddy!" You cry out, his pubic bone grinding and rubbing against your clit making your pussy throb, the head of his cock steadily dripping.

"Fuck yes, such a good girl, my good girl, dirty little girl just for me, take my cum pretty baby, take it, oh God, so much-mph, look at me when I fill you up baby" He grabs your jaw, squeezed your cheeks together, nipping at your adorable pout while he fills you up with the most dirty, sinful moan, hot ropes of cum seeping out of your folds, wetting your thighs. He kisses you deeply and possessively, licking away at the dark marks that cover your neck and breasts, proud of his work. "My pretty little princes"

Meanwhile...

"Has anyone seen y/n"

"Notice you don't see Barnes anywhere either"

"Did you see what she was wearing and how he was looking at her"

"..."

"He's fucking her somewhere, isn't he"

"Yup"

[paarksunghoon]

giving sunghoon a blowjob. please. for my health and sanity.

fuuuuuuck.

***

Sunghoon doesn’t know your name but he’s been hard for you for the better half of this party.

Your short dress leaves nothing to the imagination with your body on display underneath the soft fabric and your ass dangerously close to falling out every time you walk. He sees the way your hips sway to the beat of the song echoing through the house speakers and his eyes are glued to your exposed legs every time you walk past him.

The fact that you’re looking at him right now like he’s your next meal makes him feel like he could burst at any minute.

While his back is pressed against the bathroom door, he looks down at your kneeling figure with your cheek pressed against his thigh as you admire his hard cock straining against his jeans. Sunghoon thinks it’s so hot that you don’t even look at him. Your fingers pull down the zipper with ease as he thinks about the moments that led up to this one.

It was Heeseung that introduced the two of you. In a quick greeting, you’d stopped walking to say a quick ‘hello’ before Heeseung pointed at Sunghoon. One look at you was enough for him to keep thinking about you. He didn’t need to be drunk to know he wanted to fuck you within an inch of your life.

One dance turned into a grinding session in the middle of the dance floor with your ass rubbing against his lap. He tried to keep his heartbeat steady when you took his hand in yours and pushed it to the front of your body until his fingers were toying with the hem of your dress. That was enough for both of you to sprint to the nearest empty bathroom.

And now you’re pulling his pants and boxers down until his hard, leaking cock springs free. You lick his hard tip and a deep moan escapes from his mouth while your hand grabs him by the base of his shaft. Sunghoon watches you open your mouth and stick your tongue out. His cock spurts out more and more precum as you move to tap the head against your muscle, the pat pat pat sound making him roll his eyes back.

“Fuck,” he moans in a broken voice. “You’re so sexy.”

Sunghoon closes his eyes when your lips envelope the head into your mouth. He sucks in a breath when you hollow your cheeks and harshly suck on his tip, tongue rubbing against his slit like you’re trying to make him moan louder than the music outside. He bucks his hips forward involuntarily and nearly apologizes until you open your mouth wider and take half of him in one go.

With your hands on either side of his thighs, Sunghoon watches you move your head to and from his body. The sound of spit gathering at the corner of your mouth is music to his ears. You make his cock wetter with every pass of your tongue and the sight of the hottest girl he’s ever seen makes him feel crazy.

“You like sucking cock, don’t you?” You hum around him and he jerks his hips forward until you take another inch. Sunghoon uses his thumb to wipe some of the spit from your mouth. “You look perfect down there.”

His praise ignites your desires and you push your head against him faster and deeper until your nose hits his pelvis. Sunghoon almost chokes at the feeling of his tip against your throat. Nobody has ever taken all of him like this. You don’t complain and you don’t back down, instead gripping onto his thighs as you force yourself to stay put.

You pull back briefly and he watches a string of spit connect your mouth to his tip. As you look up at him, you stick your tongue out to lick him from underneath his balls to the slit before catching his cock into your mouth once again.

Your eyes well with tears and he coos at you while his thumb brushes the runny mascara from underneath you. Sunghoon doesn’t do a very good job, instead smearing the black makeup, but he argues that you look much better like this.

“Can I come in your mouth?” Sunghoon asks with a breathy tone. “Can I, please?”

You nod against him and push yourself up on your knees higher. Your gags egg him on as he pushes his hips against you one more time until the sound inevitably pushes him closer to the finish line.

“Relax your jaw.”

You do as he says to the best of your ability, mouth hanging open as Sunghoon’s hands hold your head in place. His fingers are warm against your skin and his tip touches the back of your throat with every deep thrust. More spit falls and coats his cock, which pistons in and out of your mouth like he’s on a mission to fill you with his essence until you start to dream about him.

“I’m cumming,” he grunts. “Fuck, stay still. I’m gonna fucking cum.”

Sunghoon throws his head back and pushes in and out of you as his come falls from his slit, coating the surface of your tongue. You do your best to keep it in your mouth and swallow as he pushes his release down the back of your throat. Sunghoon is somewhere between euphoria and reality when he looks at how you’re chasing his cock when his hips have slowed their movements, cleaning him off until no trace of him is left behind.

When you wipe the corner or your mouth with your finger and lick it clean, Sunghoon’s cock jumps.

“Shit,” he moans. “Think you can go again?”

Your open mouth tells him all he needs to know.

[jungwondazed]

18+ only. / jake makes you ride his fingers 

“why not? it’s not like you haven’t taken something bigger, right?” your face is red hot as you look down at your feet, avoiding his eyes as he attempts to lean his body to the side to look up at you. that perfect grin is plastered all over him and it makes you squirm at his gentle teasing. 

you’re not doing this. it took you weeks for jake to convince you to ride him. there was something so vulnerable about inching yourself down his length and being in control of the pleasure. jake on the other hand, enjoyed seeing it a bit too much.

“hmm? what do you say?” he leans in to kiss your lips, taking his time to help warm you up. 

this convincing thing that jake always does, well he’s far too good at it. with his hands caressing every part of your body, running it along the sides of your hips to your lower back, you found it easy to unravel under his touch. 

he kisses you for a long time, so long you’re moaning inside his mouth before you even realize it. it feels good to be with jake, it feels good to do whatever it is he wants. 

his hands slowly linger towards your inner thighs, gripping any skin that he can to fondle you further, and you naturally open your legs to let him caress you. you gasp at his soft touches, the sensitivity turning you on by the second. 

not longer after, you position yourself to climb over jake, whining at how his fingers were just barely grazing the cloth of your drenched panties. you knew he wasn’t gonna touch you there until you got on top of it yourself, and the realization made you squirm. 

he stabilizes his hand right beneath you, and you start grinding on the pads of his finger tips.  

“j-jake, it feels, feels good like this.” you gasp all in one breath, grinding against him ever so slowly. your clit is pulsating over his mere finger tips, but it presses so firmly that you think you could cum if you were to keep going. 

“you gotta put it in too baby, want you to feel all of it.” jake says in between making out with your neck, small pecks being sprinkled every so often. 

you whine at his suggestion, and he runs his other hand to the back of your thighs, before hooking his fingers to pull your panties down to your knees, not bothering to pull them all the way off. 

he rests his hand flat, only sticking up his middle finger and it makes you blush profusely. there was something so submissive about riding a single finger, having him witness all of it with his clothes still on.

you run your folds along him, moaning at the skin to skin contact. rocking on your knees back and forth, the tip of his finger collects your slick.

jake brings his other hand to grip your waist, his hold more firm than you expected and you know he wants it in more than you do at this point. he guides your body to lower yourself down his finger, and you both moan together as you sink yourself around him. 

you sit on his palm for a few seconds, whining into his ear at how good this feels. his fingers are long, and hard. more than anything your own could ever do.

“ride it however you want now, _____. i can help you if you get too tired.” you nod at his reassurance, bringing yourself up, lowering down again and keeping a steady pace that makes you cry into his shoulder. bouncing on his singular finger felt good but you knew it wasn’t enough to get you to cum, and he brings his ring finger up to slide right into you. 

it was perfect like this now. you bring your arms to wrap around his shoulders, stabilizing yourself to continue riding him. his knuckles were wider than the rest of his finger, and your hot slick leaked out every time your walls clenched around them. it’s so sticky down there, the squishing against his palm echoing every time you slam down. your whimpers and his heavy breathing joined alongside the messy noises, and it was the most vulgar thing you’ve ever heard.

jake works his lips all over your shoulders and neck, his chest rising against your own. he likes this doesn’t he? is this what he wanted? what was the good in watching his girl fucking herself on his fingers when he’s not being touched at all?

you pull your face up to watch his expressions, and he was gorgeous in his daze. the small corner of his lips rise as he realizes you’re staring at him, and it makes you lean in to kiss his lips deeply. he was such a perfect guy, the intimacy always feeling right with him. 

he begins to thrust his fingers up every time you slam down, making the pleasure grow even further. you’re moaning nonsense into his mouth, and he answers with “mmhmm”s and “i know”s in response. 

riding jake’s fingers makes you feel good after all. there was no longer any humiliation as the only thing your mind could focus on was getting closer and closer and kissing the handsome man in front of you. the handsome man that was smiling into your kiss as if there was anything amusing about this. 

“so close jake, -m so close.” you pull away to lean your forehead against his, closing your eyes as the orgasm starts building with every bounce on his fingers. 

“yeah you got it baby, cum for me, i know you want to,” his other hand runs itself all over your body, bringing you a comfort as you work yourself up and down a few more times before you cum all along his fingers. 

he groans as you do, fucking his hand hard against your cunt as you come undone, forcing your orgasm out longer than if you were to just have ridden it yourself. he keeps thrusting into you even after you tell him it’s all too much, because he knows you can take a few fingers. 

“j-jake, please,” you’re both out of breath as he slows down, finally steadying his palm to let you ride out the last of your high before you collapse entirely on top of him, fingers still deep inside you. 

he plays with your hair, and kisses the sides of your face as you catch your breath. his body is warm under yours, his firm muscles stabilizing your soft one. 

jake is gentle and patient, as teasing as he is, he warms you up so well when introducing you to new things that it all feels easy to explore your body with him. from the first kiss to your first time, to this. being in jake’s embrace even with his fingers deep inside you put you at ease, so at ease that he doesn’t wake you when you slowly fall asleep on his chest. soft pecks on your shoulders as he rubs your back up and down, until his eyes close too. 

[shebunie]

How good do you think Mizu's mouth skills are?

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬

𝙈𝙞𝙯𝙪 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙚

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: +𝟭𝟴, 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗱𝗻𝗶, 𝗵𝗼𝗿𝗻𝘆 𝘀𝗲𝘅, 𝗼𝗿𝗮𝗹 (𝗿! 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗲𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴), 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 (𝗿! 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗲𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴), 𝗰𝘂𝗺 𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗵𝗮𝗶𝗿 𝗽𝘂𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝘁𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟱𝟵𝟮 𝐀/𝐍: 𝗦𝗵𝗲 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄𝘀 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗼 𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗮 𝘄𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘀, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗯𝘆 𝗺𝗼𝘂𝘁𝗵, 𝗜 𝗺𝗲𝗮𝗻 𝗰'𝗺𝗼𝗻. 𝗦𝗵𝗲'𝘀 𝗺𝗲𝘀𝘀𝘆. 𝗣𝘂𝘀𝘀𝘆 𝗱𝗿𝘂𝗻𝗸 𝗠𝗶𝘇𝘂? 𝗟𝗲𝘁'𝘀 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗮 𝗱𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝗱𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝘇 𝗜'𝗺 𝗮𝗹𝘀𝗼 𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀.

"Feeling good princess?" 

Mizu’s cold fingers traced patterns along the outside of your thigh. Head encaged by the soft plush of your legs giving your needy cunt sloppy languid licks. Your hand grasping her hair for leverage, looking below you laid the sword wielder between your legs, mouth agape as heavy breaths leave her lips.

“Course you do, you’ve been waiting for this the whole day, haven’t you?” The sounds of your slick echoed through the walls of the brothel. You silently whimpered, legs opening more and grinding on her face. She groaned, the tip of her tongue protruding against your clenching hole, more slick coming out of your pulsing cunt. 

“Didn’t you say you have not tasted a woman?” You squirmed, face flushed from the squelching sounds of your pussy with each slurp of her mouth, “So fucking wet…” she mumbled, gently nipping at your clit, making you let out a shaky moan. As you threw your head back, thighs trembling from her constant stimulation.

“That doesn't mean I don’t know how,”

You groaned, watching as her tongue lapped at your arousal, sliding in between your slick folds. Her hands gripped your thighs tighter, leaving faint red marks, pulling you closer to her mouth as her sapphire eyes stared into yours. 

Moaning at the sight, pussy clenching against her tongue, and later around it as she pushed inside, “just like that.” She hummed, going back to your clit to tease it with her tongue. You could see in her half-lidded eyes that she was pussy drunk, lazily and messily lapping at you, eyes closing as she moaned at the taste.

You tugged on her hair, making her hum as she sucked on your clit, slightly shaking her head before pulling away and spitting in between your folds, you whimpered. 

She couldn’t even speak, completely lost on your cunt, mind fuzzy. Spreading her drool with her fingers. Your back arched as she pushed her ring and middle finger inside, watching your lips stretch around them to take her. She bit down on her lip, moaning when you whimpered as she stared at your cunt being filled and split open by her fingers. 

You were taking her so easily. “Mizu,” you sighed, moaning when her lips were back on your clit, making your thighs shake. You knew you weren’t gonna last, not when she found the spot that had you see stars, curling her fingers to hit it over and over and over again. She knew it too by the way your grip tightened on her hair, hums and whines leaving your lips. 

“I’m gonna cum!” you quickly muttered, moaning as she went faster, sucking harder on that little bundle of nerves. She didn’t relent until you were gushing inside her mouth, making her groan in pleasure. 

You always tasted so good. 

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, tongue desperately lapping at your cum to swallow it whole. You sighed as she fucked you through it, leaving you a trembling mess on the futon as she pulled her fingers out and sucked them clean, with a bit of strength left you tried to get off of her face, but with a gentle yet firm grip she pulled you back down, arms caging your thighs, as her nose bumped against your clit eliciting a yelp from you.

She anchored you to the moment, refusing to let the intensity fade. Her voice, a sultry whisper, teased the air as she continued, "I'm not done, I'm sure you've got more in you."

[nadvs]

Omg! We need to know what happened in the college library 😍

basketballplayer! rafe is so into public sex and nobody can convince me otherwise 👀 (this is in their fwb stage)

based on this fic! mentioned in this blurb! 18+!

it starts with her posting a selfie on her snap story in her school’s library with the caption: came all the way to the library just to pretend to study.

rafe replies to it with: can’t pretend to graduate tho. she says: blocking you and he replies: oh nooo how will i live.

she always finds herself smiling at her phone whenever she’s talking with him. she never thought she’d find a friend in him of all people, but she’s happy she did.

a few minutes later, he texts her: how long u planning to be at the library?

she replies: like another hour. why? you still good to meet at 3?

they have plans to go to a volleyball game on her campus after she got extra tickets from a friend. maybe he forgot. but he only asks her how he can get to her. she sends him the details.

soon after, rafe finds her on the top floor of her college library. it’s isolated and quiet, overlooking the courtyard.

admittedly, the second he saw the photo she posted, he was turned on. it’s crazy how a girl’s face alone can do this to him. the photo wasn’t even suggestive. she’s just that hot.

“here to beg for forgiveness?” she asks quietly as he paces towards the desk she’s sitting at. he’s wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt that he’s filling out well.

“forgiveness?” he settles in the chair beside her, smelling like his body wash.

he showered. she knows him well enough now; he always showers before a hook-up. he’s definitely here for that. he actually drove from his campus to hers in the middle of the day for it, hours before they were supposed to meet. she smirks at the realization.

“for being rude,” she says, gazing at his handsome features. the corner of his mouth curls into a smile, not even hiding that his eyes are trailing down her body.

she crosses her arms, purposely giving him a view of how low the top of her dress dips.

“not what i’m here for,” he says. he licks his lips as he glances at her chest, then meets her eyes. “you looked bored. i’m bored, too.”

“no, i think you’re something else,” she whispers. only three other people are in this section upstairs, far away and scattered across desks, but she can’t be too careful.

“and what’s that?” his voice is low, almost raspy.

“you know what.”

“yeah?” he says. his hand lands on the top of hers, guiding her palm to his lap. “check.”

of course he’s making her do the rest of the work. making her show how badly she wants him, too.

she looks around to make sure nobody’s watching, her heartrate quickening, and gives in to her body’s impulse to trail her hand up higher. his bulge is hard under his shorts.

she meets his eyes again with hitched breath, pulling back, arousal twisting deep in her core.

“anywhere we can go around here?” he asks, tilting his head as he leans closer.

“here?” she echoes. “in the library?”

“yeah,” he drawls. “why not?”

“we’ll get caught,” she says, but admittedly, the risk is thrilling.

“or we won’t,” rafe tells her.

it doesn’t even feel like she’s giving in to him. she wants to do it. she quickly packs her laptop in her bag and they make their way to the shelves lining the dim, even more desolate side of the top floor.

she inspects the ceiling for cameras, relieved to find none, and when she finally looks at rafe again, he’s stepping close to her, hands on her hips as he guides her back against a bookshelf.

she leaves her bag on the floor, gazing up at him as his chest presses against hers. his hot mouth is on her neck, grinding so she can feel how hard he is for her.

his fingers dip beneath her dress, cupping between her legs with cool fingers.

“think you can be quiet?” rafe whispers. she shudders as he slowly rubs over her panties with one hand while pulling down his shorts with the other.

she nods, all her composure lost.

“no matter how good it feels, alright?” he teases, his lips against hers. “i know you can get loud sometimes.”

“hurry up,” she says impatiently, tilting her hips forward to press against his hand. he chuckles at her desperation, pulling himself out of his boxers and shifting her panties to the side.

she hikes her leg up, arching her back as he guides himself into her. his eyes squeeze shut in pleasure once he feels her wrapped around him, burying into her with a hard jolt.

he has to keep his knees bent to be low enough for her. he holds her at the underside of her thigh, keeping her propped up as he starts to rock in and out of her.

her breaths are shallow and match his pace, an exhale with every thrust he takes. he watches her, the way her lips are parted as he slams into her, her hands tangling in his hair.

rafe lets out a low “fuck” once she starts to rock against him and her brows furrow in frustration. she brings her hand to his mouth, feeling him smile against her palm. when she quietly laughs, he mirrors her, putting his hand against her lips.

they stay like that, palms covering each other’s mouths, bodies joining in the best way, the thrill of the risk of being caught adding sparks in the air between them.

it takes everything in him not to grunt when he comes, breathing hard against her hand. once his body weakens, she pushes him back and starts to fix her dress.

“what about you?” he says, panting.

“i’m too scared we’ll get caught,” she says with a hushed laugh, pushing her dress down, eyes darting around. as good as it felt, she can’t imagine coming when she’s so on edge about being caught.

rafe isn’t okay with it. with other girls, it’s not like he’s totally selfish and only focused on his own pleasure, but if a girl doesn’t seem keen or direct about wanting to orgasm, he doesn’t care.

but with her, he does. it’s actually kind of jarring how much he does.

he tells her they’re going to her dorm. and once has her on her bed, he pulls her dress up again, slides her panties off, and uses his fingers and his tongue to bring her to her peak, revelling in the sound of her moans and the fact that she doesn’t have to worry about being quiet this time.

her body feels so relaxed afterwards that she actually thanks him. rafe smirks, gazing down at her as she comes down from her high, still in awe of her and the effect she has on him.

“what?” she laughs when she notices him staring.

“nothing,” he says. “you’re welcome.”

she laughs again, nudging him, unable to believe the turn her day took.

