You and Azriel were on a mission when he got seriously injured. Not enough to end his life, but enough to drain his strength and leave him too weak to winnow.
Wrapping his arm around your shoulder, you dragged him through mud, fog, and wind until you found shelter. The rain had turned relentless, a cold downpour cutting through the trees, and thunder rolled across the mountains like an angry beast. Everything was swallowed in white mist. Trees blurring into shadow, the path disappearing under your boots.
By some miracle, you spotted the faint outline of a cottage through the fog. The windows were dark, the air heavy with silence. No animals or insects to be heard or seen. You knocked once, twice, but there was no answer. And when you tried the handle, the door creaked open.
You guided Azriel inside and lowered him onto a worn-out couch. Dust floated in the air, but it was a shelter nonetheless.
“I’m alright, Y/n,” Azriel said softly, trying to ease your worry, because of course he wasn’t used to anyone taking care of him, let alone someone worrying about him.
“The wound on your abdomen says otherwise. You can’t even winnow in your state,” you muttered, frustration bleeding into your tone as you rummaged through drawers for anything useful.
He grimaced. Azriel never liked being reminded of his own weakness, his ‘incompetence’ and ‘shortcomings’, injured or not, even when it was the truth.
The look on his face didn’t escape you. “I’m sorry,” you said quickly. “I didn’t mean that. I just–” You exhaled, relief cutting your words short as you found a clean cloth and what looked like alcohol.
You returned to his side, kneeling in front of the couch. “Can you sit up?”
He nodded, wincing as he pushed himself upright. You itched to help him but held back, he’d always prefer to do it himself.
When he lifted his hand from the gash on his abdomen, you pressed the cloth against it, trying to clean the blood. But it kept flowing, warm and relentless between your fingers.
“Fuck, Az. It’s not stopping.” You frowned, panic tightening your voice.
He inhaled through his nose, steady but pained. “You’ll have to cauterize it.”
Your head snapped up. You hated that he was right. The only way to stop the bleeding was to burn it shut.
You glanced toward the small fireplace. It was cold and empty. You rubbed the bridge of your nose in frustration.
“Hey, you alright?” Azriel asked softly.
“Az, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m the one who should be asking you this. You’re the one who– I’ll go get wood.”
“No need to go that far. There’s some out back,” he murmured calmly.
You were about to ask him how he knew but then saw the faint shadows curling around him.
You smiled faintly before nodding. “Of course.”
You rushed outside into the storm, rain biting your skin as you gathered damp logs. By the time you stumbled back in, you were soaked through. You stripped off your jacket and tried to dry the logs with your shirt, shivering as your fingers trembled.
Azriel, ever the gentleman even half-conscious, averted his gaze to give you privacy.
When you finally coaxed a small flame to life, you heated the tip of your blade.
Then you knelt by his side again, heart pounding. You looked up at him and gave him a sympathetic look. “Ready?”
He gave a faint nod. “Y/n, just do it.”
And so you did. You pressed the glowing steel to his wound. The sound hit you first, the smell of burnt flesh, second. His muscles tensed, teeth gritted, but he didn’t make a sound. You, however, nearly broke at the sight. The whole situation made your stomach churn. You’d seen battle, watched warriors die, but when it came to Azriel, it was different. You could never handle seeing him in pain. Your heart was too weak for him. Not that he knew…or so you thought.
When it was done, you cleaned and bandaged the wound as best you could. But your nerves wouldn’t settle. You began pacing the small room, arms wrapped around yourself, a nervous habit that Azriel knew about. You kept sighing quietly, not that you noticed. You were gonna go crazy.
Thunder cracked outside; rain battered the windows. The cottage felt smaller with every heartbeat.
Even if you wanted to go out again under the pretense of hunting or collecting some herbs or whatnot, you couldn’t anymore—not in that weather. It was chaotic and too dangerous.
You were trapped. Trapped inside. With him. The male who made your heart race so fast you almost thought it was going out of your chest.