[kpop---scenarios]

Day Two: Jeongin

Pairing: Jeongin x Reader

Warnings: Smut, Smut and More Smut [ 18+ MINORS DO NOT READ]

Word Count: 1k

Day One: Felix |

Your eyes shoot open, your throat burning for water. You glance over at the clock. 3:00am.

“Fuck.” You whisper. You hated getting thirsty in the middle of the night, especially having to get up to go to the kitchen to grab a drink. With one eye open you glance over at your sleeping boyfriend, Jeongin. You wish you were sleeping as peacefully as he was at this very moment. You drag yourself out of bed, pulling down the shirt you were wearing before shuffling down the hallway, both of your eyes now closed as you try to trust your instincts to guide you in the right direction. You almost made it, but stubbed your toe on the couch on your way through the living room.

You walked the rest of the way to the kitchen with both eyes open, just barely. You go into the cupboard grabbing a cup, filling it up with water and chugging it as fast as you could. That was it. That hit the spot just right. You place your cup down and stand there for a moment. Before you were able to turn around, you felt a pair of hands on your waist.

“What are you doing?” You whisper as he runs his hands all over your body. He moves his hands down your sides, up your stomach, over your breasts and back down again.

“So sexy.” He groans, moving his hands under your shirt and up to your breasts. You let you a small breath as he uses the tips of his fingers on your nipples, gently playing with them. You feel him push his crotch into your ass, his hard dick pressing against you.

“Here?” You ask.

Jeongin doesn't answer. Instead he spins you around to face him and places his hands on your sides and says, “jump.”

You do as you're told, hopping up onto the counter with his help. He pulls you towards him a little bit, opening your legs. Jeongin gets down onto his knees, eye level with your pussy. You hadn't thought about fucking around in the kitchen but you were definitely into it.

“Please.” You whisper.

Jeongin looks at you, eyebrow cocked. “Please what?” He smirks.

“Do something, please.” You whine.

“What do you want me to do?” He asks. “Use your words.”

“Eat my pussy please.”

“Well since you asked so nicely.” He chuckles. He moves forward spreading your lips apart with his fingers. He licks a long strip up your already wet pussy, tasting you. “Mhmm.” He groans as he moves back in, licking you again, teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue. He moves his tongue in circles, flicking it gently, teasing the fuck out of you.

“Oh my god, please more.” You beg, throwing your head back. Jeongin suctions his lips around your clit, sucking and flicking as your eyes roll into the back of your head. “Oh my fucking god.” You moan. Jeongin takes it a step further, taking two fingers, sliding them into your already wet cunt. He continues to lick and slurp as he finger fucks you, basking in the sounds of your pants and moans echoing in the quiet kitchen.

You lean back, grabbing onto his hair, pulling it as you grind yourself on his face, your orgasm building so fucking quickly.

“Fuck.” You pant. “I'm gonna cum.. god right there.” You cry out.

Jeongin removes his face from between your legs before you came. “Whyyy.” You whine, pouting as he licks his lips, licking your juices from his face.

“I want you to cum on my cock.” He smirks. He helps you down from the counter, down onto the floor.

He has you on your knees with him behind you, he slowly slides his cock up and inside of you, pushing himself inside of you as deep as he can.

“Shit.” He groans as he pulls out slowly, before slamming himself back inside of you.

“Oh fuck.” You whine, Jeongin moving his hands in front of you and under your shirt. He lifts his hands up trailing your stomach as he cups your breasts. He moves his hands up more as he begins to thrust faster and harder into you, wrapping his hand around your throat.

You let out a gasp as his hand squeezes tighter as he fucks you faster. He releases your throat, moving his hand down your body again, in between your legs, placing his fingers on your throbbing clit.

“Oh my god, please.” You cry out. You can hear Jeongin chuckle behind you as he moves his fingers away from your clit, pushing you down onto your hands and knees. He grips you tightly as you move your hands to rub your clit, dying to cum.

Jeongin grunts as he picks up his pace, ramming his cock deep inside you as you rub yourself, your orgasm coming quickly.

“Fuck.. fuck Jeongin..” you mutter. “I'm gonna cum.” You cry. Your body tenses as your orgasm surges through your body, pleasure hitting you in full force. Your tighten your wet cunt around his cock as he digs his fingertips into your hips.

“Fuck, do that again.” He grunts. You tighten yourself around him again, making him groan loudly. “Ahh, fuck, I'm gonna cum.” He groans. He slams his cock into you once more, before his orgasm hits. Hot strands of cum seep out of him inside of you as he body slumps over on top of you as he rides out the rest of his orgasm.

“Mhmm.” He sighs. He stays still for a few seconds, enjoying the moment before he slowly pulls his cock out of you. He backs up a little, watching you on all fours, admiring the view. He watches as his cum slowly seeps out of you, running down your legs. He groans at the sight as he stands up, helping you up off the floor. “You're all sticky.” He whispers in your ear. “How about we go take a shower?”

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 15

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I became suddenly ill about three days ago and my brain is still quite mushy so I think this has been proofread but there might be some errors here and there I’ll try to iron out once I’m better!! Sorry for any scruples and I hope you enjoy!! 🧡💛

warnings: angst, general depression, violence (self-attempted)

word count: 16,175

-Part 14- -Part 16-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Azriel catches her eye from across the room, weary hazel locking with bright amber that swirls in the faelight of the living room.

His tension is more palpable than usual, the conversation from yesterday with the golden-eyed male only further contributing to the death knell gonging quietly at the back of his mind, creaking through his knees, echoing in each footstep—each breath he takes. Time seems to be dripping by faster, even more so than usual. In the cobwebbed chambers of his mind he’s able to recall a time where days were his chosen measurement, where a twenty-four hour period contained beginning, middle, and end. But as he’d grown older, those chunks had grown with him, his perception of time shifting the more of it he lived through. Soon enough weeks were his days, calculating how much could be done over the period, sleep a small break to be indulged in between work. Then it had shifted to months—twelve to fit everything into, nights morphing into short naps.

Now years feel like days once had, time no longer a steady drip of water from the roof of a dark cell ceiling where he’d been kept locked away from the light, but a steady trickle as it carves its way through stone.

Shadows conceal his absence from the laughter-filled room, removing himself from the uncomfortably bright corner to a place of familiarity, shifting into the darker hallways as he sighs, feet positioned instinctively equidistant, weight spread evenly, fearing one lapse in discipline might bring him back to those days where he knew nothing of fighting, nothing of how to defend himself. To those days where he had to learn relentlessly, practice until his body couldn’t move in desperate attempts to cover the ground he’d lost years to.

Mor enters into the darkness, coming from the yellow-orange light that’s spilling into the blue-purple hallway, heels effortlessly silent upon the floorboards as her nocturnal eyes seek him out. Her features are already serious, easily picking up on his mood despite his efforts to conceal it. The depths of it, at least.

“Az?” Mor asks quietly, expression curious but solemn.

“She’s gone,” he murmurs shortly. Mor’s eyes flash with alarm at the revelation, before her brows tuck together. “What do you mean she’s gone? Where?”

“I don’t know,” he admits grimly. “I paid a visit to one of her friends afternoon yesterday, but he refused to answer anything.”

“What do you mean, she’s gone, Az?” Mor hisses, disbelief sharpening her muffled tone. Azriel grinds his jaw, but relents—this is more important. “I mean, she isn’t at the House of Wind. She left a note saying she would be at Bas’, and would be back but she wasn’t. When I went to get her, she wasn’t there either,” he summarises, expression sombre.

“What else?” Mor asks sternly, the brightness about her having faded faster than a flame extinguished. Azriel licks his lips, bracing himself, before explaining: she has magic but it’s been giving her trouble, she’d wanted to try using it without anyone else knowing and he’d let her, Elain’s vision prophesying his death at her hand.

To Mor’s credit, her features don’t drain entirely of colour, and it takes her no more than a few seconds of heavy silence for her to muster up a response. “What magic?” Mor asks first, keeping her tone quiet but clipped, judgement clear enough she doesn’t need to voice it. And Azriel won’t address it, either. “Her hands could glow a little around the fingertips. We didn’t know what it did, though.”

“And the trouble?”

“It dried her skin out, among other things.” Mor’s lips part, eyes closing briefly as she sighs. “The gloves.” Azriel doesn’t need to provide confirmation for her to have connected the dots.

But then her eyes open, slowly sliding to his, an edge of viciousness underlying their amber cut, one he withstands reluctantly. Mor swallows, jaw tense, watching him. “How long have you known about this?” She asks, lethally softly. Not how long has she had magic, how long has he known. And not told them. “About a fortnight.”

Mor’s eyes gleam with hostility, and his features become stony, walls raising up as she watches him silently. Judgement falling heavy on his shoulders. “Why tell me now?” She asks shortly. She isn’t chewing him out, nor is she outwardly rancorous. Not good a good sign. “Bas won’t tell me where she is,” he replies neutrally, Mor’s eyes flaring as she puts it together. “You want me to ask him.” Azriel nods, despite her already knowing.

She glances at him reproachfully, another look he withstands passively, and then she’s turning sharply on her heel, making back toward the light, back toward the laughter. Silent as a shadow, Azriel catches her upper arm, having to exert surprising force to keep her still. “Where are you going?” He asks coldly.

“Where do you think?” She counters sharply.

“They have enough on their plates,” Azriel mutters. As if on queue, Nyx’s laugher giggles through the halls, a stark contrast to the gloom lurking just beyond the light’s end. Mor snatches her arm away. “You have enough on your plate,” she says lowly, eyes glinting as they cut through him, “we could have made room. You should have told us.” But Azriel stands his ground, not giving an inch. “It was the right call.”

“You have no idea where she is,” Mor counters. “No idea where she is, or what state she might be in. What makes you think that was the right call?”

“You’re questioning my judgement?”

“Yes, I’m fucking questioning your judgement,” she hisses back lowly.

“She told me she didn’t want any of you to know,” he counters coldly, “she’s reclusive anyway, suddenly outing her wouldn’t have done anything helpful.”

The wording seems to strike something in Mor, ire banking, eyes shuttering briefly, before she’s gritting her jaw again. “You should have told us.”

“She barely managed to tell me,” Azriel states, “Elain didn’t even know until the vision that her sister had magic.”

“You know you should have told us.”

“And betrayed her trust when she chose to tell me?” Azriel asks cooly. “You didn’t see how scared she was.”

“Maybe she wasn’t scared of us finding out but of speaking with you.”

Azriel blinks, the only sign of his falter he’ll allow, caught off guard by the accusation. She’s never shown any fear of him before… “She has no reason to be scared of me.” He says finally.

A look of frustration flits through Mor’s amber eyes. “She’s young. This is probably the first time she’s experiencing strong feelings toward someone else,” she says lowly, “surely you can remember what that’s like.” Azriel bristles at the pointed look, the insulting comparison between his past love for Mor and the affection being unwelcomely pushed his way. “She’s infatuated. It happens,” he replies tersely, not taking kindly to the manipulation. “And she went through the war too—she isn’t that unaware. You’re doing her a disservice.”

“The disservice here is you not affording her the care she needs—to the point she’s chosen to run away,” Mor practically spits.

Terse silence stretches between them, sour and resentful.

“We aren’t going to come to an agreement,” Azriel says at last, tone clipped, but both of them know it’s better to move on for now. They can fight it out later, once things are resolved and taken care of. “You speak to Bas first, then we can find out who she’s gone to. She could be anywhere in the Night Court, knowing him.”

“We tell Rhys and Feyre first,” Mor demands lowly. But Azriel shakes his head, “if you want to be the one to tell Feyre her sister is missing and we don’t know where she is, be my guest.”

Silence stretches further, growing tauter by the second, until Mor sighs sharply. “Fine,” she grits out. “Bas first.”

Azriel nods, making to turn around, heading for the door.

“But you are telling Feyre,” Mor hisses lowly. “Whether we find out or not. Tonight.”

Azriel pauses, jaw tightening. But gives a sharp nod.

————

Once again he slinks back to the male’s house, the bright sun lost to winter’s oncoming grip, dark clouds shielding the stars from view.

Despite the silence between them, he can feel Mor’s judgement pressing into him, but he has no time to argue or persuade. After the…discussion, with the male the other day, he’d needed time to plan, regroup his thoughts. Time. Seemingly so sparse, as of late. He could afford little more than twenty-four hours of inaction before a decision would have to be made—he hadn’t come this far by sitting around aimlessly when faced with a hard choice. It seemed the only reasonably way forward would be to acquiesce to the male’s demand, as much as Azriel despised so. It was the smarter option.

The other would have been to lay hands on him, and no matter how urgent the matter was, the male was still a civilian, and untrained for war, at that. Violence was entirely out of the question.

He knocks thrice on the door, sharp and punctuated hits to alert the male of company, before stepping back to allow space for Mor.

Gleaming golden eyes pierce out into the darkness, and Azriel knows he doesn’t miss the hint of smugness in their gilded depths as he marks the presence of another, as he’d requested. To verify his claim that there were indeed urgent matters afoot. Azriel refuses to show even a hint of irritation, keeping his face cold and passive—Bas won’t get the satisfaction of seeing him riled. He’d have to work much harder for that.

“You’re back late,” Bas drawls from the warm glow of his house, once again leaning cockily against the broad wooden frame, ankles crossed, one foot keeping the door held to—away from prying eyes. “And you’ve brought company,” he muses, glancing to Mor at his side. The female steps forward, the yellowy-orange light from inside making her glow as she offers a tight smile. “Bas, correct?” Golden eyes sweep over her analytically, before he nods, shifting slightly. “Mor,” he acknowledges, “she mentioned you, too.” No signs of surprise mar her open expression, kept sealed beneath that deceptive mask she can wear to charm at any time.

“That’s why we came to see you, actually,” Mor begins calmly, straightforward. “I’m of the understanding you know her whereabouts, but are unwilling to disclose them for various reasons.”

“That’s right,” he replies slowly, expression shifting to something more wary. His provocative nature shying away from perceived earnestness. “She doesn’t want any visitors.”

Mor nods her head gently, understanding shimmering faintly in amber eyes, threads of her hair catching the golden glow of inner light, glinting with the motion. “I can understand that, but this is very important,” she says sincerely, worry shining in her face Azriel know she doesn’t have to fake. Still the male remains cautious in the doorway. “Azriel wasn’t lying when he told you this conflicts with Court matters,” Mor begins slowly, and the shadowsinger tamps down on the urge to glance at her warily. Though he knows she won’t reveal anything, there’s no need to offer scraps. “I’m afraid there’s little I can honestly tell you due to their private nature, but nonetheless I would like to speak with you about her. She is a part of our family, and we are deeply concerned about her. I’m sure you can understand our worry.”

Quiet pauses long enough to take a deep breath, before resuming to its consistent noise.

Eventually, Bas nods his head, standing straighter. A grain of tension is released from his shoulders as the male opens his door, yielding to a conversation. He makes to step forward, but sharp golden eyes flick to him, piercing and accusing in their nature. “I’ll speak with Mor, and Mor alone,” he states clearly, an edge of provocation creeping back into his features, though the Shadowsinger doubts its sincerity.

But Mor nods her head, “that’s fine,” she answers, brushing past his side, pulling the cold night air with her, a whisper of icy breath grazing his side as she moves forward, leaving him out in the dark. “Don’t move from here until we’re done,” Mor instructs from over her shoulder once Bas has disappeared from the entrance hall. Azriel nods, understanding the implication.

Listen in from outside.

————

The room she follows Bas into is cozy, well-kept. Clearly lived in.

The pillows of the sofas are slightly worn, slightly faded in colour, waned down to more earthy tones that compliment the pale terracotta of the walls. Fire crackles from the hearth, dried rosemary hung from the ceiling beams, as well as other dried herbs and plants. On the wall are some paintings, mostly stills, but they’re watery around their edges, faded colour bleeding over fine, distinct ink lines.

Bas takes a seat that seems to fit him comfortably, likely one he usually chooses, while Mor opts for one nearby, a quilt thrown over its back, squares of purple, blue, turquoise, and magenta knitted together, and she can make out small patches in the yarn where its been run thin and had to be darned with slightly mismatched thread.

“So,” Bas starts, quieter than she had expected, sitting forward in her chair, attentive. “You’re worried about her. Why?” It’s hard to conceal her frown at such a strange question, but she doesn’t really try to. She doubts she’ll get anywhere through masking her reactions. “She’s part of our family,” Mor replies, “why wouldn’t we be worried about her.” Bas settles deeper into his chair, hands braced on arms, head tilted back into the pillow as he watches her intently. It’s not an expression she’s unfamiliar with, but not one she had expected to encounter here—something wary and deeply protective.

“She doesn’t speak much about any of you,” he hedges slowly, keeping his posture relaxed. “But it’s enough. You aren’t as close knitted as family.” Mor opens her mouth to speak, but he continues. “Even if you try to be,” he says, nodding, “she isn’t easy to get to.” Mor closes her mouth, lips pursing in a tight line. He sighs, shifting in his seat, pushing a thick loc of hair from his face, hooking it over a thoroughly pierced ear. “I believe that you’re concerned about her, and that you truly want to help,” he says heavily, attitude shifted from how he’d been outside, and Mor wonders what Bas might have been told about the Shadowsinger to warrant such ice.

“We do,” she urges sincerely, and Bas nods again, hearing her.

“What I…worry about,” he starts hesitantly, forming the words carefully, considering each one. “I worry you don’t understand her enough to make an informed call,” he settles on, and Mor bristles a little. How long has Bas known her for? Does he know her more than Mor does? “What leads you to that way of thinking?” She asks, keeping the stiffness from her tone.

“I know you don’t see her much,” he replies simply, and again Mor’s lips purse. “She doesn’t enjoy…full, settings. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t care, though.” He sighs, eyes briefly closing, before reopening with a fresh intensity, sitting upright in his chair, forearms braced on his thighs. “Do you know how we met? Me and her?”

Mor’s brow dips, but she answers anyway, curious where he’s going with this. “Through Nesta, right?” Bas nods, something passing through his eyes at the right answer. “Right,” he confirms, “making time to visit those stuffy inns, filled with groping hands—she hates places like that.” Bas sighs again, hand rubbing one side of his face. “I don’t even know if it helped at all, but I know she felt it was all she could do. Even if it was just company, and nothing material. Even if it might not’ve had an overall impact, that was her way of trying to help.”

Mor remains quiet, not seeing what he’s trying to say.

Bas shakes his head, as if telling her to forget about it, again rubbing a hand down his face. “Look, I don’t even know if I can speak on her behalf, and I like to think we’re fairly close with one another,” he admits, sighing heavily. “I don’t want to mislead you.”

“So you’ll let me where she’s gone?” Mor asks, concern heavy in her voice, making no effort to conceal her worry. She watches as the pads of his fingers rub over his eyes wearily, as she wonders if this is straining on him more than he’s letting on. “Try to understand her, when she talks,” he requests quietly, eyes still shut, fingers rubbing faintly. “She still confuses me sometimes, and she never shows if it bothers her, but I can’t imagine someone being okay with being misunderstood.”

“Bas,” Mor urges gently, sensing he’s on the verge of telling her whereabouts. “Please tell us where she’s gone. We don’t want her to feel alone.”

Bas doesn’t look up, face still covered by his hands, but Mor can make out the tightness of his brows, torn between his decisions. So close to cracking open.

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

Mor blinks, eyes locking with gold as he looks at her through his fingers, fatigue obvious beneath his gaze, the lines more pronounced as the flame casts the shadows of his digits across his features, deepening the half circles that have appeared.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Mor asks, biting down on shock, clearing it entirely from her voice. “She didn’t tell me,” he answers quietly.

Silence stretches, and even in the haze and confusion that’s been stirred up she has enough clarity to feel the piercing weight of a glare through a window, heavy and accusing. Tension crackles in her spine, flipping her golden hair over a shoulder, a subtle message to piss off to the shadows that are watching from outside.

She sighs heavily, meeting the golden eyes of the male opposite her, now sat back in his chair as he was before, but his back is slumped, as if containing all that worry had been stretching him taut. Relieved to no longer be the sole barer of her secrets. “Do you—…” Mor eases in a sharp breath, settling the worry and gradually increasing panic that’s tightening around her throat. She swallows, pulling herself together. Recomposing herself. “Do you have any idea where she might have gone?” She asks calmly. “Anything could help.”

But Bas shakes his head, guilt clear in his golden eyes. “She didn’t give me any hints. But she had a bag with her, so I’m guessing she had somewhere in mind and didn’t just aimlessly wander off.”

Mor nods, getting to her feet, golden eyes tracking her movements. “Thank you for telling me,” she says sincerely, before turning for the door.

“I know that leaving in the middle of the night without telling anyone where you’re going seems rash—maybe even a bit stupid,” Bas says after her, voice a little clearer to catch her attention. “But she’s smart. I’d wager it was probably something she’d had in the back of her mind for a while.”

Mor swallows thickly, the possibility not sitting well with her, but nods nonetheless.

“I’ll let you know when we find her.”

————

Azriel waits sullenly in the front garden for Mor to exit the male’s house, darkening the doorstep he’d been instructed to remain in until she was done.

He watches the door open and close, Mor stepping out into the night air, latch clicking softly as it locks behind her, and the two make their way silently at first down the garden path, back into the street before they begin communicating. “That certainly didn’t take long,” he muses lowly, glancing at her sidelong. “I take it you heard everything?” She asks quietly, tension clear in the cold bite of her usually honeyed voice. Azriel gives a brisk nod, and Mor sighs. “What now?”

“There are only so many places she could have gone to,” Azriel replies smoothly, mind already running through the possibilities. Honestly, Bas not knowing almost helps more—it has to be someone she knows. There are only two places she could have possibly run off to, though neither of them seem particularly believable. That being thought, he knows where he’ll check first.

“You have an idea?” Mor asks tightly, a bit of a bite to her question. Azriel nods grimly, “Elain mentioned a fox in her vision,” he explains, “apparently they grow close—enough to make a bargain of some sort, anyway.”

“Elain saw the bargain in her vision?” Mor questions. Azriel nods. “We don’t know if that’s symbolism or not,” she mutters, “we have no idea how accurate they are, either. Nor how soon they’ll come to pass.” Her tone softens toward the end a little, but Azriel isn’t willing to speak about that part of the prophecy yet. That he will be dying. Probably soon, going off how vivid Elain’s descriptions were—as if it were urgent. Impending.

“And you’re sure Elain doesn’t know where she’s gone?” Mor asks, keeping her gaze ahead, brows pulled together in concentration, a glint in her warrior’s eyes. “She might do,” Azriel sighs, “they are close, after all. And the fox…”

“Could be Lucien,” Mor finishes heavily. “You think she’s run to the mortal lands. Back to her home.” Azriel remains silent, keeping pace as they return silently to the River House.

Piercing amber eyes dig into the side of his skull, the intensity of her attention almost startling if he hadn’t had centuries to grow accustomed to it. He senses the question, just as she could sense he was holding something back.

Azriel doesn’t look at her as he speaks, “there’s only one other person the fox might represent.”

Even without visuals, he can hear how her pace nearly falters, then comes to a stop. He pauses with her, at last turning to face the golden haired female. Her skin is paler, even taking the silver of the moon into account. “You think she might have gone to Eris?” She asks, voice thick, but quiet. No more than a breath of wind. “I think it’s one of the two. There’s no one else it could be.”

“She’s only met him once,” Mor snaps lowly, nails digging into her palms. Azriel makes a show of shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “It’s one or the other,” he says calmly, “if she isn’t in the Mortal lands…”

Mor stares at him, amber eyes drained a little. “You really think there’s a chance he could have…taken her?” She practically spits, unable to keep the hiss out of her voice. Because when it comes to that long ago trauma, her only responses to fall back on are fear, or anger. He doubt she’ll allow the vulnerability of fear right now. Not with the tension between them. “I think it’s better to question Elain first to see if she knows anything. If she doesn’t, I’ll make my way down Prythian.”

Mor blinks, realising the situation. She had demanded Azriel be the one to tell Feyre, regardless of whether they find anything or not. But with the new possibility of her having somehow found herself in the Autumn Court…Mor’s throat rolls heavily. She can’t bring herself to go there. Even now, the thought alone…she pushes against the urge to settle her palm over her abdomen. “We question Elain first,” she manages quietly, and Azriel can see how she’s gathering herself back together.

Instinct is the closest it comes to, that feeling she’s somehow run off to the Autumn Court, like a tug toward the unfamiliar land. Surely Elain would have mentioned something to him about a plan for her sister to leave when she’d been telling him about the vision. It’s the option that makes the most sense, for her to have spoken with Elain, and used a tunnel to reach the border quickly. With all the books she’s read in the library…the kind of things they contain, he doesn’t doubt she’d be more than capable of figuring a way to sneak out of the Night Court. To sneak out of Prythian if she set her mind to it.

Mor nods, and Azriel redirects his attention to the street, continuing the pace. “Question Elain,” she murmurs, “then head to Autumn first. If she isn’t there, go to the Lower Lands. Be as quick as possible.” He nods, admittedly relieved he won’t have to yet face Rhys for the mess he’s inadvertently caused.

————

“Eris, I’m tired,” you sigh, hands aching, sitting dejectedly on a tree stump.

As much as you’d protested, he’d dragged you back out into the forest, where everything feels encased in a glass bubble. It’s hard to explain when you think about it, but it’s like being in another world, how easily the trees sweep away and redirect noise. Hairs prickle at the back of your neck as you remember the giant, boar-like creature that had rampaged upon you mere days ago. The sight and smell of steaming blood as skin slid from flesh, melted apart.

“You haven’t even done anything,” he mutters, watching. “Get back up.”

You sigh heavily, reluctantly getting to your feet, then blinking heavily, suddenly crouching down as you press your palms to your eyes, trying to steady yourself from the abrupt dizziness that had ballooned into your head. Lips part as you try to concentrate on your breathing, wishing away the sudden feeling of unevenness beneath your feet. Eventually it passes, a few extra moments spent crouched for good measure, before you slowly stand back up, hand pressing to the side of your head. Cutting whiskey and amber eyes are piercing into you from across the clearing. You scowl back.

“What was that?” He asks, disapprovingly, your scowl deepening at the tone.

“I told you: I’m tired,” you snap, but it lacks the bite you’d wished for, fatigue building into a slow but heavy pulse inside your head, just above and behind your brows. A yawn rises from your chest, and you cover your mouth as it stretches you open, eyes squeezing shut, watering a little before you slump back into your usual posture, no longer pulled taut by your muscles.

His sharp eyes narrow accusingly, and you bristle at the look, trying to summon up the energy to glare at him. “Did you eat breakfast this morning?” He asks sharply, and you grimace, knowing he won’t approve of the answer. But you really don’t have the energy to lie, either. “No, I didn’t,” you sigh, “I was feeling sick.” Something flickers behind his eyes, but it’s gone too quickly for you to even attempt to recognise. “You were probably feeling sick from hunger,” he mutters, as if it’s obvious, arms folding over his chest, leaning back against a tree. “Using magic can take up a lot of energy, even if it doesn’t feel like it. You should have—”

“I know the difference,” you hiss, lip twitching up in the beginnings of a snarl, before once again flattening out, and you sit back on the stump, uncaring if it pisses him off. You hope it does.

“Do you?” He muses, a bladed edge to his tone that has your stomach tightening, glancing at him warily from across the clearing. You tense as he pushes off from the tree, then vanishes, and you jump as he appears on your other side, peering down at you, unimpressed. “You know how to tell when your magic is draining you? Because those are some pretty big steps to have made seemingly overnight.” Your lips purse, averting your gaze, sullenly looking away. “That’s what I thought.”

“I know the difference between hungry sickness and—” you falter, but manage to finish the sentence, “…and being unwell.”

Eris pauses, and you want to meet his gaze and glare at him, but your head just feels too heavy on your shoulders, and the general fatigue hasn’t been aided by the light sheen of sweat that’s been layering your body each morning, before you’ve wobbly stumbled to the washroom, clutching your stomach. You’ve yet to actually regurgitate anything though—your one blessing. It’s like those initial months after the Cauldron all over again.

“Look at me,” he instructs, and you glare at the ground, irritation growing in your chest. It wouldn’t hurt him to be a little more gentle with his attitude. His demeanour, in general. A curse sits, unspoken, at the tip of your tongue when he grips your jaw, angling your chin upward so he can examine you. Again your lips twitch in a slight snarl, but the energy fails quickly. Amber eyes sweep over your features, and you avert your gaze when his own settle intensely on yours. He releases you after a too-long moment, allowing you your space again, and you glare at him. “What was that for?”

“You look worse than usual,” he answers flatly.

You glare at him resentfully, unable to muster up the laugh you usually would whenever he makes a comment like that. Instead you just feel irritated. His brows narrow further, “how much have you been sleeping recently?” He pushes. You shrug, briefly glancing away.

“A normal amount. I’m fine, just let me sit down, it’s not that big of an issue if I’m not standing, right?”

“Are you coming up for your cycle?”

The bones in your hands creak, groaning with strain and you hiss as pain flares weakly beneath your gloves at your fingertips. You tuck your hands under your arms, trying to soothe their sting as you glare at him. “Do not ask me that,” you snap, legs crossing on the tree stump. You half expect his lips to quirk at the easily given reaction, but his brow dips a little. “You don’t have to give me a direct answer,” he says at last, a touch gentler than before, but still stern. “Just answer if it could be related.”

You hesitate at the tone, jaw still tight with tension, but you swallow thickly. “No,” you manage quietly, “not for another few months, at least.”

“Then as much as you disagree, it would be a good idea to eat first, then see if you improve,” he replies, back to his usual drawl, laced with distaste. Enough to almost have your lips curving a little at their edges. “So we’ll be going back to have lunch right this second,” you muse, glancing up at him, “and you aren’t going to set some stupid challenge for me to fulfil beforehand. Right? Because that would be very impractical.”

His amber eyes glint with something you’ve decided is the closest he’ll get to open amusement, brow raising slightly. “Why waste a good motive?” He counters, “looks like you’re catching on.” You force a groan, if only in attempts to lighten the mood from whatever dark grave it had settled into, and you reluctantly get to your feet, taking it slow incase your head starts swimming again. “What is it this time?” Eris nods to the tree that looks to have been recently cut down, the counterpart to the trunk you’re sat upon. “I want you to try touching the bark,” he instructs, and you look at him quizzically. Seems easy enough.

You watch him questioningly as you stand and make your way over to the tree, putting your hands down.

“Done?” You say slowly, confusion blatant in the furrow of your brows as you stare at him.

Eris stares at you blankly, before raising his palm to cover the lower portion of his features, concealing his mouth. “Using your magic,” he adds disbelievingly, mouth still covered.

You blink, then flush with embarrassment, hand covering your own mouth as laughter bubbles up from your chest. “Oh,” you manage, shoulders shaking lightly, not helped by the matching amusement reflecting in his amber eyes—amusement he’s struggling to conceal. “I thought—” you break off, a smile stretching wide behind your palm, chest stuttering with mirth. “I thought you meant I just had to touch it.” He shakes his head, seemingly beyond speech. “You want to see how the bark reacts when I touch it with my magic,” you clarify, nodding your head, still trying to tamp down the laughter that’s heating your eyes faintly. He confirms with a slight nod of his head, and you take a deep breath, trying to sober up. “I see,” you nod again, at last recovered enough to lower your hands to remove your gloves, a smile still faintly curving your lips. “I’ll give it a go.”

“Why would I ask you to touch a tree?” Eris asks from somewhere at your back, tone almost settled back to his usual drawl, dripping of disapproval. “I’m tired,” you reply, not nearly as practiced as he is at keeping your tone neutral as you glance at him over your shoulder, “you should have clarified better.” Eris shakes his head, before nodding to the tree trunk.

You take in a breath, returning to look at the bark—what would happen if you touched it?

Closing your eyes briefly, you steady out your breaths, inhaling slow and deep, feeling your shoulders lose their tension before reopening your eyes. Focusing on the bark again now that you’re settled. “What should I do?” You ask, not taking your gaze from the tree or your hands.

“Try thinking about different things, exploring how they make you feel,” he replies steadily. How helpful, you think, but leave the comment unvoiced—you’re trying to concentrate. You think about how the light had appeared before, when he’d gotten you to briefly sustain it. It had hurt at first, you’d had the chance to realise, but after the initial rush of pain, the creak of bones and your groaning carpals, it had faded more into a slight tingle, like your fingers had fallen asleep, wrapped in a vague warmth.

You swallow thickly, thinking about the flat-topped ring in your pocket, the absence of weight in your ears, how they correlate. You don’t regret the decision to sell them off, to your slight surprise. More indifferent to the change, if not slightly excited at your choice. Doing something for yourself, on your own, that nobody knew about. It’s nice, having secrets.

“Now press them to the bark,” Eris instructs, and you look down in surprise to spot the faint greenish-gold glow weaving between your fingers—almost like fish slowly weaving throughout water as they struggle upstream, but less frenetic. Slowly, keeping your breathing steady, you press your palms against the bark, palms shaking slightly as the light flickers, almost flinching slightly as it hesitantly makes contact with the new surface.

You jerk away when something lances up your wrist, stinging pain spearing beneath your skin as the tang of copper bursts in the air. The magic extinguishes in an instant, snuffed out with a single recoiling thought, and your breathing loses its pattern as you glance down at your right palm. What looks like a popped blister sits on the heel of your hand, except the liquid that gleams had a red tint to it, mixed with blood. You sigh heavily, left hand holding your right wrist lightly, thumb pressing the flesh just below the blister, watching as blood rises to the surface. The skin around it is flakier than before, a little discoloured, and you spot a mole at the knuckle of your little finger, poking meekly out from the skin, as if worried over being spotted and pulled away.

Eris walks up to your side, glancing down at the bark, the absence of any sort of change. It looks exactly the same. “I guess nothing happened,” you hedge, glancing warily down at the tree, searching for some kind of change.

Eris is quiet, and you at last turn to peer up at him, wondering what he’s thinking. His silence is waring. Amber eyes latch with your own, narrowed and slightly impatient, before the emotion is swiftly wrapped away. “I had hoped to make more progress,” he muses lowly, and you regard him with caution at the hushed tone. His eyes gleam with something you can’t figure out, wariness intensifying as he pulls something from his pocket—a small silk pouch.

You tilt your head, brows furrowed, “what is that?”

His lips sharpen at the edges, and tension coils beneath your skin—that type of expression is never good. “Open it,” he instructs simply, and you cautiously take it from his fingers, eyeing him again before carefully pulling the strings open, tipping the contents out into your palm. You blink as you take in the smooth band of metal, silver and gleaming against the flaws of your skin. “A…ring?” You ask, peering up at him questioningly. He nods, and you suppress your jolt when his fingers brush over your knuckles, plucking the band up and watching you intently as he smoothly slides it down to the base of the pointer finger on your left hand.

His demeanour has noticeably shifted, and your brows narrow further, suspicion roiling in your gut.

“It’ll help with keeping your magic calmer,” he explains lowly, secretively, and you manage a nod, confusion running rampant in your blood stream. “How so?” You ask, glancing down at the band, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist to keep you from moving. “You have a habit of straining yourself to keep the full force of your power from coming out,” he answers, thumb brushing your knuckle, and this time you glare up at him. His mouth only sharpens, amber eyes glinting with something that has the hairs raising at the nape of your neck. “I’m sure you’re familiar with how the Illyrians use siphons—so their raw type of magic doesn’t destroy everything around them?” You nod, tension lessening, again glancing down to the band. “Think of it like that—now you don’t have to waste concentration on keeping it all in check.”

He releases your hand, and you pull it closer to look at the silver, angling your head a little, understanding this must have been what that exchange had been about, when he’d gone down that dim, dark alleyway into the hidden chamber. “So it’s…a magic ring?” You ask, brows scrunched together as you look up at him. He raises a brow, “how astute of you.” You glare, lips curving faintly at the familiar intonation.

You swallow, stepping back a little, nodding your head. “I guess…” you breathe deeply, “as good a time as any.” You pull the flat-topped ring from your own pocket, and extend it toward him. “I saw this the other day in the market,” you say honestly, watching as his expression shifts, brow raising as he opens his palm. “It reminded me of you a little, and I probably won’t see you over the solstice anyway, so might as well give it to you now.”

Eris takes the ring, examining it, the small carving of the fox set in sterling silver. “A rather unique gift,” he muses, making the edges of your mouth curve.

“If you hate it, you don’t have to wear it,” you say, smiling lightly, “I just wanted to get it.” Though to your surprise, he doesn’t seem to despise it, sliding it over the thumb of his right hand—it seems to actually fit.

That viper’s smile returns to his sharpened mouth, eyes glinting again. “I don’t think your family would approve of a gift like this,” he drawls, more clearly than before, causing you to cock your head in question.

Lips fashion themselves into a razor-sharp grin, the expression more vulpine than fae.

“Isn’t that right, Shadowsinger?”

————

Eris raises his gaze to the forest, how the trees had whispered to him, calling out about the figure stalking their movements. Really, the shadowsinger should know not to hunt outside his own territory. The hulking, shadowy figure steps silently out into the clearing, with a quiet that’s been well-earned by the Spymaster of the Night Court.

Powerful wings are pulled to his body in traditional Illyrian fashion, save for the darkness wreathing the gleaming talons at their peaks, cold hazel eyes clashing with Eris’ own. Marking what the Spymaster has come for. It’s proximity to the male he hates viciously, bloodily, gruesomely.

“Shouldn’t you know not to sneak around in the shadows by now?” Eris drawls, hands settling around its shoulders, feeling stone-tight tension beneath his palms. Its magic fading, unable to winnow two people away, so left trapped in the clearing as the male prowls closer.

“Eris,” the Spymaster greets coldly, darkness unspooling upon the ground he treads, coming to a stop at the edge of the clearing. Not close enough for hand-to-hand combat, but too nearby for a proper display of magic. At least he’s smart enough to recognise he’s at a disadvantage in a foreign court—uninvited, at that. “Shouldn’t you know the consequences of displacing a member of Rhys’ court?” The Spymaster questions, lethally quiet.

Tremors flutter beneath Eris’ hands, still gripping her shoulders to keep her in place, and he glances down, only to find her already watching him. If it weren’t for the tremors, she would be as still as death. Her brows lifted and slightly curved, mouth pointed down at the edges. Betrayal stark in her normally bright eyes.

“You’re clearly uninformed,” Eris muses, pulling away from her scared eyes to meet cutting hazel. “This is a perfectly amicable meeting, isn’t it, cygnet?”

The Spymaster’s canines flash at the pet-name, the blatant taunt, the insinuation he’s made that she would choose himself over the Spymaster. That well-concealed wrath suffers a blow when she raises her hands to grip his wrists, nothing demanding about the touch—it’s a weak hold. As if asking for attention.

“Amicable or not,” the Spymaster says, expression stony, “you’ll return her. Unless you want Rhys to know about this abduction?” Eris shrugs, amusement sharpening his mouth as he selects his words carefully, “I’m not her keeper. She will return when she likes.” By the looks of it, the arrow lands, pupils constricting as the Spymaster takes a menacing step closer.

————

Your ears have hollowed out, stomach swallowing your heart. A quiet kind of panic tightening through your chest, pulse spiking. Dread sluicing through the rope holding you taut.