Azriel watched you quietly from the couch, eyes soft despite the exhaustion shadowing his face. “Y/n,” he said gently, trying to soothe you, “relax. The storm won’t hurt you, it’s not coming inside.”
“The storm isn’t what scares me,” you admitted before you could stop yourself. “It’s being stuck in here with you…alone.”
You froze, hand immediately covering your lips.
His brows drew together, confusion flickering. “What?” First he thought you meant that you didn’t feel safe in his presence or that he made you feel uncomfortable. That would’ve broken his already broken heart. Then realization dawned. And a glimpse of hope sparked in him.
“Nothing. Forget I said anything.” You felt your throat tightening as you swallowed.
“How can I? When you’re standing there, looking…” he couldn’t even finish that sentence, not if you didn’t want him the way he wanted you.
“Looking what, Az?” you turned to face him, eyes full of sorrow and something else.
“Perfect,” he whispered.
You scoffed. “I don’t look perfect, Az. Look at me. We’re in our Illyrian leathers. My shirt is wet and dirty, my pants are torn, and my hair and face look like I just crawled out of a swamp.”
In any other situation, he would’ve let out a short quiet chuckle, but not today. Instead, he looked at you with those beautiful hazel eyes that you got lost in every time you looked at him. “I am looking, Y/n.”
“I–” Your lips parted, but no words came.
He patted the space next to him and you sat down quietly. His gaze never left your face.
And when you turned to look at him, you realized that you were sitting close–way too close. “Az,” you started.
“I know. You don’t have to say anything,” he reassured.
“But–”
“Shh. You took care of me. Now let me take care of you.” His calloused hand caressed the side of your face, thumb dragging slowly along your lower lip. Your breath hitched.
You didn’t know who moved first. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was you. But the moment your lips met, the world outside, the storm, the thunder, the rain, they ceased to exist.
His kiss was slow at first, reverent, almost hesitant, like he was memorizing the moment instead of devouring it. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing softly over your cheek as if you were something precious, breakable.
But years of restraint, of stolen glances, unsaid words, and buried want, burned away in a heartbeat. You kissed him back fiercely, the taste of rain still clinging to both your lips. Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan low in his throat.
He slowly leaned back, guiding you with him, until you followed his movement without thinking, your body molding to his. Your palm grazed his abdomen, over the freshly bandaged wound, as you lost yourself in the kiss. The sound he made, half a wince, half a growl, snapped you back.
You pulled away and he looked up at you through heavy lashes, lips parted, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner. “Careful. You might open the wound again. Not that I mind your hands on me like that. But I think I prefer if your hands were on me in other ways.”
You huffed a shaky laugh. “Mm hm. You’re lucky you’re injured. Otherwise, I wouldn’t cater to your needs.”
He caught your chin with two fingers, tilting your face back toward him. “Then I guess,” he whispered, stealing one more slow, dizzying kiss, “I’ll just have to get injured more often.”
The idea was good, but the execution was proving to be a bit more difficult than originally anticipated. All Papyrus wanted was a nice picture of all his friends against the beautiful fall leaves. Unfortunately, his brother was being his usual lazy self—and that was just one of the problems!
“Sans!” the tall skeleton scolded, picking up his brother from a pile of leaves. “Can’t you stay awake for five minutes?”
“Sorry, bro,” Sans yawned. “I’m just bone tired.”
Papyrus muffled a scream of annoyance and set his brother on the chair where he was supposed to be sitting. “Stay here,” he commanded. “I will get the others!”
The others were in the middle of a big leaf fight. Undyne had picked up a giant armful of leaves and was chasing Frisk with them. The child was snickering and running away, jumping in smaller piles as they went. Alphys was watching and filming on her phone, cheering on her wife. Toriel, who should have been helping to get things organized, was bent double laughing at her child’s antics. In frustration, Papyrus tried to turn to his idol, Mettaton. The robot had organized the whole photo shoot.
“Mettaton!” Papyrus called. “It’s time for the pictures!” He looked around but couldn’t see the robo-star anywhere…until he tripped over something quite solid. He landed in a pile of leaves next to his robot idol, who beamed at him.