You’re staring up at him, holding on with as much strength as you can manage as a strange emotion rushes through your blood, softening your muscles until you’re struggling to stand, pushing every pleading word you’ve ever read into your eyes, silently begging for him to do something. To keep you from facing him on your own.

You know how easy it is for him to shatter you.

Amber eyes lower to yours, walls risen against Azriel’s presence, and your fingers stutter over the cuffs of his tunic, before the last of your strength drains. They’re glinting again with that challenge, and in the very back of your mind you can understand he’s using this as just another training exercise, but it’s hard to focus on through the ringing in your ears, that strange quiet that’s so loud it drowns out every other thought, like a thousand whispers hissing instructions too swiftly, too viciously for you to make them out, coming together in a swirling spiral that’s pulling you under.

Eris’ mouth is moving, eyes peering at something behind you, but you’re fine not hearing. Would prefer to fade from the world, to slip away quietly, unnoticed and un-missed. But then amber again returns to you, and with it sound comes crashing in too. “Pack up,” Eris orders, and you blink, his hands tightening on your shoulders as he feels the slight sway of your body.

“She’ll take a while,” Eris drawls, glancing back at the Shadowsinger—your stomach lurches—who remains a heavy presence at your back. “You may be unwelcome, but let’s not waste this opportunity. Using your General’s absence as an excuse not to meet has lost its worth. You will suffice.”

————

You feel half-awake as you pack your things, watching from some far away place as you fold clothes meticulously, with much more care than you usually would, taking your time gathering the few items you brought.

Clothes, an empty blue box, the thickly bound volume. A thin wooden box about the length of your arm, a note attached atop.

Use it wisely.

You pack the box in your bag, recognising the elegant script.

————

Azriel had followed silently, concealed within Eris’s shadow as he’d strode through the stretching hallways, leading the way to his own chambers, where they will be able to speak freely and most importantly, privately. Tension had simmered beneath his war-roughened skin the entire time, disliking even having to blend his shadows with the heirling’s, but it’s an intimacy he’s forced to yield.

The room Eris takes him to is big, to say the least, and open, with a large bed against a wall, a wooden chest at its foot, his desk adjacent so natural light fills the cavernous room—one that’s above ground. It’s here he emerges from shadow, filling space just beside the large wooden chest, an unlit fire quite a way to his left. Eris takes his time walking around the desk, sitting down comfortably, having the nerve to look relaxed—prick.

“So,” Eris begins, and Azriel bites against the urge to grind his teeth at the smug tone. “She ran away from you. Took her long enough.”

“How long have you been planning this?” Azriel asks coldly, completing a triple check of the room, making sure there’s no one else around. “You act like it was my idea,” the autumn heir drawls, successfully snaring his attention, something foul rising at the back of his throat at the implication. Likely the confirmation he needs that she had indeed left of her own volition. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

“You want me to believe she came all this way on a hope that you’d provide temporary asylum?” Azriel asks, rooting deeper. “She has a smart head on her shoulders,” Eris drawls, amusement glinting in sharp, amber eyes, “she knows how to bargain.”

His blood ices over, skin turning cold at the wording, demeanour plunging as his shadows deepen. “You made a bargain with her?” Azriel growls, pulse spiking. If a bargain has already been made… But Eris waves his hand, enough of a light dismissal for Azriel to figure she hasn’t mentioned Elain’s vision to him. One small ray of light amongst the storming thunder clouds she’s already brought upon herself.

“Do you find it so unbelievable that she might be capable of making arrangements on her own? Why do you assume I had any hand in it?” Eris drawls, making that glittering rage sharpen into razor-tipped icicles, poised to carve and slice. “You’re a conniving bastard,” Azriel says lowly, violence glinting in his hazel eyes, “she wouldn’t have come to you without some prompting.”

“You think I tricked her?” Eris muses, a trace of humour in his tone, Azriel’s brows narrowing with detestation. “What would I get out of that, unless she was complicit? I have no way of forcing her magic out of her, she has to want that on her own—as much as that might irritate Rhys.”

Loathing simmers in Azriel’s chest, but he remains quiet, allowing Eris to talk so he can gather as much information as he can from both sides. So he can compare her side with his later.

“I’m sure after Nesta Archeron, Rhys would be eager to find out what other weapons he might have at his disposal.”

“She isn’t a weapon,” Azriel snarls lowly, fury held back by straining iron manacles.

“But she could become one,” Eris counters, tone shifting to something more serious, and Azriel stiffens. “The timing’s a bit strange, don’t you think? Her magic only now coming through? After two years?”

“That’s not for you to speculate on.”

“Even without an alliance, it is a matter of concern,” Eris growls, brows narrowing as ire blazes in his eyes, glowing like freshly forged steel. “Why doesn’t she know anything?”

Azriel growls in warning, violence itching at his fingers, fists aching to slam down. Sparks crackle in the air, his own intentions seemingly reflected in the male before him. “You don’t have the luxury to ignore this pathway,” Eris growls lowly, “choosing to turn a blind eye would be damning.”

“She has her own problems to deal with,” Azriel snarls lowly, “you do not get to make that call.”

“I will make the call if Rhys doesn’t,” Eris snarls back, canines flashing viciously, “she could use some toughening up.”

“You don’t know enough to make an informed choice,” Azriel mutters coldly.

“Then Rhys had better hurry up. It’s not as though he’s unaccustomed to having to make decisions like this. What’s taking him so long?”

Azriel keeps still, features neutral, refusing to let even a hint of emotion appear in his blank expression.

Eris’ eyes narrow, sensing he’s being denied information. Vulpine senses picking up on a weak spot. Unnervingly keen. Then he blinks, leaning back in his chair, torso losing tension. “You haven’t told him.” Despite the utter neutrality, Azriel knows he’s figured it out. The heirling nods, a cynical curve to his sharpened mouth. “She didn’t give the impression she’d willingly display her failures to you.”

“They aren’t failures,” Azriel mutters, ice burning in his eyes as he watches Eris with a glacial look.

“No? Because the control over her magic was pretty pathetic to me,” Eris replies lowly.

Azriel snarls, low and threatening, shadows concentrating into a darkness worthy of the Night Court’s Spymaster, deep and deadly as they writhe in warning. “I didn’t realise she had you so tightly wrapped around her flaky little finger,” Eris croons, and darkness rears back, preparing to strike, when three quiet taps are landed to the door, meagre and unimposing.

————

You peek your head into his chambers, bag slung over your shoulder as you pause on the threshold.

Tension is blatant in Azriel’s shoulders, wings slightly flared, an icy emotion tucked between the stern set of his brows, shadows darker—more frenetic—than they usually are. Looking over to Eris, you can see how he’s leaned back in his chair, that taunting glint in his naturally piercing gaze, and you can guess fairly easily the conversation they were having was not a friendly one—even without the aid of body language.

Maybe they were discussing Court matters.

“I—…Should I wait out—”

“Come in,” Eris orders, cutting you off, and your brows narrow a little at the tone, before softening out again, remembering who else is present. You shut the door behind yourself, turning your back to them to make sure it clicks shut quietly, then walking further into the room, stood a little distance from Azriel, not wanting to encroach on his space while he’s surely furious with you. At the very least immensely disappointed.

“Took you long enough,” Eris drawls, bringing your attention away from Azriel to meet his cutting gaze. Well, your eyes meet his. It’s practically impossible to not focus on the male at your right. You’re not sure if you're imagining the displeasure rippling from him, but you can only hope Eris hasn’t intentionally stirred things up. You know you won’t be able to protect yourself against whatever words he has for you after your abrupt departure.

“You haven’t left any tatters behind?” Eris asks, and a slight scowl dips your brows.

“I have everything,” you reply, readjusting the strap of the bag on your shoulder.

“Excellent. Then you can leave.”

You blink at the abrupt dismissal, glancing at him warily. “Weren’t you discussing something?” You ask Eris hesitantly, cautious about prodding where you aren’t welcome. “We were,” Eris replies, a viper’s smile on his sharp lips, amber eyes cutting to the male at your right. “But it appears your Spymaster doesn’t think you’re trustworthy enough.” It’s obviously a manipulation of truth, but that doesn’t make it easy to hear, heart hollowing out, spine losing a bit of rigidity.

“And who could blame him,” Eris continues, “you haven’t exactly been particularly honest with him, have you, cygnet?”

Your lips purse, averting your eyes from both of them, peering at the floorboards to your left, shame tightening around your throat. “Seems logical enough,” you say quietly, managing to keep your voice steady. You’d rather vanish right then and there, wiped clean from memory and existence than allow a tremor into your voice.

You’ve gotten yourself into this situation. Self-pity won’t fix anything.

“Then that is that,” Eris muses, pulling you from your thoughts. Azriel shifts, not saying another word to either of you as he makes for the door, and you glance at Eris a little longer, searching for a way back. He quirks a taunting brow, resting his jaw on his right hand, the flat-topped band of sterling silver catching the light with the motion. Your thumb brushes the ring on your own finger, before you turn, making for the door where Azriel’s waiting to take you back.

Back to the Night Court.

Back to Velaris.

Back to your family.

Back to be judged.

————

It was unnerving how alone you’d felt on the way out of the palace. Even knowing he was present, slipping through shadows, you couldn’t sense a single thing, and on more than one occasion had glanced around, worriedly trying to find him—but nothing.

It wasn’t until you passed the walls, heading out into the forest again that he emerged—silent and looming—unable to hear his footsteps even when he was right beside you. Unnervingly ghost-like.

You wait for him to speak, to say whatever it is that’ll inevitably bring tears to your skin, but he’s completely silent, leading the way. Knowing you’ll follow behind. Knowing you won’t speak to him until he initiates.

You’d been brought here by winnowing, but he makes no move to wrap either of you in his shadows, and a small part of you whispers that he wouldn’t want you to contaminate them. You try to ignore that part, but even the quietest voice will be heard over silence. Instead the tales spin deeper, that he hadn’t even wanted to retrieve you, content to have you out of the way, out of the Night Court, away from his home. At least that way there’d be no chance of his prophesied death coming to pass.

He’d be safe, and you wouldn’t be bothering him.

Wouldn’t be bothering any of them.

He walks deeper into the forest, silent and steadfast, while you watch as his boots tread through the fallen leaves, not daring to look any higher in case it disgusts him further. You have no concept of how long you follow after him for—long enough your feet begin to ache lightly, but you push through it—silently waiting for the conversation to start. For the first question to be asked. For the first blow to be landed.

Azriel doesn’t stop when you try to shift your bag to the other shoulder, your right one aching, and something in your stomach drops when your pace slows but his remains constant, so you hurriedly finish the switch, and make an effort to catch up, careful not to trip. Hunger gnaws at your bones, but you keep quiet, not wanting to interrupt his pace. It’s not until your stomach audibly protests that he comes to a pause, glancing over his shoulder to you, and you swiftly duck your head, averting your eyes from his painfully familiar hazel set. Breaths deepening as you come to a stop with him.

“When did you eat last?” He asks. The first words he’s said to you.

“Yesterday,” you answer quietly, pressure tight across your chest as you try to keep your breaths quiet but even. “Do you have food on you?” He asks. You nod. You’d wrapped up a pastry from breakfast, it being the only thing you’d be able to savour. Even years later, the habit of not wasting food still remains prominent.

His boots shift, turning to face forward as he begins walking again. You follow silently, seeing no point in nodding or replying. It’s not like you’re going to do anything else. “There’s a clearing up here. You can eat there.”

Azriel pauses beside a particularly large oak tree, and you swallow, and you habitually consider where the least offensive place to sit would be. So you’re nicely out of his way. The ground is muddy, so you’re forced to follow beside his footsteps to the oak, setting as silently as you can on one large branch that’s gnarled and shoved through the earth to curl into a large seat.

Your pulse spikes, wondering if this will be where you have the one-sided discussion, perching the bag on your legs, searching through for the little pastry. It’s made harder by your bare hands, how every piece of fabric seems to bite at your skin with each brush, piercing painfully as you search, until you spot the orange scarf, pulling it out to find the pastry wrapped in a napkin.

He doesn’t say anything, but you feel like you’re wasting time.

You peer at the pastry in your hands, not particularly keen on eating it. You’re close enough to nausea as is, and don’t want to tempt fate with giving your stomach something to regurgitate. But it would be weird to put it away now, so you’ll just have to take small bites. Hope that you can stomach it. A few minutes pass, but you’ve hardly made a noticeable dent in the food, guilt weighing on your bones, pausing between each mouthful to peer around the clearing dully.

Your fingers fumble a little when Azriel moves, settling on the root beside you, your muscles stitching themselves taut, and you hastily shift yourself tighter so he has his space. Almost dropping the pastry in your stuttering movements.

He’s quiet for a bit, and you swallow thickly, attempting to focus on the food before you so as not to stare, but internally you can feel the beats passing, heart ticking tighter…tighter…

“Why did you leave?” He asks quietly.

You still, able to feel the narrow wooden box digging into your thighs. Pausing as the tension abates a little, like how you imagine it would feel to watch an arrow loose from a bow, watching it arc in the sky, then slowly plummet down, seeking out its target. The breath that would breathe out in relief once it embedded itself in flesh, those few, stretching moments at last having come to an end, and one can relax into the clarity of the pain. The certainty of the wound.

“I wanted to get out,” you mumble thickly, keeping the shake from your voice.

“So you went to him?” Azriel asks. You head lowers a little in sorrow.

Where else were you supposed to go?

“You could have asked to be taken somewhere,” he says quietly, and guilt tightens itself around your throat. Is there any way to explain to him why you’d left when you hardly understand it yourself? It had been a crescendo of nerves, of bottled up worries tightening with pressure, like air being blown into a brown paper bag until it burst. Is there any way to tell him you’d like to be able to ask things of him, but in truth you’d rather be slowly pulled apart by pressure than worry him with pointless tasks that only serve your benefit? How can you ever hope to speak with him honestly, when your very heart seems to be the thing warning you away—that same heart that wants to press into him, to beg and cry for forgiveness and reassurance.

“At least have the decency to answer,” he says quietly when you don’t respond, and you feel the small tremor that shudders up your throat, fearing the oncoming disaster. “I wanted to go on my own,” you get out, words softer than a whisper.

He’s quiet, and you wonder if that’s the end of the discussion for now.

But, “did you think at all about what the consequences would be from going to him?” He asks, gaze ahead, but attention pressing down on you. “Or did you forget you have people around you, that your actions impact.”

Your grip loosens on the pastry, choosing to wrap it back up in the napkin, fingers shaking slightly. A lump rising in your throat.

“Answer,” he murmurs, promptingly.

“I just wanted to go,” you whisper hoarsely, fingers wringing together. “I thought—… I thought it would be better if I was fur—… If I was gone.”

“Are you going to tell Mor where you went?” He questions softly. “Or did you not think about that part either?”

“I made progress,” you try, raising your gaze to his. “I can summon it, if I concentrate.”

His lips remain unmoving, but his eyes…gods, his eyes. You betrayed her, you know. All of them.

Breath catches in your throat, and you have to look away. Unable to face him. It. Any of it.

“Why is it so bad?” You ask quietly. “All I did was leave for a little under a week. I was trying to get better.”

“Stop. Lying,” he mutters lowly, blood freezing in your veins, fingers wringing together. Silence ticks by, and you wonder if he can hear the humiliatingly loud pulse of your heart, erratic and stumbling as it usually does around him. You don’t think he’s ever so obviously shown what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling.

Why is this the first way you see it?

Why is this the first time he allows it?

“Just tell me what you want,” you ask quietly, voice faltering as you stare at him helplessly. “You’re never happy with anything I do,” you manage, trembling with growing turmoil, “so please, just tell me what you want, and put me out of my misery.”

He exhales harshly, leaning back into the trunk, lips tugged down at the corners, reproach tucked between his brows, so rarely softened by charm anymore. At least not while you’re around. Almost never when you’re around.

“I don’t feel I should have to tell you how you fucked up here,” he replies lowly, and you push back on the flinch at the crude wording. “You made a bad choice.”

“Imagine how much worse the others were,” you reply lowly, a hint of resentment—not directed at him—present in your tone. He stiffens at your side, then his gaze slides slowly over to you, lethal and condemning, but it’s like you can’t look away. You physically can’t duck your head, or shy away. “You’re really joking at a time like this?”

You meet his eyes fully, presently, taking him in against the darkening sky, winter sun already on the way out for the day, the chill more than prominent, but you don’t dare reach for the scarf in your bag. “Tell me what you want,” you repeat softly, no louder than a last breath on dying lips.

“I want you to be honest,” he replies, brows narrowing, “for once, apparently.”

“About what?”

“Why you went to him.” He nearly spits, unable to entirely keep his ire at bay, something passing behind his eyes.

You’re quiet. Silent.

Then you lean back into the trunk of the tree, head tilting back into the rough bark, hands settling numbly in your lap. Shoulders slope, and you peer up into the grey sky, gloomy and heavy with unshed tears. Thick and thunderous. Fitting for the storm that’s on its way.

“Please don’t be angry,” you whisper, hardly a breath from your lips, a prayer whisked away by the static air. He’s silent, and your throat closes up. “Azriel,” your murmur, swallowing thickly. “Please.”

Moments tick by, stretching and warping as your heart thumps heavily in your chest, utterly bewitched, utterly at his mercy. It’s exhausting.

He sighs, and you try not to stiffen as he glances over to you, feeling that familiar prickle of skin as lovely hazel settles on you. A few warm rays making it through the dim clouds before being frozen off by the icy breeze. Winter’s most definitely on its way.

“I won’t be angry,” he murmurs softly. “Just…talk to me. Like you used to.”

Your arms fold over your chest, closing in on yourself, feet pressing together as you hunch over the bag in your lap, peering at the muddy ground. The smell of parchment rises from your memories, dusty and familiar, but lacking the warmth of nostalgia. Like the bitterness of a tea left to steep for too long, so it dries out your throat, eyes watering from its ticklish bite.

“I couldn’t do it on my own,” you admit quietly. Fingers brushing your knuckles. Raw and flaky.

The thoughts swirl in the back of your mind, ready to roar and rage, becoming so loud they’re deafening, suddenly cutting quiet so fast you have no desire to understand what it means when the waters draw back. What it means when the sea itself shrinks away, leaving a barren and washed-up beach.

“But, the idea of trying in front of you…any of you…and then falling flat at such a small hurdle…” You look to your left, away from him, pulling tighter into yourself. Can anything good come of this kind of honestly? With him?

“I don’t have much anymore, Azriel,” you breathe lowly, struggling silently with the humiliating vulnerability. How bare you are, just waiting for steel to pierce your skin. Like tossing yourself over a cliff and hoping the jagged rocks far below will soften your fall.

“I just wanted to keep my dignity. The scraps left of it after…what happened…”

Your toes curl in your shoes, feet crossed, feeling as though your heart is trying to cave in on itself, swallowed by a vacuum suctioning you back down with the force of a flooded spring river.

“So it was better to fail in front of Eris?”

“But I don’t owe him success,” you argue uselessly, eyes squeezing shut in attempts to keep the tears at bay as your head falls into your hands. “I don’t—…I don’t owe him anything.”

“You don’t owe us anything either,” he replies.

“I owe my entire life to you,” you nearly hiss, spine curving in as your brows cramp together, jaw wound so tight you feel like a tooth might crack beneath the intense pressure, nails pressing into the soft skin of your brow.

“Feyre was the one who saved the three of you,” he reminds quietly, slowly, but you’re shaking your head. Staring down into your lap, tension rippling so clearly from your bunched up form Azriel considers laying a hand on your trembling shoulder as if to pull you from a trance. “No. I know, but…” Your fingers press into your eyes, unable to articulate what you can feel in your stomach. “If she hadn’t gone to Night,” you breathe heavily, shakily, “if she hadn’t gone here, we’d still be back there, entirely human, and I—… I wasn’t going to last much longer there.”