“Papy darling! There you are. I’m just having a bit of a bonding time with my dear Blooky! They said laying in the leaves like this reminds them of the Ruins! It’s quite fun.”
Next to Mettaton, Napstablook faded into existence. “………….it’s nostalgic…………” they said faintly. “…………..reminds me of………….good times………”
“That is very nice,” Papyrus said, getting to his feet, “but we are meant to be taking family pictures right now! There will be time to lay around later!”
Mettaton jumped up immediately. “Why didn’t you say so?” he asked. “Come on, Blooky, let’s get organized!”
The robot rushed off before his cousin could respond. Napstablook blinked slowly at Papyrus. “…………I’ll be over in a minute……” they said. “…….wait for me, okay?”
“Of course!” Papyrus tried and failed to pat the ghost on the head. Then he rushed off after Mettaton.
He ran straight into Undyne, who gleefully flung all her leaves over him. “Gotcha, punk! You know what happens now!” Her knuckles dug into his skull.
“Noohoohoo! Don’t noogie the skeleton!!!!”
Eventually, somehow, Papyrus escaped the noogie and managed to get everyone in position for the picture. Somebody found Asgore, who had been watering the flowers, and somebody else woke up Sans again. Papyrus got the camera ready. “Everyone say free!” he shouted and raced to take his spot.
“Free!” the monsters cried, and the camera snapped the picture. It didn’t matter that Sans was asleep, or that Napstablook was half faded, or that Toriel was laughing at Frisk, who had climbed onto Asgore’s shoulders and struck a daring pose. It didn’t matter that Undyne grabbed Alphys and lifted her into the air at the last minute, causing the little lizard to squeak and make a silly shocked face. None of it mattered. Today was the anniversary of the day the barrier broke, the day the monsters were finally free, and this picture commemorated how far they had come.
Hey there! I have officially reached 300+ followers, which means...
FOLLOWER EVENT!!!
Alright, here’s the low down this time around (under read more):
This event starts Friday (today, 9/11) and ends a week from now on Friday (9/18) or whenever they just stop getting sent lol.
I’ve decided on match ups, and a tiny little Autumn/Fall themed drabble to go with it! If you don’t know what match ups are, match ups are where you send me information and certain details about yourself and I pair you with a character that I think you would be a good match with romantically/in a relationship. They’re really fun and I’m super excited to be doing this!
So, here are a few things I will need from you when sending in your match up ask:
-A physical description of yourself if you wish
-A description of your personality (the more details the better)
-Quirky things like your zodiac sign or your favorite color or food if you wish
-Please specify what gender you’d like to matched with (so whether you want to be matched up with a guy or gal)
-Also please specify if you want to be matched up with someone from a certain group (like the pro heroes for example, or someone from the league, or someone from class 1A etc.)
For the Autumn/Fall drabble, please pick a word or two from the list below:
-Scarves
-Leaves
-Pumpkins
-Camping
-Autumn Air
-Apples
-Bonfire
-Rain
-Scary Movies
-Hayrides
-Hoodies
-Fall Festivals
-Home Decorating
I think that just about covers it. Have fun participating! I’ll begin answering these when I catch a break from work within the next few days. With that said, send ‘em in!
You said to suggest some Halloween/ autumn themed ideas, so my suggestions: newt on a sunny autumn afternoon walk in a park, or a forest, with leaves turning red, the sun still being warm, but cold air (all that nice, fluffy stuff), or trick or treating/ Halloween with Fred Weasley in hogsmead. Just two suggestions, in case you're looking for stuff ;)
Sorry I took so long to answer this BUT BEFORE HALLOWEEN COMES AND PASSES I BETTER post this before the season changes to full throttle CHRISTMAS
I need tow rite for Newt more I love this sweet boy!! Send me fall/ Halloween requests!
~~~~
Fall was a good season for Newt, it was cool enough that he could wear his fancy jackets or his knitted sweaters that you liked so much, windy enough to nip at his nose and make his face this lovely shade of light pink amog a sea of freckles. The leaves falling and changing colours, orangey browns like his messy curly hair. He looked like he belonged here.
Here, specifically, was a park, in an unknown city. Small enough to be uncluttered with people but big enough to have a home for many trees and critters that lurked under the fallen leaves. You're twirling a yellow leaf between your fingers in one hand and the other is intertwined with his.
Walking at a slow pace, nowhere to be, no creatures to chase. The only creature at a reasonable distance was Pickett on Newt's shoulder, clutching onto a tiny piece of your leaf that you gave him, he likes to feel included.
Newt was starring at the ground as he stepped on the leaves and they crunched beneath his boots. He hadn't said anything in a while which was odd, he was pretty cheery this morning and when he is in a good mood he never shuts up, not as much so as when he's worried though, that’s when the anxious rambling starts.
“You’re thinking about Credence again arent you?” You ask quietly and he looks up at you and forces a smile on his face, you can see the nervousness in his eyes.
“Yeah,” he says quietly as he nods his head looking back down at the ground for a moment.
“I'm sure everything will be okay, in the end,” you say even though you don't mean it. Trying to reassure yourself in the process.
“I feel like ever since I met him I have never stopped worrying about him.”
“To be fair you’ve never stopped worrying about anything. If he were here right now standing in front of you, you would still be worried,” you tease lightly.
He chuckles quietly, “guess you’re right.”
After a minute he speaks again, not having moved on. “I just don't know what to do to stop him. To get Credence or Queenie back, Dumbledore hasn't talked to me in weeks...” he trails off and you feel bad for him.
“Have you talked to Theseus?” You ask, poking at another sensitive topic, but most topics are sensitive these days.
“Not since we saw him last.”
“Well, we should invite him over for dinner.” You suggest and Newt stops walking as if thinking and walking were too much to do both at once.
“He hates coming to our house.”
“Then we should offer to come to his, I'm sure he could use some help, I can clean up his house a bit, make him dinner, you can offer him a bit of distraction, some company. Something else to worry about.”
Newt smiles, you're so caring, whether it be one of his creatures, to his brother or himself. He can’t help but feels his chest tighten with how much he adores you right now. He grabs your cheeks and smooshes them as you smile up at him, placing his forehead on yours.
“I very much love you.”
You giggle at his jumbled words. “I very much love you too, and your clearly excellent grammar, Mr. Writer.”
He smiles so big his eyes crinkle as he kisses your nose lightly, not one for PDA even in an empty park, he knows Pickett is watching from his pocket.
He grabs your hand again and turns to begin walking home, when everything is falling apart he is so glad to have you to keep him going.
Summary: Grey skies can get your spirits down but a little warmth can help a lot.
Word count: 400
warnings: none, just a spec of fluff
A/N: It’s the time of year again that I get huge cuddle deficiencies, this is my way of dealing with it I guess.
----
You stared out of the window, hugging your blanket close. You had been fine for almost three months but now the loneliness was creeping up on you again. You let out a frustrated sigh, why did you have to feel like this? It wasn’t as if you needed someone to love to feel whole, but your mind sure thought otherwise. You longed for long cuddles and a warm hand to hold. But for some reason your heart refused to fall in love with anybody although your head was constantly busy thinking about it. Now you didn’t need a boyfriend to have a cuddle buddy per se, but none of the avengers where cuddly from nature. Sure, they gave hugs, but that is something completely different from cuddling. You let out another sigh, this feeling had started when you became a teenager and now, 10 years later, you were damn sick of it.
‘What are you sighing about?’ A soft voice broke your strain of thought.
You looked up, Bucky was standing in front of you.
‘Oh, you know, life.’ You answered vaguely.
‘Want to talk about it?’ He sat down next to you on the couch.
‘There isn’t much to say really, just feeling a bit down.’ No one needed to know that you spent disproportioned amounts of time thinking about love.
‘I know the feeling. This weather isn’t really helping either.’
You looked out of the window, the sky was completely grey. Big mood.
He shivered. ‘Can I come under the blanket as well?