Azriel pauses at your side, taking on the information silently. “You were ill?” He asks softly—he’d had no idea about that. Your shoulders shake, and he can’t tell if it’s with laughter or muffled sobs. Maybe a little of both.

“Maybe,” you whisper, “I don’t know enough about medicine to say, but I…” You shake your head again, and he’s able to sense that’s as much as he’ll get. It’s been over two years, and this is the first he’s hearing of it even in vague detail—he knows this isn’t something he can press.

“It doesn’t matter now,” you say with rueful conviction, palms pushing wetness from your cheeks, spine straightening before collapsing back against the trunk. Tired and exhausted. “We’re out. I don’t need to do anything now.”

Azriel’s brow furrows. “You’re content to stay in your room and rot away?”

You rest your head in your hands, leaning over the bag, staring down into its contents. What else is there?

“You could spend time with your family, for starters,” he replies and you aren’t sure if you imagine the note of impatience in his voice. “Your sisters worry about you a lot. It’s not good for you to be up in that room all the time.”

“Well it seems every time I come out of that room I somehow end up getting in your way.”

“Is that what this is about?” He asks abruptly, and your lips press together, lower one curving over. “I thought we sorted that out,” he says quietly, calming the sharpness of his tone, hearing it even in his own ears, glancing over your hunched figure. “We did,” you reply, muffled by your arms, voice turning watery as you ease in a short breath. “We did.”

A beat passes, then tension stutters in your chest as he gently lays his palm over your shoulder. “Please just talk to me,” he says softly, and you struggle to keep your breaths even as your lungs shudder beneath that touch. After spending so long wanting it…craving it…convinced feeling how gentle his touch could be over and against your skin would fix everything…even temporarily… You try to swallow the lump in your throat. “If not me, then Elain, or Feyre, or Nesta,” he pauses, “…Bas.”

You aren’t paying much attention, though, thankful for the way your mind melts beneath the warmth of his palm. How heat is sinking into your skin, slowly spreading through your shoulder as your muscles thaw. Pressure is lessened, and the tension that had been stitching the tendon taut loosens, allowing breath the ease in and out of your lungs with tiring relief. You could deflate with fatigue. Just turn limp and boneless, better for absorbing impact than having it crack against you.

“Just talk with us some more so this doesn’t happen again,” he urges quietly. “Come down to the river house—you know Feyre keeps your room open—or join us for dinner. At least try. If that doesn’t work, we can find something else.”

You don’t reply. Just remain tucked away from the world. Content to remain within your small shell as long as you can keep that warmth on your shoulder.

The pressure lightens, and your heart hides away as his hand slips from your shoulder, leaving your skin starkly cold with the absence of his presence.

“I’m sorry for what I…for how things transpired. Between…us,” Azriel murmurs, unsure how much to say, to not bring up past pains, especially if they aren’t as healed as you’ve led him to believe. He’s starting to become unsure what to believe about you—he hadn’t ever considered you might run from them. How bad things might have become to force you into that position. Are things that bad?

“I’m sorry, too,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse, and Azriel listens attentively. “I shouldn’t have told you how I felt, in the library. I shouldn’t have made my feelings your problem.”

“They aren’t,” he says softly, but you shake your head as if you haven’t heard him.

“I’m sorry.”

————

He tries speaking twice more on the way back, but the conversations lead nowhere, no longer flourishing as they had, once upon a time. So long in the past they feel coloured by age. Turned stiff and yellow at the edges.

He tries slowing his pace so she’ll walk at his side, but she just drops further back, silently pressing between his footsteps as she trails, head kept down to remain focused on taking one step at a time. The shadow that is cast across her face from the down-tilted angle of her head is deeper than he would have expected.

When he hears her shifting the bag across her shoulders for the third time, he quietly plies the straps from her hands, relieving her of the physical weight. She makes no obvious protest, aside from the stiffening of her body at his approach, but he can spot the relief when he takes the bag. Moving it to his own shoulder, he can make out what feels like a wooden box, the kind made to keep a weapon from being damaged. The thought gives rise to instinctive alarm.

Why might she have a weapon in her bag?

His shadows subtly shift at his back, rising secretively to examine her. Questions begin rising to his mind: unkind, unfair questions that are habitual in his line of work. He tries to shake them off, but they remain firmly rooted in his mind, burrowing deeper with each stride that has the narrow box digging into his side, as if already trying to burrow into his flesh.

How did she know Eris would take her in? How could she possibly guarantee making the trek across Prythian over night would pay off? It’s an absurd risk to take, regardless of circumstance. He can think of answers to those questions, but they don’t sit well with him. An answer to why she might be so familiar with Eris supposing they’ve spoken less than a handful of times. A certainty she must have possessed to take the risk that isn’t one she would have from that little contact. And if she’s hiding how much contact she might’ve had with him…

She was already hiding her magic from them…then there’s the prophecy too. Bas, and the illness. Why were these things she hadn’t mentioned? He can understand the recent silence, but why not before…? Regardless of immediate relevance, it shows she’s prone to secret-keeping.

Azriel eases in a steadying breath, descending into a calm, cold mental state. Sinking into indifferent objectivity.

She isn’t stupid. Far from it, having spent so much time in the library, where there’s all kinds of information just ripe for the picking. And Eris isn’t stupid, either. If he saw a weak spot, he’d go for it. And if Eris went for her, would she be able to resist something she was unable to see for what it truly was?

Azriel’s skin goes a little cold, reminded of the prophecy.

He will die, and it will be by her hand.

He supposes he can only control how much impact it will have on those around him. If Eris has managed to wrap her up in some slow-moving scheme…but that’s just speculation. Still, his instincts are telling him something is wrong with the narrow wooden box, one that must have come from Eris. A box fashioned like those to hold weapons. From Eris. To the female who will kill him.

He should ask her what it is.

Azriel would’ve shaken his head if those habits hadn’t been crushed out of him centuries ago. He can’t just ask her if she’s planning to kill him.

But it would allow a chance for her to explain what’s in the weapon case.

But it would alert her to his knowing about the blade inside her bag. She’d wanted to hide her magic from the start, and earlier she’d mentioned she’d gotten further…how much further? If it’s magic any similar to Nesta’s, it would be unwise to have a confrontation here, alone. Still within Autumn Court territory.

But it would be more dangerous to bring her back to Velaris. To bring her back into the beating heart of the Night Court where her detonation would be fatal.

Azriel blinks, and returns back into the waning light of day—it’ll soon be night.

What can he do, really? If he’s destined to die….who is he to try and get in the way of the Mother? Would he kill her to save his own life? Is that what he would do in order to live a little longer, before a new threat looms to end him? He wants to kill her no more than he desires his own death.

But if it came down to it…what would he choose?

His shadows observe her silently, as they had been throughout his internal struggle. He focuses on what he can see, discarding the lens of suspicion that’s been embedded in him as Spymaster, centuries of limited trust having an impact on his mind.

All he sees is a young woman walking through a dark forest, following him off the pathway.

Internally, he sighs—there always seems to be a constant flow of problems as of late, and peace seems to be persistently remaining just out of reach. A few more years, and then there will be peace; a few more political aggressions to navigate, and then they can rest; just one more person to heal, and then they can be happy. When will the peace truly arrive, though? Is it all wishful thinking? An imagined utopia that will make every sin he’s committed acceptable? Is it just his mind finding more excuses to justify the things he’s done in the name of protecting his family and court?

She’s just one more disturbance, keeping peace from settling.

Azriel swallows, thinking heavily. Even if she was out of the way, there would still be everything else to deal with. Will this problem be the last one, or will a new threat fall in to fill the space of the old one? Hasn’t it been long enough, by now? Hasn’t he done enough?

Shadows check on her again, her head hanging silently, those once bright eyes dull and dark as they follow numbly in his footsteps. The female with whom he’d spent so many afternoons with discussing things in the library…where is she? Is he at fault for her disappearance?

Closing his eyes briefly to relieve the ache that’s been slowly building just below his brows, he allows himself to ponder.

Is it pointless to try and salvage their relationship?

Would it be better if she did kill him?

————

The storm clouds have gathered, full and swollen with rain and thunder. No lightening though. Lightening would suggest some kind of magnificence, and there’s nothing magnificent about the cool temperature of your blood, nor the dull buzz in the back of your mind. The overwhelming grey of your surroundings as you emerge from the tunnel.

The air is drier in the Night Court, you vaguely realise. No dampness nor humidity that you’d grown subconsciously accustomed to from less than a week’s stay in Autumn. A small break of sunshine between the dismay grey you’d all grown so accustomed to for the first few months of the year, back when you were human. Weak, fallible humans, but simpler. Quiet and peaceful, even if that silence was from the constant prowl of starvation. It had been easier to bear.

You don’t wait to see if Azriel will try to speak again once he’s flown the both of you back up to the House of Wind, silently turning your back to trace the familiar halls of the House, moving without awareness, muscle memory guiding you down the corridors, past the tables littered with napkins and cutlery, past the shelves displaying pale crockery and silver chalices, past the chest with a few discarded daggers atop, arrowheads littered haphazardly across the surface as if someone had cast them down carelessly.

The room is greyer than you remember, too tidy to be a lived in space, but it has those reminders—the gifts you were given, and you absently touch your earlobe, squeezing it between your finger and thumb.

Azriel pauses at the threshold, taking the bag off his shoulder. Does he know you sold the earrings? Those pretty, pretty earrings? Probably some of the nicest things you could have believed to be your own.

They must be getting tired by now. All of them.

Blonde hair and sparkling eyes pass dully through your mind, and your heart dies a little more, understanding how you’ve ruined the small blessing. There’s no coming back from what you’ve done—not without significant work, at least, and you’re so tired. In your bones, in your eyes, in your mind. You’ve lived through a lot, but thanks to immortality, you have no choice but to live through more. A body being dragged through the mud, carried towards a grave that was never dug.

Azriel’s mouth is moving, has been moving since he removed the bag from his shoulder, but you haven’t been hearing. Mind too tired and numb to manage focus, grasping only basic colours and lines.

He’s looking at you, and you’re looking back, but not into his eyes. His words pass through your mind meaninglessly, and you wonder if you’re real. A strange pressure is wrapping its tingling fingers around your skull, squeezing like you’re wearing a hat that’s a little too tight. It will take a lot of work to fix what you’ve done. A lot of work you can’t manage. A debt that deepens faster than you can repay it. A sink draining faster than you can fill it. Blood cooling faster than you can stop it.

Maybe it would be better to let it cool, for a while.

————

Azriel doesn’t feel comfortable leaving her in the House alone, with that dull look in her eyes.

He had planned to fly back down to the River House, to let Rhys and Feyre know she was back, and she was safe, to give her some space maybe for an hour or so to let her get her bearings again. Not too long alone, though. That look hadn’t been bright. Instead he ends up slumping into one of the boney, wooden chairs in the kitchen, the House already brewing two cups of tea. He reaches out for Rhys, mentally feeling for the hidden bridge kept open. He finds it almost immediately, and an icy wind slams into him in greeting. Cold, swift, and perfectly telling to his brother’s current temperament.

You’re back.

Azriel bites back on the cringe at the ice in his High Lord’s voice—belying fury. He should have put together Rhys would be furious for Feyre, too, for stirring up this kind of stress for his mate.

She’s with me. How is Feyre?

More furious than I am, though I doubt she’ll show you.

There’s a pause, and Azriel steadies himself.

How is she?

It would be good for her to have company. Preferably in the River House, but if not, then having people up here. This time Azriel pauses, before adding, I think the ward on her room should be removed. So she’ll be able to hear that people are around, should she need them.

He’s met with silence, and Azriel wonders if Rhys is repeating the message back to Feyre, or if he’s simply that furious. A small part of him feels resentment at the constant speculation, that if the matter had been left between him and her then it wouldn’t have gotten so blown out of proportion.

We’ll be up in ten minutes, comes the clipped reply, before the mental bridge is severed. Leaving Azriel no choice but to wait in silence. It will likely be Rhys and Feyre coming up then—knowing she isn’t ready to see all of them so suddenly, though they’ve yet to learn where she’s been.

Feyre will go and speak to her sister.

And Rhys will be the one to speak to him.

What a mess.

The tea has a few minutes left of brewing, and he wonders if the House will demand he be the one to take the mug to her, or if it will be delivered on its own. He’s not sure she would appreciate being disturbed right now.

As if his thoughts summoned her however, he hears quiet footsteps out in one of the hallways, reaching his sharp ears even through the closed doors and secure walls. He listens carefully, but she seems to just be pacing around, not coming toward him, or even really going in any particular direction. They pause, the silence heavy, and Azriel pays full attention. Another minute passes, then another, and another, but he couldn’t have missed those familiar footfalls.

After a fourth minute, he hears them again, ever so slightly heavier than before, and then they cut off abruptly. Sound sliced in two as she closes the door to her room.

Azriel glances over to the brewing tea, then blinks when he realises the House has set it on the table within reach. Just one cup, made with milk and sugar—not the way he likes it.

Looking over to the countertop, his mug remains steeping, steam trailing up from the hot liquid. The House seems to be demanding he take her the tea now.

Azriel shifts in his chair. It isn’t a good idea to disturb her again. He’s trying to give her at least these few minutes to herself, before Feyre arrives with Rhys—and that’s a conversation that might very well stretch hours. There’s a lot to discuss, after all. She’ll need her energy, and he’s probably the last person she wants to—

The mug slams down on the table before him, hot liquid spilling over with the force that it was dropped onto the surface.

He stiffens, watching the mug tensely as if the House might spill it onto his lap. The liquid ripples in the mug, splashing from side to side for longer than it should, before reluctantly calming.

Blowing out a breath, Azriel wraps his hand around the mug’s handle, reluctantly standing from the kitchen table.

If the House is being so adamant about giving her the cup, then he supposes he’ll just have to follow.

He still finds it a little strange, how the House came alive after Nesta lived inside it.

————

Silence hums in your ears, so quiet.

You’ve caused them so much trouble. Irreparably ruined your ties to the people you hadn’t wanted to hinder.

Silently, quietly, you move the bag to your bed, able to even hear the stretch of fabric as you raise it from the unnaturally clean floorboards. Opening it, you begin pulling the first thing you see out—the orange scarf form Autumn that has some small crumbs tucked between its folds, smelling faintly of pastry and something damp. One piece at a time, you make the slow trek to and form the wardrobe, feet unfeeling as they tread numbly across the smooth grain of the wood, mindlessly repeating the to and fro, the mechanical movements of unaware motion, folding fabric and hiding it away.

Your fingers bump the box, surprised by the hard collision, having expected to find more fabric, but are instead confronted by the narrow, wooden box. Use it wisely, written on the note in a neat and elegant script. Raising it from the bag, you sit down, hands resting over the surface before slipping your fingers into the indentations for ease of opening, cracking it open to find what’s inside. Eyes ease across the narrow length of wood tucked inside, the softly flared end for it to whistle through the sky.

The world disappears around you as you fall into thought, suctioned inwards by a gentle riptide as you dissolve into your mind. Imagining the blank look in Mor’s eyes when she finds out what you’ve done to her, the wall that will rise up as she sections you off from her life, rightly so, brings a quiet kind of sadness into your chest. A longing that has been numbed and dulled, desaturated by hopelessness. Imagining the dinners, voices chatting merrily around you but never at you, the way she won’t look at you. They are all immortal, and their disgust will reflect their lifespan.

You’ll be stuck. Endlessly dragging you feet after them in attempts to make amends. Stumbling and fumbling carelessly trying to make reparations, but smashing more pieces in your frantic hurry to clean the mess you’ve made. Gazing up from the pit of a well as the icy water slowly drains in, the small pin-prick of daylight so far above there’s no hope even trying to scale the wall. It would be more honourable to drown.

To wipe yourself from memory.

It would be better, you understand. To snuff out your own dwindling light, than force the trouble on them of bearing your sputtering flame.

You walk out into the hallway, quietly, silently. Passing the table with napkins and cutlery set, past the shelves with crockery and cups, past the chest with dull steel and blunt arrowheads. Passing further along, until you pause before the large mirror that’s mounted on the wall. You peer dully into the reflection, deciding to look upon and assign shape to name for what’s been causing all these problems. To see what they think of when burdens are mentioned, to understand where the impatience is directed.

You peer higher, the reflection skewed as you meet your own eyes in the blade’s polished steel, held above the mirror’s frame.

Time warps, and you look through the drawers. A few daggers, some unused sketchbooks, a piece of yellow wool, a ball of string. You check the second draw. Some folded napkins, more arrowheads, a shard of porcelain, a thimble, a discarded marble. You check the third draw. Some salts, spices, dried leaves, matching Illyrian blades, pots of ink, a copper coin. You check the fourth draw. Crisp bedsheets, off-white pillowcases, a dented metal mug, a small container of some kind, one arrowhead, a crossbow.

You return to your room with the ball of string and the empty crossbow.

Swallowed in the silence of the bedroom, hidden behind the wards.

The snare is easy to set up, directions still vivid in your mind and for a few short moments, you allow yourself to settle into the certainty of following through with those instructions. Encountering a bit of trouble with how to keep the tension of the string with no earth, but your mind works quickly, weighing the string taut with the one book from your shelf, and a square box containing a mechanical universe. Making sure the string is just tight enough so the faintest touch will snap the tension loose.

You glance at the string on the floor, eyes catching on the small painting on your desk.

You slot the arrow into the crossbow with a satisfying click.

The ash stings your fingertips.

You stand with your back to the door, facing the crossbow head on. Your heart bleeds a little, tears at last dripping slowly down your cheeks, but it will be better this way. Easing in a deep breath, you relax into that feeling deep in your chest that’s telling you this is the right thing to do. It was always going to happen, there was never a path you could have taken that wouldn’t have lead you to this one way or another. It’s a feeling almost like relief: there’s finally a way out.

One perfect, swift, execution. An ash arrow to your heart, splitting the muscle and ending its relentless beat. Your breathing increases to a stuttering pulse before calming, and you swallow, glancing to the windows. You know you’ll cause a mess.

Fingers open the latch to the window, fresh air gently rolling in, and your breathing stutters again. You’ll be irrevocably gone.

Peering about the bedroom, one you hadn’t felt was truly your own, but had stayed long enough to begin putting down roots—the bookmark laying beneath the pendant on the desk beside the painting, the jigsaw still wrapped in a bow beneath the bed, the sealed nail polish and briefly used lip tint within the cupboard. Sobs shudder through your chest strangely.

A part of you doesn’t want to leave yet.

A small, human part, that still fears solitude despite your chosen loneliness.

You step toward the book, body caving in, heart collapsing in on itself, the emotive feeling similar to the convulsions you’ve experienced after vomiting. A vacuum hidden inside of your chest, finally imploding. You should end it now.

The door creaks behind you, and you flinch from terror at someone witnessing your vulnerability.

Hazel eyes meet your own, at once scanning the room out of habit, and those lovely eyes widen as you recoil on instinct, foot knocking into the book.

————

Given the pleasure of time, he had been allowed to ponder the impossible question: to choose between his death and her own, each equally impossible. How is anyone to make a choice like that?

But, caught in between precious moments, there’s no time for thought or debate. It’s easy to declare gallantry, to flippantly comfort a companion with those easy words—I’d take an arrow for you.—but it’s an entirely different matter when the arrow is whistling straight toward them.

And yet before the mug has even hit the floor, he feels the familiar, burning pain as the arrow pierces through his flesh, slicing him open as the wrongness bleeds into him, swiftly poisoning his blood, draining the inherent magic from his body.