‘Sure.’ You held up de blanket and he scooted closer to you.
Neither of you talked while the sky turned dark and evening rolled around, you just sat there unmoving in your cocoon of warmth. The silence was so comfortable that neither of you felt compelled to break it. When you were called for dinner, Bucky wordlessly offered his hand to help you up and didn’t let go of it until you entered to dining room.
You opened the door and nearly dropped your drink.
Sylus stood in the hallway, deadpan, wearing a pair of black cat ears. No costume. Just the ears. And his usual holsters, guns, knives, and impossible composure.
“…why,” you whispered, pressing your lips together to keep from laughing.
“I heard that’s what people do on Halloween,” he said simply. “Couples usually choose complementary costumes. You’re the witch, I’m your familiar.”
You blinked, reminding him of earlier. “You refused to dress up!”
He shrugged one shoulder. “They threatened to ban me from the party.”
“They?” you echoed, confused.
“The twins.”
That made you choke on a laugh. You covered your mouth, shaking your head.
“You let them talk you into this?”
“‘Let’ is a strong word,” he said dryly. “They ambushed me with glue and glitter. I chose the lesser humiliation.”
“You look ridiculous,” you managed between giggles.
Sylus stepped forward, unhurried. “Correct.”
You nearly snorted into your drink. “You’re not even gonna deny it?”
“Why would I? he asked, stepping inside like he owned the place. “You’re laughing. Mission accomplished.”
“Ughh, shut up, Sylus.”
His mouth curved. “As you wish.”
He moved past you, full-on smirking, and you tried not to stare.
Everyone else failed miserably. Every head turned as he crossed the room, tall, armed, radiating danger…and wearing cat ears like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
A hush rippled through the party. Then came the whispers.
Since when does he attend these parties?
Is that—are those cat ears?
Do you think she made him wear them?
Sylus ignored them all. He reached for a drink from the tray, unbothered, moving through the murmurs like a king walking among peasants.
No one dared to comment on it. And if they lingered too long, they wouldn’t like the outcome.
After a beat of silence, people tried to go back to what they were doing, but it was hard. There were whispers, speculations about why he was even wearing such a thing.
Sylus was unfazed by it all. He didn’t care about their opinions. He never cared what anyone thought…except for you. And if you were happy or if he managed to make you smile, to laugh, then that was enough. He was happy, even if you were laughing at him.
When he caught you watching him from across the room, trying to suppress another laugh, he raised his glass slightly in a silent toast.
And there it was again. The small traitorous smile tugging at your mouth.
You made your way toward him, weaving through the crowd. “They’re all terrified,” you whispered when you reached him.
“Good,” he murmured. “Fear keeps people quiet and out of my way.”
“Or it kills the mood,” you muttered, sipping your drink.
He glanced down at you, the corner of his lips lifting. “Not mine.”
You raised a brow. “So this is you in a good mood?”
“This is me humoring you, kitten,” he said dryly. “Don’t get used to it.”
You smirked. “You’re only here because I told you to socialize.”
He turned toward you then, fully. “I’m socializing.”
“Standing in the corner doesn’t count.”
“I’m standing beside you and talking to you,” he corrected. “That’s enough.”
Your heart did that annoying flutter thing you pretended not to notice. “You’re unbelievable,” you said, exasperated and grinning.
He leaned closer, his breath brushing your ear. “And yet, you keep inviting me to these things.”
You rolled your eyes. “Because you need to socialize with other people, not just me.”
“Do I? I think I’m sociable enough.”
“Yes, you do. And threatening people with violence isn’t considered sociable.”
He pretended to think about it. “You seem to like me antisocial anyway.”
“I didn’t say that,” you said quickly.
His smirk widened, satisfied. “Then what do you like?”
You stared up at him, lips parting before you could answer. The cat ears twitched slightly when he tilted his head, and that absurd contrast, predator in plush felt, broke your composure all over again.
You laughed. He didn’t. But the faintest shadow of amusement crossed his face, the kind only you would notice.
“Don’t take them off,” you said sincerely.
He raised a brow. “So you like them?”
You shrugged, feigning indifference. “Maybe.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “Then they stay.”
Your breath caught, just slightly.
The party noise blurred into the background as he looked down at you, calm, unreadable, and utterly in control while wearing something so absurd. And that was the most Sylus thing of all: somehow, he could make cat ears look like a threat and a promise at once.
You shook your head, smiling helplessly. “You’re going to ruin Halloween for everyone else.”
He took a slow sip of his drink. “They can find somewhere else to be.”
“I said we should carve pumpkins,” you groaned, watching Sylus butcher the poor gourd. “Not perform surgery on them.”
Sylus, crouched over his victim, looked up mid-incision. “This one needed a lobotomy.”
You stared at the scalpel in his hand. Not decorative. An actual bloody scalpel! He was using precision blades. On produce. Because of course Sylus wasn’t gonna use a carving knife like normal people. But again, it was just Sylus being Sylus.
“You’re unbelievable.” Your lips curved upward despite yourself.
He wiped the blade clean, inspected the victim. “This is art. Unlike the lopsided massacre you performed on yours.”
“That’s because I don’t carve mine like it insulted my bloodline.” You gave him a mock-glare.
Sylus leaned back, pumpkin guts on his hands, expression unreadable. “If it ever does, I’ll eat it raw.”
You gave him a semi-disgusted look, before narrowing your eyes at him. “Did—did you just threaten a pumpkin?”
He didn’t answer. Just smirked and dropped a fake eyeball in your cup of hot cocoa. When and how he got the eyeball, no one knows…
You blinked down at the floating white sphere. “You’re sick.”
“Accurate,” he murmured, tone dry. “Drink up before it cools.”
You fished the eyeball out with a spoon and flicked it at him. It bounced off his shoulder and rolled to the floor. Sylus didn’t even flinch. “Missed,” he said flatly, and went back to carving.
The kitchen was a mess. Pumpkin guts everywhere, the air thick with cinnamon and candle smoke. He’d somehow managed to make the chaos look deliberate, like a crime scene staged for aesthetic.
Refusing to let him have all the satisfaction, you grabbed a marker and leaned over your pumpkin, sketching a new design with exaggerated focus—tongue poking from the corner of your mouth in concentration.
Sylus side-eyed you. “Please tell me that’s not supposed to be a dragon.”
“It is a dragon,” you said defensively. “A cute one.”
“It looks like a rat that lost a fight.”
You gaped at him. “I— you’re insufferable.” You had no words to defend yourself, so that had to suffice.
He hummed lowly, blade turning in his fingers with practiced ease. “You say that like it’s news.”
You huffed and kept carving, muttering under your breath. He was infuriatingly hot like this. The steady rhythm of his hands, the way he leaned close to inspect his work, the flicker of dry amusement that ghosted across his face when he knew you were watching. Smug bastard.
Ten minutes later, your pumpkin was proudly glowing with a crooked grin. Sylus’s, on the other hand, looked like something from a high-budget horror movie. You stepped beside him and whistled low. “Okay, fine. That’s actually…impressive.”
He set his scalpel down, finally meeting your gaze. “Say that again.”
You rolled your eyes. “You’re impressive.”
“Of course it is.”
By the time you finished cleaning up, there were two pumpkins on the counter—yours, slightly crooked and cheerful, and his, darkly elegant, knife-carved and professional. He set a tea light inside each and killed the lights. The room glowed with twin flickers of warmth.
Then, as if unable to help himself, he reached for your cocoa again. You watched in horror as he plucked another fake eyeball from his pocket and plopped it into your cup.
“Sylus!” You scolded.
He lifted his mug, clinked it against yours. “Happy Halloween, Kitten.”
It was Harvest Festival in the old town, filled with music, lanterns, and cider. Everyone had gathered to drink, eat, play, and dance until morning. You and Cassian were there with the Inner Circle, at least until he leaned in behind you, his palm barely brushing your back as he whispered, “Wanna get out of here and do something actually fun?”