————

You stare up into wide hazel eyes, agony etched across his delicate features, the very tip of the arrow lightly piercing your skin from where it’s shot straight through him, caught in his flesh.

He groans lowly, his weight falling more heavily on your shoulders where his hands had grabbed you to switch your positions, and you’re helpless as his knees give out from pain, dragging you down with him as he collides with the ground.

Horror pounds through your body, heart beating a thousand times a second until it’s risen into your throat, hands shaking violently as you try to hold him steady, stinging with the burning heat of blood from his side.

Mother murder you.

“Az,” you stammer hoarsely, staring at his twisted features, brow furrowed deeply, breathing ragged as it puffs against your skin. The familiar scent of blood filtrates through your system, undiluted and metallic, and he’s dying he’s dying he’s dying—

His hand weakly grasps the back of your neck, grabbing your attention as your hands fumble, trembling with uncertainty and despair, fingertips beginning to sizzle as panic floods your veins, tossed into the rapids, utterly out of control as your mind unravels, regret stabbing through your heart.

His lips are moving but your ears are ringing, itches burning at your skin, a streaking noise piercing through your head like the screaming from those bloody fields. He’s speaking and you try to read his lips, but your eyes aren’t focusing, tears blurring your vision as sobs heave in and out of your chest, burning at your throat and lungs. You had tried to stop it! You were so close to preventing it!

Your hand settles on his cheek, already feeling cool beneath your burning, burning, glowing—

Feyre and Rhys, his lips form, and you shake. Eyes scanning his features frenetically. His own flick to the door, and you understand them to be here? You stare at him helplessly, hopelessly—it won’t matter how you scream or cry for them, not even if you bled your throat raw. The ward against noise that you’d been so thankful for, that Feyre had given in attempts to help, to remedy a wrong.

Something so small, yet so immoveable. Impossible to defeat. Felled by your own, stupid need—

He’s going to die.

Neither you nor Azriel have a second to prepare as the power wells up inside of you with the force of a damn broken loose, that internal wall shattering entirely, blown to bits as you feel the staggering pressure swallow your brain, crushing in intensity at the rapid division of cells, splitting atoms colliding as the explosion blows you apart.

Brilliant green light detonates, silence settling for a second before the noise crushes back down, the room blown to pieces.

The ground shakes beneath you, floorboards cracking and splintering as a hole is torn through the side of the House, tearing through the wards as the noise thunders above the city, sweeping across Prythian with the force of the Cauldron that had torn down the Wall.

One final surge of magic before the life is taken from his body.

Pain lacerates through your figure as something fundamental cracks open inside of you, all at once draining the agony that had beens steadily building up, all of it gushing out, skin resplendent with a sickening golden-green light, radiating your flesh.

Then you collapse, falling into the pool of steadily cooling blood surrounding Azriel’s body.

The prophecy having come to fulfilment.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya

[wyvernest]

midnight cravings

pairing - miguel o'hara x f!reader

warnings - smut, established relationship, unprotected piv, creampie, missionary

summary - miguel comes home late at night, needing a lot more than just sleep

a/n - i did some research on spanish pillow talk, lmk if anything is off/wrong

You're half asleep.

The room is dark and quiet. Only the cars on the boulevard can be heard in a faint echo as they slow down to turn corners at the nearby intersection, their headlights casting a fleeting flash on the bedroom ceiling.

You tilt your head on your pillow to check the time.

23:57

It's not exactly unusual that Miguel doesn't get home before midnight. His job requires a certain amount of effort, a certain amount of skill, and an equally generous amount of time.

But tonight the bed is colder. Tonight, the bedsheets and pillows fail to offer the warmth only he can provide. You drift off into a pained slumber, hugging his pillow to your chest.

And it feels like it's been seconds, only a blink in the undisturbed ambiance of the night, before your ears pick up a strangely familiar sound.

The window opens, followed by a gentle creak. The first time it happened, you had jumped out of bed in any defence you could've possibly offered yourself, heart racing and hands shaking. But after countless nights, after so many times when your boyfriend entered your apartment the way only he could do it, you've grown accustomed to it. Now, the sound brought a sweet shiver up your spine, a sense of safety and relief.

You only wish you could open your eyes, but before you thought to rise from your position on the bed, you felt the mattress sink under considerable weight. Miguel crawls close to you, settling himself behind you.

His body moulds perfectly against yours, his bare chest pressed up against your back. He moves his hand to brush a few unruly strands of hair out of your face, his fingertips grazing the side of your neck, lingering on the soft skin more than necessary. He presses himself closer and closer into you, and you relish in the feeling of his body heat invading every patch of your skin that comes in contact with him. You hum softly, a sign for him that you're aware he's there, only through the haze of heavy sleep.

His cursory hand starts caressing and touching, running over the line of your waist, swiftly sneaking underneath your shirt and finding your skin. You sigh into the pillow, his ministrations making it hard for you to resume your slumber. He drags his warm and heavy palm over the dip of your middle, reaching the side of your breast. It then retreats lower, back down to your hip, squeezing the flesh of your ass ever so slightly.

He shuffles, bringing his crotch up to the backs of your thighs, and you feel the unmistakable shape of his hard cock, grinding up against you with slow and languid rolls of his hips, as if he’s trying not to stir you from your drowsiness. You feel a familiar pressure grow and bloom between your legs, deciding that sleep is no longer an option for the time being.

Turning your head over your shoulder, you’re met with the face of a man so desperate and needy, you almost have to hold back a moan of both surprise and pride at having him head over heels for you. Your hand snakes around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss so full of want and desire that you both gasp for air in between minutes before diving right back in for more.

With his weight supported on one elbow, his free hand keeps mapping your body with such speed and undeniable craving that you push your thighs together instinctively, aiming to chase a part of the pleasure dripping and pooling into your panties. His arm wraps around your front, holding you in place, as his lips break from the kiss and travel from your flushed cheek, to your jaw, landing on your pulse point. You tilt your head to the side to grant him access to you, as he nibbles over the nape of your neck. He alters between soft, gentle pecks and bold yet careful bites, while his thigh parts yours from behind, pressing hard into your core.

Through crescending moans and mewls, you start rubbing yourself onto his muscular thigh, feeling his hot breath puffing over the sensitive skin of your neck and shoulder. The sharpness of his fangs grazing your pulse alerts you as you begin tugging at his hair with no avail.

He twists you around so that he’s on top of you fully, his mouth travelling down to your shoulder and clavicle. He’s placed himself between your quivering legs, making his intentions known by humping you slowly and steadily, at a pace that allows him to continue his assault upon your chest. His lips find your breasts as he licks and kisses the tender flesh.

Suddenly, he stops, not removing his face from your chest. He pants softly, meeting your half-lidded eyes. He inhales abruptly, and you see his pupils dilate ever so slightly.

“You’re already wet, mi amor.” You feel your face heat up at the remark. “Always so good and ready for me.” He tightens his grip, crushing you into his embrace as his body encompasses yours completely. You feel his cock twitch through the thin fabric of your panties, growing impatient.

“Only for you.” You’re interrupted by a groan as he revels in your confession and promised devotion. “Only you can make me feel this way.”

“Me estás volviendo loco.” (You’re driving me crazy)

In a quick motion, he grips your panties and rips them, the sound sending a rush of adrenaline through your veins. You feel the fat tip of his dick, glistening with precum, teasingly pressing against your aching cunt. He readies himself, bracing his weight on his forearms that now frame your face. His head drops into the crook of your neck, breathing laboured, raising goosebumps all over your skin.

“Let me pound this pussy before I go to sleep.”, his voice is low and rugged with lust, breath hot and deep.

You let out a moan in response, taken aback. You wiggle your hips playfully, feeling the head of his fat dick graze your wet folds. He groans lowly, biting at your neck before soothing the mark with several kisses.

“Por favor, mi vida”, and you nearly come on the spot, the plea ringing in your ears. You’re almost convinced he may have injected you with something. You’re not thinking straight. He could ask anything of you right now and you wouldn’t have the slightest bit of power to say no.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day. Couldn’t get you out of my head.” He insists, as if any more convincing is necessary. It isn’t. He just loves to rile you up, to see you as desperate for him as he is for you before he takes you.

“All I could think of was finally getting home to you. Seeing your pretty face, tasting your lips.” He keeps whispering, pressing hot, open mouth kisses up and down your neck, one of his hands groping your breast.

“Burying myself in you, feeling you clench around me.” More kisses, his cock is aligned with you, rubbing between your folds and twitching every so often.

“Miguel.”

He raises his face to lock eyes with you.

“Fuck me raw.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He enters you, inch by agonising inch, and as he bottoms out you release a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. Your arms curl around his shoulders, feeling the rigid muscles of his back as they shift when he starts rolling his hips. You’re completely engulfed in his shadow, and all you can see is him.

Stretched to the limit, you throw your head back into the softness of the pillows as he picks up his pace, jackhammering his cock into the damp warmth of your cunt. His talons dig into the cushion as his face contorts into pure, unfiltered pleasure. You look down to catch the way his abdomen flexes with every thrust he delivers, the way the length of his dick disappears inside you with a wet squelch each time.

He falters for a fraction of a second, eyes rolling back before he changes the angle of his thrusts, finding your sweet spot. You feel your high starting to build up as he maintains his rhythm, grabbing onto his biceps as he drills his heavy cock into you, chasing his climax. You moan out his name, constricting around him, and he groans shamelessly, dropping his face back into the crook of your neck, panting.

“Ay, mierda” he rasps into the shell of your ear, and you bring one hand into his silky, dark hair, pushing him closer into your embrace.

“Está apretadito” (it’s tight), he nearly whimpers at the way you clench around his cock, his lips latching onto your pulse point once again, in an attempt to stifle his moans.

Your whole body quivers at the sound of his groans and muffled curses, as you finally feel yourself on the edge of ecstasy. You close your legs around his waist, wanting to feel him whole.

His pace stutters at the action.

“Inside, ah-, I want you– inside, shit”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, he drives himself into you, hard and fast. Your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave, prolonged by his continuous thrusts. All your senses zoom in on him, the smell of him, the sight of his broad frame towering over you as he fucks you, the sound of his breathing and the praises he whispers into your neck.

The bed shakes and creaks under his weight as he comes, filling you with his release. You pulse around him, forcing a strangled moan out of his throat before he collapses on top of you.

You’re floating, even with his whole body dormant upon yours. With a hand, you mindlessly massage his scalp while he returns to his senses. His arms seek to find your waist, effectively wrapping around you in a nearly suffocating hold. But you don’t mind.

“We should get cleaned up.”, he mumbles lowly, muffled by the pillows and your neck altogether. However, you feel his body relax completely, an incontestable sign that he’s already too far gone to get up anymore. You’re well aware of how tired he can be at times and how his love for you had been the only thing providing energy for the past minutes, because otherwise, he would have been out cold by now.

So you hold him, as he holds you, drifting off into well earned, blissful rest.

[nahoney22]

Hold Me For The First Time*** 🌊

🫧 Pairings: Echo X Female!Reader

word count: 4.3k

Prompts: none

When a late night chat in a shared bed leads to Echo discussing his insecurities, you can’t help but wonder if he could use his insecurities to his advantage.

warnings: NSFW, 18+ only. self indulgent fic. Explicit sexual content and lanaguage, share a bed trope, Inappropriate use of a scomp link, p in v sex, friends to lovers, squirting, oral sex (reader receiving) scomp used as a vibrator, cum eating, finger sucking, multiple positions ie riding and missionary, creampie, pillow talk, aftercare, dirty talk. Light angst, insecure Echo.

🌊 Please Reblog to support your fellow writers and creators. A like is not enough 🌊

“Well, they didn’t mention there’d be only one bed.” You huffed, collapsing against the doorframe after trudging up ten flights of stairs, fully equipped with your armor and supplies. The elevator was out of order—of course. The day had already been grueling enough, and the sight of this rundown hotel was a small miracle in itself.

You and the squad had scraped together what few credits you had, which meant sharing rooms. You didn’t really mind sharing a room—especially with someone you knew didn’t snore too loudly. But you hadn’t quite expected the sleeping arrangements to be so...cozy.

“I’ll take the floor, don’t worry.” Echo’s voice broke through your thoughts as he set his bag and helmet down on the dresser, turning to face you. He noticed your slight frown and tilted his head.

“Echo, no.” You shook your head firmly, letting your own gear clatter to the floor. You crossed to the bed and flopped onto it, sighing with relief as the surprisingly soft mattress crinkled under the weight of your armor. “There’s enough room for at least three people. We’ll share.”

Echo seemed taken aback, his expression shifting as if he was searching for the right words to protest. You couldn’t help but grin. “What?” you teased, eyes gleaming. “Do I smell terrible or something?”

“Of course not,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just... I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, that’s all.”

“We’re friends, Echo. It’s fine.” You tucked your arms under your head, relaxing into the mattress. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

But Echo’s concern wasn’t really about your comfort in sharing a bed; it was about his cybernetics. He worried about accidentally jabbing you with one of his mechanical limbs in the middle of the night. He kept those thoughts to himself, though, letting the room fall into a companionable silence.

After a moment, you sat up and stretched. “I’m going to take a shower before bed,” you announced. “Who knows when we’ll get hot water again.”

The small bathroom was stocked with tiny bottles of body wash, and you made the most of them. Stepping under the warm spray, you lathered up, savoring the rare luxury. You let the water run through your hair and down your back, briefly closing your eyes as the stress and exhaustion of the day washed away. For a moment, you considered sitting right down on the tile and letting the water pour over you until you forgot about the relentless grind of finding work and scraping by. But you knew better than to waste the water—or the time.

Reluctantly, you shut off the shower and dried yourself off. Pulling on a pair of shorts and an oversized training shirt (which was more than likely Echo’s given the size) that you had stolen as a nightshirt months back. You ran a towel through your damp hair and stepped back into the room. Echo was still by the window, staring out with an expression that suggested his mind was miles away.

“Everything alright?” you asked softly, padding over to him. He blinked, snapping out of whatever thoughts had taken him so far away.

“Yeah, just... thinking,” he replied, his voice just as soft.

You gave him a small smile and squeezed his arm lightly. “You can think all you want, but get some rest too, okay?”

He returned your smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You too.”

With that, you both settled into bed, the quiet hum of the city outside lulling you into a sense of peace. It didn’t take long for sleep to pull you under.

Echo eventually joined you in bed, lying stiffly on his side as if unsure how to relax. Despite the unfamiliar softness of the mattress, you quickly drifted off. But the comfort was almost too much—after spending so long sleeping on hard ground or cold ship floors, it was strange to sleep somewhere so cozy.

About two hours later, you stirred awake, blinking in the dim light filtering through the window. You noticed a faint glow from the corner of your eye and turned over, slightly frowning when you saw Echo still awake, his face lit by the pale light of a datapad.

You hesitated, not wanting to disturb him. But your mouth was dry, so you carefully slipped out of bed to grab a glass of water. When you returned and snuggled back under the covers, sleep was elusive. After a few minutes of tossing and turning, you quietly asked, “Echo… you still awake?”

He shifted slightly and rolled onto his back, his eyes catching yours. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Can’t sleep either.”

You smile and switched on your bedside light, casting a small but warm glow over you and half of Echo

“What are you looking at?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you lay comfortably on your side and look up to him..

He was silent for a moment, as if debating whether to tell you. “Rex sent me some old holopics; from back when I was with the 501st.”

You propped yourself up on one elbow. “Can I see them?”

He hesitated, but then passed you the datapad. You looked down at an image showing Rex, Cody, Fives, and Echo—back when Echo was…himself. But different. His features were softer, a thick head of hair, his expression more carefree, with no trace of the weight he now carried.

“You look so…” you began, but you struggled to find the right word.

“Normal,” Echo finished flatly, his tone laced with bitterness. You winced at the irritation in his voice, though you knew it wasn’t directed at you.

“No, I wasn’t going to say that,” you said gently as you handed him back the device. “You look fine.”

He sighed, eyes dropping to the scomp link on his arm. “I don’t feel fine. It’s stupid, but I used to imagine life after the war. Maybe I’d find a wife, maybe even have a family.” He shook his head, his voice tinged with regret. “But that feels impossible now.”

“Why?” you asked softly as you looked up at him, though you already knew the answer. His gaze dropped to the scomp link again, the metal gleaming faintly in the low light.

“This,” he said simply, gesturing to his cybernetics. “Who would want someone like me?”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. “Echo, I think you’re handsome,” you say earnestly. When he scoffed in disbelief, you pressed on. “I’m being serious. You’ve been through so much, and you’re still here, still fighting. That’s strength, and it’s something anyone would admire. Besides,” you added with a small smile, “I always feel calm and safe around you. That’s rare.”

Echo looked at you, the skepticism in his eyes giving way to something softer, more uncertain. “You really mean that?”

“I do,” you assured him, your voice steady. “You’re more than just what’s happened to you. And one day, you’ll find someone else who sees that, too.”

Echo’s gaze softened, but there was still a shadow lingering in his eyes. “Can I tell you something?”

You nod for him to continue.

“I miss… being able to hold someone,” he confessed quietly. “To just feel close to someone like that.”

The ache you felt for him was real, but a memory stirred in your mind. “You’ve held me before,” you said softly, offering him a small smile.

His brows furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

You chuckled, recalling a specific mission. “Remember that op where I got hit hard? You carried me all the way back to the ship. I was out cold, but I woke up in your arms.”

A short laugh escaped him as he shook his head. “I guess that does count… in a way. But it’s not really the same thing.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the distant hum of the city filtering through the window. Yet, his earlier vulnerability lingered in your mind, tempting your curiosity. Before you could second-guess yourself, you blurted out a question that had been simmering at the edges of your thoughts.

“So… have you ever used your scomp… like that?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

You felt your cheeks heat up as you tried to clarify. “You know… for, um, pleasuring someone?”

Echo shifted beside you, clearing his throat awkwardly. You quickly reached for the glass of water on the bedside table and offered it to him. “Water?” you asked, trying to play off your embarrassment.

He shook his head, giving a soft, disbelieving chuckle. “No, thanks,” he murmured, but then his expression grew more serious. “And no, I haven’t. The opportunity hasn’t really come up.”

The idea intrigued you, and you couldn’t help the curiosity bubbling up. “Could you… show me what it feels like?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “On my arm, I mean.”

Echo watched you carefully, his gaze searching your face for any sign of hesitation. When he didn’t see any, he slowly raised his scomp and gently placed it against your forearm. At your nod, he activated it, letting the subtle vibrations pulse against your skin.

You gasped softly at the sensation—not painful at all, just ticklish and almost soothing. “See?” you said with a smile. “That’s not bad at all. Any lady would be lucky.”

Echo’s gaze remained fixed on you, a hint of surprise in his eyes. But the playful teasing between you shifted into somewhat deeper. A moment of soft silence lingered, charged with something new. The warmth in the room took on a different tone as you looked into each other’s eyes, both of you aware of the tension hanging in the air.

Your thoughts strayed, and you felt your body respond in a way that left you breathless. Your voice was small, almost hesitant. “You could try it out on my thighs too. If you want.”

Echo’s eyes darkened slightly as he considered your suggestion, his jaw clenching as he weighed the idea. He finally nodded and he waited for you to roll onto your back, his gaze never leaving yours as he reached out again, his scomp moving under the shared duvet and hovering just above your leg.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I think so.”

The moment the vibrations touched your skin, a shiver ran through you. The sensation was smooth, surprisingly gentle, and far more electrifying than you’d imagined. Your breathing hitched, and despite your best efforts, a quiet moan slipped past your lips. Your eyes closing and head leaning back comfortably on your pillow. “That feels nice.” You gasp.

Echo’s gaze grew more intense as he watched you react, his own expression shifting as he absorbed the effect his touch had on you. The air between you grew thicker, the boundary between curiosity and desire blurring.