You shot him a suspicious look over your cup.
Seeing you hesitate, he dipped again, voice low and coaxing. “Come on, sweetheart. I’ll make it worth your time. Promise.”
You didn’t need much convincing. You were about to excuse yourself when his fingers wrapped around your wrist, tugging you subtly through the crowd.
“Slow down,” you panted lightly as he wove you between stalls. “Where are we even going?”
“To the maze,” he said, with that infuriating smirk playing on his lips. “I have an idea. I believe you’ll like it very much.”
You finally reached the entrance of the massive hedge maze, lit only by lanterns and moonlight. “Now what?”
“Race you. First to find the exit wins?” He winked.
“Seriously?” you deadpanned. “You wanna play this?”
“Yes.” A lie. He had something else entirely planned for you.
“Alright. Good luck.” You rolled your eyes before entering.
“Oh, I don’t need luck, sweetheart,” he muttered under his breath, pretending to play fair.
You’d barely made it two turns before strong hands caught your waist from behind, pulling you into the shadows. You twisted, ready to knee your attacker, and nearly planted your boot in your mate’s crotch.
“Easy,” he said, trying to steady you as you lost your balance, but it was too late. You stumbled backward, holding onto his shirt at the last second before landing in a pile of hay. He braced his hands on either side of your face so as not to crush you with his full weight as you pulled him down with you.
You exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of your nose in exasperation, but he made no effort to move off of you.
“Missed me, sweetheart?” he asked with that stupid smirk still planted on his face.
“Seriously, baby?” you mock-glared at him.
“What?” he asked innocently.
“This was your plan from the beginning, wasn’t it?”
“You know me too well.” He dipped his head and brushed his lips against your cheek.
When he still hadn’t moved, you huffed, shifting under him. “Get off me, Cas. The hay is itchy.”
“Sweetheart, you think this hay is itchy?” His voice turned wicked. “Wait until I show you what else we can do in it.”
Oh, uh. You knew that mischievous grin all too well. He was up to no good at all.
And as if on cue, he lowered himself, diving under your full skirt before you could reply.
“Cassian!” you almost yelped, eyes going wide.
He lifted his face from between your legs, that stupid grin never leaving his face. “I do need you to be quiet though, we’re not at home, sweetheart…unless you don’t mind getting caught. In that case, scream all you want.” He winked before his head disappeared under your skirt again.
That got you to shut up real fast. Whatever sharp retort you had died on your tongue in a sharp gasp the instant his mouth descended between your thighs.
You grabbed a fistful of his hair in warning, meaning to yank him back, only for the bastard to groan against you like you’d rewarded him. He only responded by doubling down, slow and intent, clearly determined to memorize every flinch and shiver he could draw out of you.
His steady hands anchored your hips firmly in place, fingers digging into your flesh each time your body writhed from the onslaught. Heat coiled in your stomach, building unbearably with every flick of his tongue that teased your swollen clit and every slow press of it deeper that worked you open. Pleasure lanced through you in hot, thick waves, leaving you trembling and desperate beneath him as he devoured you with devastating focus.
He surfaced, kissing a path up your thigh, then your belly, until you dragged him up by the collar.
One moment you were limp and boneless from his mouth’s torment, the next, his hands caught the backs of your thighs and hauled you to straddle his lap as if you weighed nothing, he was a warrior after all.
You were slick and ready from his tongue, so when he rocked you down onto him, a ragged moan tore from your throat. That earned you his palm sliding up your spine and into your hair, his mouth slanting over yours in a kiss that swallowed every sound you made.
His broad hands spanned your waist, guiding you along his length as he began to move. Each powerful surge of his hips drove him deeper, and he set a rhythm that made your thoughts scatter like ash on the wind. Every thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure crashing through you, driving out any coherent thought until nothing existed except the feeling of him inside you.