You swallowed, your voice unsteady as you whispered, “Echo, if you want… you could please me, you know? I’d like that.” The words came out before you could overthink them.

Echo’s eyes darkened further, a new tension in the set of his shoulders. Slowly, he nodded, his voice a low rasp. “If that’s what you want…” His gaze flicked down, watching as you slid down your shorts beneath the covers, your legs parting slightly.

He moved closer, the mattress dipping as his focus remained entirely on you. He watched every subtle shift in your expression, his own breath growing heavier as he prepared to explore this moment with you. Whatever it was.

Echo’s hand hovered above your thigh, his scomp poised just inches from your skin. When he finally lowered it, the vibrations moved between your folds with a slow, deliberate rhythm. The sensation was like nothing you’d ever felt before—gentle but intense, the subtle pulses sending waves of warmth through your core. “That’s.. oh - fuck.” You moan, eyes intense as you lock eyes with him.

“Do you like that, beautiful?” He cooed, a faint smile on his lips as he watched you react to the compliment.

“S’good,” you whine, toes curling as his scomp presses down and vibrates against your swelling clit. Every time he adjusted the pressure, your breath hitched, the tingling pleasure building as his scomp dipped lower, gliding along your slickness.

Your body responded instinctively, hips rising to meet the movement as the blanket tangled around your legs. In the haze of growing desire, you grabbed the fabric and threw it aside, exposing yourself fully to him. The cool air brushed against your heated skin, but it was nothing compared to the thrill of letting Echo see exactly what he was doing to you.

His eyes blown wide, gaze dropping to the glistening sight between your legs. A low, needy sound escaped him, a mix between a groan and a sigh. “You have such a pretty pussy,” he rasped, his voice rough with barely contained lust as he licked his lips. The simple, honest words made you clench, a wave of need rolling through you that had your head spinning.

The vibrations increased, pressing directly against your sensitive clit, and you cried out, your voice breaking into a moan. “Oh, Echo—I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum,” you gasped, the pressure building to a dizzying peak. Every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire, the relentless rhythm of his scomp pushing you closer and closer to that edge. You grabbed harshly on his arm, holding his scomp exactly where it needed to be. “Baby, d-don’t stop.”

Echo’s gaze stayed locked on your swollen, slick flesh, his breath coming in rough pants as he watched you writhe beneath him. “Let me feel it,” he urged, his voice rough with desire. “Let me see you cum for me.”

The moment his words hit you, everything snapped. Your body arched off the bed, back curving as the pleasure surged through you in powerful waves. You cried out his name, trembling as the release tore through you, the sensation almost too much as his scomp kept pulsing against your now overstimulated clit.

He held you there, watching every twitch, every aftershock that rippled through your body. His eyes were wild, dark with hunger as he savoured the way you came undone beneath him. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, almost as if to himself, as if he couldn’t believe how perfect you looked falling apart for him.

When the vibrations finally eased and you could catch your breath, you met his gaze, still reeling from the intensity of the moment. “That was pretty damn good.” You gasp breathlessly, legs still twitching every so often.

“And you looked it, too,” he rasps and you realise how close he was to you now, his face a few inches from yours. You didn’t want this to end.

A soft giggle escapes your lips as you take his scomp in your hand, meeting his gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. Slowly, you bring the metal to your mouth, letting your tongue glide over it, tasting your own slick. The mixture of your warmth and the cool metal sends a shiver down your spine. Echo watches in stunned silence, his eyes fixed on the sight of you licking yourself off his scomp. His breath catches as he murmurs your name, almost reverent, “You don’t realise how much I wish I could feel that…”

You tilt your head, grinning mischievously. “You have another hand, don’t you?” you tease, your voice light. His eyes widen slightly at the suggestion, and after a moment of hesitation, he nods, waiting for you to give the go-ahead. You answer him with a small, encouraging smile.

His fingers are careful as they slide over your folds, still tender and sensitive from your climax. He moves gently, massaging with a touch that’s reverent and exploratory, collecting your slick on his fingers. You gasp at the contact, the mixture of pleasure and overstimulation sending jolts through you.

Without breaking eye contact, he brings his fingers to your lips, offering them to you. You eagerly take them into your mouth, sucking on them with a slow, deliberate rhythm, savouring the taste of yourself while his eyes darken even more.

But you want to return the favour—want to see him fall apart just as he did for you. As you release his fingers with a soft pop, you notice his hand shifting to palm himself through his pants. There’s a tension in his jaw, a hesitation, as if he’s too shy to ask for what he needs. You decide to take the lead.

“Echo,” you said softly, brushing a hand over his cheek. “Before we do this… can I see you?”

He blinked, a flicker of hesitation crossing his features. You could see the doubt creeping in, his usual guardedness returning. His gaze dropped as he began to mumble, “I’m not exactly—my legs, my body… I know it’s not what—”

You cut him off, gently taking his face in your hands. “No. You’re beautiful, Echo,” you insisted, your tone firm but tender. “Every part of you.”

The sincerity in your voice made his breath hitch, and after a beat, he nodded, his eyes meeting yours.

You helped him slide out of the rest of his clothes, taking in the sight of him fully bare to you. The scars, the cybernetics—everything that made him who he was. And as you gazed at him, there was no judgment, no hesitation. “You’re perfect,” you whispered, letting the words sink in as you ran your hands over his chest, tracing every line and curve. His heart hammered in his chest, and you could see the way his eyes softened, that lingering insecurity slowly melting away.

Quietly, you shift onto your knees and slowly peel off your top, letting it fall away as your breasts bounce free. His eyes widen, unable to hide the awe in his expression. “Woah,” he breathes out, his voice tinged with disbelief, as though he can’t quite process what’s happening. Your cheeks heat up as your hand caresses over his erection, thick and hard, the sight of him making your mouth water.

“Do you want me, Echo?”

He swallows hard, eyes locked on yours. “More than anything,” he rasps, voice thick with need. You position yourself over him, guiding the head of his cock between your folds, letting him feel the heat and wetness before you take him in.

With a slow, deliberate movement, you lower yourself onto him, feeling him stretch you wide open as you sink down onto his length. A moan slips from your lips at the sensation, the delicious stretch of him filling you completely. His grip on your waist tightens as he groans deeply, the sound vibrating through his chest.

The feeling of him buried deep inside you is overwhelming, almost intoxicating. The heat between you builds, your bodies starting to find a rhythm that leaves you both breathless.

Every thrust, every slide, is filled with a raw, desperate need, as if neither of you can get enough. Echo’s hand roams over your body, his touch reverent and hungry all at once, while you take him deeper with each roll of your hips. The way he looks at you—like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—was enough to almost make yoh tumble into another quick orgasm. “Fuck,” you whisper, feeling the tension build again. “You feel so good inside me, Echo.”

He groans in response, his grip tightening as he thrusts up into you, desperate to keep that connection, to prolong the pleasure that’s surging through both of you. “Yes baby, that’s it. You're riding me so good. Take me.”

With a sudden burst of intensity, Echo flips you onto your back, his eyes wild with desire. He climbs on top of you, pressing the length of his body against yours, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze. “Hold me,” you beg breathlessly, needing the closeness, the comfort of being wrapped in his arms as he takes you. But you see the panic flash in his eyes—he doesn’t know how, isn’t sure he can do it right.

Sensing his hesitation, you act on instinct, lifting yourself slightly and guiding his scomp beneath your back, the cool metal settling against your skin in a strange but oddly comforting embrace. “Like this,” you whisper, your voice full of reassurance as you take his free hand and hook it under your thigh, anchoring you in place.

With renewed confidence, he adjusts his grip, holding you steady as he begins to thrust into you with a deep, yet tender rhythm. Your forehead rests against his, your breaths ragged. You don’t think you’ve ever been made love to before, but you were pretty certain this is what it was like. In the midst of the frenzy, you both suddenly pause, realising that despite everything, you still haven’t kissed. The thought hangs in the air for a split second before your lips come together, the kiss charged with all the pent-up passion that had been building between you. At first it’s soft, tender before you whine for him to go faster when it becomes messy, almost frantic. Tongues tangling as you both lose yourselves in the moment.

The bed shakes beneath you, the frame creaking with each powerful stroke as he pounds into you. You can’t hold back—your voice cracks as you pant his name over and over, each plea more desperate and needy than the last. Your legs wrap tightly around him, urging him deeper, while the raw heat of his body and the delicious friction sends sparks through your every nerve.

When you pull back for air, his gaze is intense, admiration and hunger shining in his eyes. “You look so good like this,” he groans, his voice low and thick. “Do you want me to cum inside you, beautiful? Want me to stuff you full of my cum? I want to make sure you feel me inside you long after this.”

His words send you spiraling, your fingers digging into his back as you cling to him, desperate for more. The sound of his balls slapping against your slick, sweaty skin fills the room, every thrust harder and deeper than the last. The pressure builds rapidly, your body tightening around him as you feel yourself teetering on the edge.

“Echo—I’m gonna—” The words barely escape your lips before your release crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your back arches off the bed as you find yourself squirting all over him, the intensity of it leaving you trembling and gasping for breath. The slick warmth of your release covers his cock, dripping down his thighs as he continues to pound into you, chasing his own release.

His rhythm stutters, hips jerking as he reaches his peak. With a deep, guttural groan of your name, he buries himself inside you, filling you with his warmth as his cock throbs within your walls. You feel every pulse, every spurt of his cum, until he’s spent, panting heavily above you.

As he collapses into your arms, your bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all, there’s nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing and the soft, shared smiles that linger between you.

As the intensity of the moment faded, Echo’s hand found yours, fingers intertwining as you both tried to catch your breath. The warmth of his body pressed against yours brought a comforting stillness. He was still, resting his head on your chest, your hearts beating in sync as you gently stroked the back of his neck.

“You okay?” He asked softly, his voice tender and laced with a bit of concern as his thumb brushed along your knuckles.

You smiled, nodding as you looked down at him. “More than okay,” you whispered. “That was amazing.”

A shy grin tugged at his lips, a little bit of that old insecurity trying to creep in. “I never thought—I mean, I didn’t know I could make you feel that way,” he admitted quietly and you can’t help but feel your body warm up at the fact you had squirted, something that had never happened before.

“Yeah,” you giggle breathlessly, “it was definitely new to me too. But it was perfect.”

For a few minutes, neither of you spoke, just enjoying the peaceful silence that wrapped around you like a warm blanket. But you could feel the tension that still lingered in his muscles, the weight of everything he’d been carrying for so long.

“Hey,” you murmured, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

He hesitated, then finally opened up. “What if this doesn’t last? That I’ll wake up and realise it was all a dream. It feels too good to be real, you know?”

You shifted, cupping his face with both hands so he’d look directly into your eyes. “It’s real, Echo. I’m real. We’re real. And I’m not going anywhere.” Your voice steady, full of conviction.

The way he looked at you then, with those wide, hopeful eyes, made your heart swell. “Thank you,” he whispered, “for being patient with me. For seeing me.”

You leaned in and kissed him softly, letting the tenderness of the moment speak for itself. “I see you, Echo. Every part of you. And I want it all—the good, the complicated, the messy. I’m here for all of it.”

His eyes closed as he rested his forehead against yours. “You’re more than I ever thought I could have,” he whispered, his voice so low it was almost a breath. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You do. You deserve to be happy. To be loved. And I’m going to make sure you never forget that.”

The vulnerability in his gaze softened into something warmer, more secure. “I think I’m starting to believe you.”

A quiet laugh bubbled up between you as you settled back into the pillows, arms wrapped around each other in a comfortable tangle. The tension had fully melted away, leaving behind only the gentle, reassuring warmth of being with someone who truly understood.

“I’m so lucky I have you,” he murmured sleepily, his head nestling into the crook of your neck.

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”

🌊 Masterlist is pinned 🌊

🌊 Echo pic by @starqueensthings 🌊

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[meownotgood]

quiet dream. / dan heng x reader, 18+, smut, reader is fem bodied, grinding, thigh-fucking, fingering, creampie, soft dan heng, reader is super needy, dan heng offers to help when you can't sleep. word count: 4.7k

You can't sleep. 

It's a realization you've slowly come to after waking up in the middle of the night several times in a row, but it really starts to hit you like a truck after the fourth. This time, you don't even bother to try and close your eyes again. You just sigh, twist onto your back, and stare begrudgingly at the shadows on the ceiling. 

You want to get some rest, you really do. You know you're going to need it. You can't let exhaustion affect your performance on such a difficult and important mission. But no matter how hard you try, it's damn near impossible to sleep when every time you start to drift off, you get interrupted by dark visions and terrible nightmares and loud voices you don't recognize echoing inside your head. 

It's been plaguing you ever since you first set foot in Belobog. You were almost starting to think you were losing it. Perhaps this hotel is cursed. Or maybe not, since none of your comrades seem to be suffering from the same fate. 

You stumbled out of your room and saw your teammates already waiting for you in the hall. March chuckles and tells you she had a nice dream about making snow angels with Pom Pom. Dan Heng doesn't look up from his phone as he answers, I didn't have any dreams. 

So it's just you. 

At this point, you've tried absolutely everything — you've made yourself comfortable in every position you can think of, you've got up and paced around hoping it'd relieve some of your energy, you've tossed and turned and yet still, nothing has helped. No, no, you can't take this, you have to do something. When your missions are only getting more and more difficult, you're going to need all the energy you can get. You can't go another night without sleeping. 

Your brain spins with ideas of possible solutions. You can't get any medicine, it's way past the time for any stores to be open. Can't get any food or something to drink either. You don't feel like bothering March 7th, she'll just babble on and on and keep you up even further. Sitting here alone in silence though, with nothing but the idle hum of the passing train cars to keep you company does nothing but make your insomnia worse. 

When it comes down to it, there's only one last idea you can think of. 

You fling the covers away from your face and sit up to plant both your feet on the ground. You open the door to your room as slowly as you can to keep it from creaking, and you carefully make your way down the hall, rounding the corner, to the first room on your left. Sucking in a nervous breath, you raise your knuckle and knock, but when there's no response after a few seconds, you twist the doorknob and invite yourself inside. 

The blankets shuffle and Dan Heng lifts his head immediately, hair messy and eyes squinted as they adjust to the sudden flood of light. He seems to relax, tense shoulders slumping once he realizes it's only you. 

"What happened?" His voice is rough and laced with tiredness, but he's sitting up further, and he's getting right to the point, "Are you okay?" 

"Nothing, I'm fine. Relax." You raise your hands defensively and gently close the door behind you with your heel. It clicks shut. "I can't sleep, so I figured I'd stay with you for a bit. If that's okay." 

Dan Heng eyes you up and down, considering, before he flops back onto the bed with a quiet sigh, the mattress bouncing from the sudden weight. 

"Sorry, I'll leave if you want me to." 

"No," He retorts sternly, shaking his head, his response catching you a little off guard. Is he really okay with this? 

Much to your surprise, he continues, "It's fine, I understand. Here." Then, he shifts, turning over and onto his side to make some space next to him. "You can sleep with me if you think it'll help." 

Quickly, without giving him a chance to change his mind, you make your way over, and Dan Heng lifts the covers so you can crawl in. You aren't used to seeing him like this; his hair all ruffled, his clothes casual, just a blank t-shirt and sweats. When you settle in and he leans his head onto the fluffy white pillow, you swear you catch him trying to stifle a yawn. 

Honestly, you really didn't expect him to let you in so easily, either. You haven't known him for very long, but you're somewhat familiar with each other, to the point you'd consider him your friend, but Dan Heng's a private sort of person. He's a bit stiff, a bit hard to talk with — You like him, you really do. You like those parts of him. You like the way he's serious and smart and strong, how he's much kinder than he appears. 

You like the way his nose scrunches when he's focused on something. You like how he cares for you awkwardly but earnestly, slipping his jacket off of his arms and draping it over your shoulders when you first arrived to Jarilo-VI and said you felt cold. He cleared his throat and glanced away, muttering something half-hearted like, Just thank me later. 

The thing is, despite all that, despite everything he's done for you, you can't seem to figure out the way he feels. Dan Heng is the most impossible person you think has ever existed. 

And right now, even though he's invited you to come lay next to him, you still can't decide, and your brain is a little too scrambled to really start thinking about it. 

He's already shut his eyes again, his face is close, wisps of dark hair messy. His chest rises and falls, up and down. 

"Did I wake you up?" 

He cracks his eyes back open when he hears you speak once more. 

"Yes." Dan Heng answers bluntly, and if you weren't feeling so shitty right now you might've just chuckled. 

"Sorry." 

"Don't worry about it." The smallest specs of golden light cast from the street lamps outside reflect in his gaze. "I wasn't upset. I'm more concerned about you. Why can't you sleep?"

"Mmm," You look away, shrugging your shoulders, "Bad dreams." 

"Nightmares, huh?" 

Yeah, he'd surely know a thing or two about that. Though, strangely, he hasn't had any bad dreams since arriving in Belobog. Maybe it's because the plush hotel beds are way comfier than his little setup on the Astral Express, he figures. 

The exhaustion in your tone doesn't lie: "They've been happening ever since we got here. And it's not a regular thing, it's the first time I've had so many dreams like this and… they're relentless." 

If the room was a little less dim, and if you were paying just a little more attention, you might have caught the way Dan Heng's expression starts to soften. 

"I'm sorry. I wonder if there's a reason for it. Something with the environment here." He says. You let your eyes close at the sound of his voice. "I'll check the data bank tomorrow. I researched Jarilo-VI thoroughly before we came here, and I don't remember anything like that in any of the submissions, but… I suppose I might've missed it." 

You snuggle into the pillow, your body feels warm and light; Dan Heng's presence alone provides you with comfort, and you're already starting to drift off. You silently hope to yourself that this will be the last time, and then you murmur in response, "Dunno. I'm tired, you can tell me about it later." 

"Right." Dan Heng answers. "I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight." 

Dan Heng is losing his mind. 

When you first stumbled into his room, he didn't think anything of it. He knows how difficult nightmares can be, especially the ones that seem to be affecting you. Until now, he's never seen you so troubled. He doesn't have a problem keeping you company — you'd do the same for him, and he knows that.

The first time, you managed to drift off for an hour or so. He stayed awake for a while to watch over you, and when you ended up waking up from another bad dream, Dan Heng slung an arm around you, he rubbed your back with his palm and tried to mutter something into your ear to help you fall asleep: some boring story he learned from the archives.

But you were quick to wake again. And again, and again. Nothing worked, trying his best to help you has only served to make him just as restless as you are, and right now you, you're just —

"Dan Heng, please." 

You say his name in a voice so pleading, so sweet and sugary it takes nearly everything he has to struggle to resist. A warm blaze of heat rushes to every corner of his face, his breath is hot and thick, the slightest bit shaky when it fans over the expanse of your neck. In your tossing and turning, you've chosen to face away from him now, with your back pressed deft to his chest. Dan Heng wonders how strongly you can feel the thudding of his heart. 

The proximity alone is enough to get his heart pounding — you're so warm, so close, he can't take it — but each and every word you say makes it so much worse, and you keep shifting back, you keep pressing into him and you just have to know what you're doing. 

"You're still awake." 

Dan Heng breathes the words into your ear, his voice as still as he can get it. Matter-of-fact, just an observation. Not acknowledging anything but not ignoring you either. Exactly as you'd expect him to respond. 

Softly, barely audible, you grumble back a simple response: "Yeah." 

"Get some rest."

You back up into him a bit more, your ass rubs against his groin, right there; you both sigh in unison, yours of relief, his more like exasperation. 

Dan Heng grips you hard, fingers curled into your side. "Stop it." 

"I can't, I can't fall asleep like this. You're so stubborn." You huff, and you sound honest with that, you're seemingly breathless already. 