Your nails raked down his chest through his shirt as the pleasure rose, before you ripped it open, leaving red marks all over his skin. He angled your chin, mouth trailing your throat; teeth caught at your pulse before he drew slow marks along your collarbone. The bodice stayed on; he only nudged the neckline aside with his teeth, claiming the exposed curve. Then he dipped to where the fabric scooped low, teeth grazing before his mouth sealed there; a bruise bloomed under his tongue and your gasp caught as he licked the sting away.
Then he locked both hands at your waist and drove up, dragging you down to meet each thrust.
He only tore his mouth just in time for you to cry out his name as that coil snapped and you broke, shaking against him.
He held you through it, grip firm as he murmured something filthy against your cheek, kisses gentler now. Your breath evened as you let your forehead fall to his shoulder. He stroked your hair and pressed a kiss to your temple while he continued to guide your hips in small, shuddering rolls to draw out every last pulse of your climax.
When the aftershock finally ebbed, he exhaled and reclined slowly, taking you with him until his shoulders met the hay, keeping you draped over his hips as his heartbeat steadied beneath your palms.
He was always like that. Teasing, infuriating, and sarcastic most of the time, but after sex he was gentle, caring, and so affectionate. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Once you recovered, you pushed up on his chest and plucked a piece of hay from your hair. He didn’t move. Didn’t even try. Just looked smug, pleased, and absolutely unrepentant.
“Cas,” you sighed, exasperated, then paused. His gaze wasn’t on your face. It was lower.
You followed it, ready to call him something along the lines of a pervert, but then you blinked. From your neck to your collarbones, shoulders, and the swell of your breasts, your skin was covered with bruises and love bites.
“You left marks on me,” you said, aiming for casual and failing as your voice caught. “What exactly are you planning to do when they don’t fade?”
He only shrugged, satisfied. “Oh, sweetheart. That was the plan. Needed to mark you so everyone knows you’re mine.”
You rolled your eyes. “Everyone already does,” you muttered. “You’re not subtle, baby. Especially not when you’re drunk. You roam around shouting ‘She’s my mate’ and introducing me to random strangers.”
His grin turned downright proud. “I do be doing that. But what can I say? It can’t be helped. You’re too perfect not to show off.”
“Ugh, I hate you.” You pushed at his chest softly.
“Nonsense. You adore me.” He paused for a moment, then another mischievous idea came to him. “If you feel wronged, feel free to exact your revenge on me. I’m all yours. Cover me in bite marks.”
“Nice try,” you said sweetly. “But that sounds a lot more like reward and a lot less like punishment. Speaking of which, I have a really nice idea about how to take my revenge.”
He winced theatrically. “Oh, no. I know that face. I’m not gonna like it, am I?”
“Nope… You don’t get any bites, kisses, or any kind of touch for a day.”
He stared at you like you’d declared war. “Oh come on, you know that’s impossible!”
“You’re a disciplined warrior. Trained to be patient. You just forgot, but don’t worry. I’ll be here to remind you. And if you break the rules, no sex for a week.”
“Wait–what?” He gaped, actually offended. “No. You can’t do this.”
“Watch me. You had your fun. Now I’m having mine.”
“You’re a cruel, cruel female. Anyone tell you that, sweetheart?”
You chuckled. “Occasionally. Now help me up before someone finds us like this.”
He eyed you, suspicious. “Is this a test? Are you trying to see if I’ll touch you or not?”
“Oh, that. No. When I said ‘No touch’, I meant in a sexual way. So, you can help me up.”
He didn’t hesitate for a second, hauling you to your feet immediately. “What about hugging? Hugging isn’t sexual.”
“With you? It usually becomes it,” you softened, “but, since I love cuddling, I’ll allow it when we sleep. That’s it. Don’t push your luck.”
He sighed, long-suffering and already plotting. “Yes, ma’am.”
You rose onto your toes, plucking a straw from his hair before you leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. Then you pulled back before he could chase it. His groan was pure agony.
“Twenty-four hours, starting now,” you reminded, smug.
“Fuuck,” he whined. “I’m going to fail this test spectacularly.”
You rolled your eyes and took his hand anyway, leading him back toward the lantern light, skin warm, throat marked, and grinning like you’d won.