It's half his fault this is happening. He'll take some of the blame. Perhaps he shouldn't have held you so close earlier. When your breathing got faster, when you hugged him tighter, maybe it was wrong of him to let his lips ghost over your neck, or his palms drift over your thighs. 

He wasn't trying to take things this far, he's never had any bad intentions. He's the one in the wrong for getting carried away. You were just so close, and Dan Heng hasn't been able to stop his heart from pounding for hours now. 

It wouldn't be the first time he's thought more with his heart than his brain. Stupid. 

He swallows the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry." 

He's realizing he's weaker than he thought he was, he's more obvious about his feelings for you than he intended. He has to be stubborn, but he's already failed, because you've gone and found him out. Now, you know. 

You know, because you're gripping his arm with an urgency, you're twisting around and forcing him to meet your desperate eyes while your free hand finds and fiddles with the loose drawstrings of his sweatpants. 

Dan Heng, please fuck me. 

God, how can you say that without even hesitating? His head is spinning. He feels dizzy, he feels like this isn't really happening.

"You're- that's enough." He presses his hand to your shoulder and shoves, but clearly with no force behind it. You don't budge. 

"How many more times?" Your warm fingers are working their way under the hem of his pants now, teasing his bare skin ever-so slightly, "How many more times do I have to ask?" 

How much longer, because you know he's going to give in. 

"I-" Dan Heng looks away, anywhere but where you're staring at him. He breathes a long, heavy sigh out from his mouth. There's an ache in his chest he can't possibly shake, and an even harder throb between his legs. 

He shouldn't. He really, really shouldn't. You don't have protection. You're not even dating. 

One hand twists up to hold the back of his neck, and when the other brushes down to squeeze the bulge of his stiffening cock through his sweats, Dan Heng starts to forget about all the things he'd better not do. 

He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, and with eyes half-open, he looks towards you again, finally. "You think it'll help you sleep?" 

You nod, "Mhmm." 

"And you're okay with that? This is really what you want?" 

"Yes, it is, I'm sure," You say, you're starting to tug his sweats from his hips and his breath is hitching and stuttering in his throat, "I can't wait any longer. I need you." 

Dan Heng gives himself just one more moment to attempt to compose himself. Your thumbs brush the space just underneath his hip bones, and he takes an unconvincing deep breath in. Then, he's placing his hand on your chest and gently pushing you back; the hotel bed creaks, the mattress shifts and the sheets rustle as he slowly climbs on top of you. 

"Need is a strong word," Fingers grasped around the hem, he makes quick work of shedding his t-shirt. The crisp night air is colder than he thought. The dim light casts most of his face in shadow. "What's got you like this?" 

"You want it with me just as badly, don't you?" 

You've dodged the question. But you aren't wrong. 

"Just this once." Dan Heng affirms, "We won't bring it up again." 

One time. That'll be enough. If he's lucky, you'll save him the embarrassment and remember this as just another dream. 

When it comes to you, he's just too weak. 

"Dan Heng-"

There it is again, you're saying his name in a tone reserved just for him — Dan Heng gasps, he fucks up into you a little harder, he rams right into your sweet spot and you grasp his forearm to steady yourself, his muscles firm when you squeeze. The sound of skin against skin along with the rhythmic creak of the bed echo around the walls of the small hotel room. Arm wrapped around your stomach, you're on your side, and his body curls around yours, his head leant on your shoulder, hand tightly gripping the fat of your thigh. 

Sweat coats his skin, his head feels hazy, thoughts dreamy. By now, he's come to lose any semblance of lucidity he once had, any hope of not taking things any further. But when he's buried all the way inside you, he's hardly even come to realize.

His voice feels sore and tired, but he still manages to mumble into your ear, "Say it again." 

And you do, you say his name once more, twice more. Dan Heng fucks his cock right into that perfect spot for the hundredth time and you're cooing each syllable for him even louder. 

"S-Shit, you-" He interrupts himself with a gasp for breath, "You feel so amazing, I'm- I can't," He never sounds like this, so needy and awestruck. A soft moan uttered right into the nape of your neck, then, "I'm gonna cum again." 

Your fingers clench the sheets tighter, your breath comes out in short pants, "Wanna hear you say my name too, Dan Heng-"

His arms are shaking, and once he teeters over the edge he's practically biting down on your shoulder to keep himself from getting too loud; he focuses less on hitting the right spot and more on getting off, his thrusts into you become sloppy and clumsy and erratic. As he cums, chanting your name with each fragile breath, he just barely manages to find a moment of clarity, slipping out to fist his cock and empty all over the sheets. 

His heart thuds incessantly in his ears, drowning out everything else. He's gasping, wiping his hand off on the sheet, resting his forehead onto your shoulder and swallowing to keep his throat from drying up. 

"You alright?" Of course, your well-being is the first thing Dan Heng is concerned about. 

"I'm fine," You answer immediately. 

Dan Heng stays quiet for a few agonizingly long seconds. Slowly, he guides his half-hard cock to your thighs, he slides it in between them and feels it start to throb and pulse with need again once you squirm, adjusting to give him more room to work with. 

Warm, you're so warm, he closes his eyes and thrusts forwards and he's already thinking about how it's going to feel so much better when he puts it back inside you. 

"Sorry, what am I doing?" Dan Heng suddenly freezes, rubbing his temple with his fingers. He's absolutely losing his mind. "I'll stop. I'll stop if you want me to." 

"Don't," You reply, and he finds it difficult to object, "I want to keep going, come here." 

You're twisting around then, pulling away from him and shifting onto your back, splaying your arms above your head and blinking away whatever exhaustion is starting to form behind your eyelids. Dan Heng is quick to follow suit, settling into his familiar spot on top of you. 

He raises his hand, and he lets his knuckles brush tenderly over the side of your cheek. "You sure? You're still not tired?" 

Your response comes in the form of a hasty shake of your head and an eager grab of his arm. 

It's been like this for hours now. Dan Heng gives you what you want, you're satisfied for a bit until you beg and coax him into giving you more. The faintest hints of sunlight are starting to creep past the curtains now, and as much as Dan Heng is trying to hold on to his sanity as best as he can, he's really starting to think he's past the point of no return. 

How is he supposed to face you tomorrow? Hell, tomorrow is already practically here, and yet he still can't stop. 

He keeps telling himself the two of you need to calm down — but as you're gripping his hand, as you're pressing his fingertips over your swollen clit, dragging them down and getting them nice and wet on your arousal, his heart is once again caught in his throat and all he can do is listen. 

Dan Heng's whole body shivers. He gives you exactly what you want; he sinks his fingers into you knuckle-deep, he pumps them in and out to a slow and careful rhythm, slick sounds ringing in his ears. 

"Dan-" 

He quirks his fingers up and presses them right where they belong, and you can't manage to get out the other half of his name. 

"More?" Like he already knows what you're going to say, he pulls his fingers out before he even sees you nod, just like that. 

His palms find your waist, he holds you with shaking hands as if you're delicate. Shiny, wet precum is already budding at his slit, and he aligns his hips to press the needy tip of his dick to your entrance. His bottom lip finds its way between his teeth as he's sliding in, just barely, stretching you with just the fat tip of his cock; the rest of him aches, his eyelids flutter and he groans, he can't move. He can't, or he already won't last. 

Please, Dan Heng. Put it in all the way. 

You're greedy, so ridiculously insatiable. He doesn't blame you though. He can't. 

Here you are, always so kind to him, always asking so nicely. Always saying please, always loyal, always sticking by his side. Begging for him, all for him. He'd be stupid not to give you everything — everything you ask for, and every last second in the stretch of this infinite universe. 

Because you're special to him. You mean more to him than he'd ever be able to admit. And after being cooped up in the Astral Express for so long, after so much running and running and never finding his place, after never having time for anything like this and never realizing how badly he needed it, he knows he's even worse. 

It fits in so easy when he finally slides all the way in, like he was meant to be there. He stays still at first, taking deep breaths, getting used to the feeling. He's sensitive, way too sensitive. He tries his best to ignore it and focus on you. He rolls his shoulders backwards, waits for the moment you start to impatiently squirm. And then, he pulls back only to press all the way in; he starts up a gentle rhythm, taking things slow, fucking you nice and softly. 

Even just his shallow thrusts feel heavenly. Your nerves feel like they're on fire, you're warm all over from head to toe. You're a second away from choking out a plea for him to go harder, but Dan Heng seems to read your mind before you've spoken a single word. 

You're pretty when you're underneath him, pretty face and pretty wide eyes locked onto his. It's a pretty sight each time he buries the length of his cock all the way inside you, shaft slick and wet and glistening when he pulls it out. You make the prettiest noises when he shoves in deep only to pull out and slam himself back inside, you've got the prettiest expression as he grips your legs and folds them up to fuck his dick into you even harder than before. 

You've always been pretty in his eyes. But more than anything, he wants to see how pretty you'll look when he makes you fall apart. 

"You're getting loud," He mumbles, in that matter-of-fact way you've come to expect. He doesn't slow down though, doesn't give you a moment to breathe; he squeezes your thighs and rubs them with his palms. "If we keep going like this- they'll hear. You know that?" 

"Don't care," You can barely get out the words, your back takes on a tell-tale arch, "Let them. Just don't stop." 

Dan Heng isn't sure how thin these walls are. But in hindsight, it might be too late. The thought makes him feel dirty. He should have considered quieting down a long time ago. 

Forehead to forehead with you, his pace speeds up a little, a tight knot forms in the pit of your stomach. His hair is a thick, tangled mess, even messier when you reach up to run your fingers through; you grasp and tug, sending waves down his spine, and Dan Heng can't help but whimper. He bucks into you hard, desperately, and you can't do anything but claw at his back, leaving scrapes and marks of red. 

He's panting, his face is inches away from yours; he can't take it anymore. He starts with a single quiet please, and when you cup his cheek in your hand he's sighing and stammering without even thinking, "Please I- please kiss me, please please please-"

You pull him closer, he tilts his head and you shut him up as your lips connect for the first time tonight — Dan Heng kisses you softly, his lips plush, his heart flutters and flips. His first kiss with you, and it's so much more desperate than he expected, but he needs this too badly to take things slow. Your lips part and he's groaning, licking into your mouth, sucking on your tongue. 

He takes the opportunity to grab your thigh, tossing your leg over his shoulder to give himself a better angle. He pistons in and out at a steady pace until you're about to snap, until everything else is melting away and you're focused on nothing but him. Until he gets carried away, the tip of his cock shoves in too deep, and you're tossing your head back, crying so loudly you're certain someone would hear. He feels so good you can't bother to care. 

"M'close," You're mumbling once he gives you a moment to breathe, dragging away from your lips to plant wet kisses onto your cheek, your jaw, your neck. Your fingertips drag along his back, you feel out the shape of his mismatched scars — you're whining even louder, begging for him to make you cum, and Dan Heng is really, really done for. 

He's thought himself to be somewhat of a strong person. Someone with a good resolve. Tonight, you're making him rethink everything. 

He's close too, movements getting sloppy, it's growing harder and harder for him to hold back how you make him feel. He's never felt like this, never been so desperate. Dan Heng's fingers twitch, he moans and wraps an arm around your back securely. He rests his head in your nape and sighs, breath warm and heavy on your skin. 

"I-" He hesitates, because even now, even after all this, he's nervous to speak; his chest heaves, his whole body's trembling. "I want to cum with you."

"Don't pull out, please Dan Heng, it feels so good, you're making me feel so good-" 

He shouldn't listen to you. But he will. And he won't even think twice. 

"Gonna cum," His shoulders tense, his voice nearly breaks, "F-Fuck, you're so sweet, I'm-" A stuttery whine, "I'm cumming, I'm cumming…" 

A few more sloppy thrusts and you're both done for. Wet sounds fill your ears, Dan Heng reaches up with an unsteady hand and grips the headboard to keep himself steady. When you cum, clenching hard and throbbing around his cock, chanting his name just as he hoped you would, Dan Heng has little pent-up tears forming in the corners of his eyes, he hastily covers your mouth with his free hand, your noises muffled on his palm. He's riding his high out with you and fucking you through it all, biting hard on his bottom lip to stay quiet, shamelessly spilling every drop of his spend inside. 

It takes a while for him to finally slow down, for his vision to unblur. He nearly collapses on top of you, and it takes him even longer to work up the strength to pull out. 

The early-morning sun shines even brighter through the curtains. His fingers slip over your cheek, they fiddle idly with your ear. He kisses your lips once before finally settling, rolling over next to you with his eyes already closed. 

"Dan Heng." 

He was hoping you'd managed to fall asleep, finally. He gives himself a second to regain some energy, and then with a huff, he lifts his head and props himself up on his elbows, meeting your eyes. 

"I don't want this to end." 

Your words catch him by surprise. Your genuine expression does even more so. 

"It won't," He concludes, earnest as ever. Your hands are splayed out above your head, clenching and unclenching, and he grips one to give you something to hold onto. "I'm not going anywhere. And I won't forget about this, or about you. I'll be here when you get up, do you think you can try and get some rest now? It's late." 

It's early, more so. 

You offer him a shallow nod in response, and Dan Heng wastes no time fluffing your pillow, pulling the covers over you, and giving you some space to curl up. He doesn't bother to find your clothes, he just tucks the blankets in around you and hopes that'll suffice for now. 

"I…" He gets comfy next to you, resting his head on his arm. "I don't want this to end either. I don't. I didn't even think it was happening for a while. I think… I think we should focus on our mission. We can't afford to get distracted. But when we're back on the Astral Express- Once we've got more time on our hands, we can talk about this. How's that?" 

You don't answer. He takes a few moments to realize you've stilled, your chest calmly rising and falling. 

"Are you asleep?" 

[serqphites]

thinking about CATE DUNLAP, so desperate and needy for your attention but you’re too focused on your game :(

you’re laying in bed together, cate propped up on her elbow gazing into your distracted eyes with her own pleading ones. “please stop playing” she whines out as she tugs at your hands, causing you to huff and yank them away.

“cate please i’m in the middle of a game” you respond back, slight frustration lacing your tone. it’s not like you were mad at her for wanting attention, it’s the fact the past five hours of nonstop fawning over her wasn’t enough to keep her needs sated. all you wanted to do was relax and unwind with some call of duty. oh but cate? cate had other plans.

swooping her leg underneath your own, she drags herself closer to you until her already wet pussy is pressed flush against your outer thigh (i feel the need to point out cate is only wearing a grey t-shirt). breath hitching in your throat as your legs tense at her dampness, you decide to play a little game with her.

let's see how long cate can go before she folds.

her slender fingers come up to meet your face, stroking your jawline as she begins to plead into your ear. “please baby, can't you feel how wet i am for you?”

god that nearly does it for you. key word, nearly.

despite the knot growing in your abdomen, you push through and continue to ignore her begging. cate however, isn't ready to admit defeat yet. crawling up to have her mouth meet your ear, she peppers a few soft kisses there before one of your favourite noises in the entire world fills your mind. soft whimpers fall from her lips, as well as even more pleads for your attention. “please, i'm fucking aching for you” needy whimpers fill your ears, yet you maintain your focus on your match. does it still count as playing if you're just running around the back of the map?

cate can't believe you haven't caved yet, she's honestly pretty impressed. but, that still won't stop her from getting her way.

positioning herself so she's half laying on you, her leaking cunt pressed flush against your thigh, she slyly rolls her hips against the firm surface of your leg. assuming you haven't noticed, she continues to grind her throbbing clit into you until eventually cate doesn't really care about discretion anymore. pathetic whimpers are muffled against your biceps as she nuzzles her face into you, hips moving faster and faster until you can’t even begin to focus on anything other than her.

didn’t take her long to fold, did it? why are you even surprised.

after quitting your game, you continue to ignore her as she gets off on your leg (regardless of how difficult it may be). cate again however, will do anything to get her way.

“look at me.” she commands breathlessly, her face leaving the comfort of your skin to make sure you’re watching every single move she’s making. you protest, ignoring her completely with your eyes fixed at the ceiling.

“i said look at me” nails digging into your cheeks, her hand grips your face and forces you to look her way. your eyes lock, cates fluttering closed every few seconds as her eyes roll back before she can’t take it anymore.

her face finds your bicep once more, nuzzling her nose against your smooth skin as she pants out, “fuck m’gonna-” poor thing, all the wants is some attention.

deciding that you’ve been cruel enough to her, you give her a helping hand by pushing your leg up on each grind of her hips against your now damp skin; your arm wrapping around her back to hold her waist as you push down on her hips, giving her just that little extra bit of pressure.

within seconds cate is digging her nails into your chest, hips bucking against you as your name falls from her lips and echos throughout the room. it takes her a few minutes to come down from her high, panting and whimpering before settling down on your chest.

“you really couldn’t just wait for me to finish my game, could you?” looking down at her, you brush stray strands of hair from her eyes as she looks up at you, a proud smile plastered on her smug face.

“nope.”

[sourprada]

Possessive mommy wanda clubbing with you for the first time. She’d be a menace.

It wasn’t news to anyone that Wanda was the possessive one of the relationship. Sternly glaring at anyone who dared to talk to you when she was holding you by the waist. When you agreed to spend your friend’s birthday on a club, wanda was skeptical about the idea but seeing you in a short dress, barely leaving anything up for imagination, made it up for her.

Until she remembered she wasn’t the only one seeing you like this.

Wanda regretted the idea the moment she stepped foot into the club, her mind playing tricks alluding her to think everyone was looking at you, automatically stiffening her posture. You noticing this, clung to her side the whole night — until the drinks started coming— being the light drinker of the group had its perks, getting drunk with two cocktails was one of them.

The drinks kept coming and the heat started to rise within you, the alcohol consuming any restrictions you once had. Dancing became easy and teasing the infamous Wanda Maximoff came naturally. It started innocently, light touches in the back of the club turned into a full grinding in the middle of the dance floor. Your ass purposely brushing against her crotch making her grunt in your ear, ring clad fingers harshly gripping your waist closing any distance between your bodies, and that’s when you felt it. The hard shaft poking you through the thin fabric of your dress.

“Keep this little show going and I’ll have no problem putting you in your place in front of everyone”

“I bet you’d like that, getting your pussy stuffed with everyone watching how much of a dirty whore you are”

Wanda had a dirty mouth every time she fucked you, she mastered the power of getting you wet and needy just by her words. And it worked. Your breathing was ragged and legs shaky but the alcohol was still hot and heavy inside your mind, you still had the bratty within you. Turning around with pouty lips and doe eyes, you looked up at her, circling your arms around her neck, making the first and worst mistake of the night — “but wands, I’m not doing anything. It’s not my fault you’re all sensitive and can’t take a little heat”— if looks could kill, you’d be 6' feet under by now. Wanda was red and fuming, she didn’t think you had the balls to say something so bold without thinking about the consequences. Oh there’ll be consequences. In seconds you were being dragged across the club in direction to the bathroom, her short nails digging against your flash making you wince. The bathroom door was closed with a bang and she wasted no time in attacking you neck.

“After I’m done with you, I’ll make sure you come out of this bathroom so full of my cum, you’ll feel it drip from your legs every time you walk”

And she did just that. Wanda pounded into you, until she had to hold your form between the sink and her body so you wouldn’t collapse. Squelching noises filled the room while she abused your cunt from behind, fist full of your hair stinging your scalp, “that’s what you deserve, bunny. Sluts only learn when they are full of cock.” Shame long forgotten, your moans echoed through the whole room, louder and louder each time you got closer to climax

“Beg to cum. Come on, slut. Beg”

Wanda complied her promise. She left you full of cum and put your underwear back on.

“There you go, bunny. Don’t worry, when we get home I’m gonna make sure you suck mommy’s cock clean”