#he keeps his circle small but he loves them a LOT
Text
Love Language
CEO & Sugar Daddy!Fingolfin x f!reader
Request: Sending you a request for CEO+Sugar Daddy Fingolfin x reader, where reader doesn’t do well on one of her tests at school so he ‘punishes’ her / ‘helps’ her study for the next one? - Anon
A/N: Not gonna lie, it’s such a perfect time to post this fic when lots of you already finished your exams and are awaiting your results. Hehe, enjoy :)
Warnings: female reader, smut, CEO & Sugar Daddy!Fingolfin, dom!Fingolfin, sub!reader, fingering, blindfolding, rough sex, orgasm denial, spanking, daddy & authority kink (used once), punishment, dirty talking
Words: 3k
Synopsis: Failing your exams was one thing, however, lying while keeping it hidden was another, and Fingolfin made sure you remembered that.
Manspreading on the edge of his bed, left arm resting on his knee while the right was busy unfastening his tie, he followed up his actions with the unbuttoning of the first two buttons. A small peak of his chiselled chest as the two buttons became undone, leaving the mouth-watering sight of the neck you so loved covering in hickeys and teeth marks when he took you hard. His sleeves were already rolled to his elbows, veins prominent and delicately wrapping around his arms, leading to his large hands that always gripped you like his life depended on it. A quick shuffle of his arms as he tugged the tie from around his neck, and his biceps curled under his sleeves, looking beefy and sturdy—all his years of hitting the gym paid off wonderfully.
“Do you have any idea how much I invested in your success?” His voice was a low, dangerous murmur, dripping with controlled anger. He slowly rose off the bed and chartered over to his mini bar to pour himself a shot of brandy, something to add heat to the fire already building within his core. The entire time, his eyes never left yours as he tilted the glass to his lips, staring at your meek form across the room. His eyes were filled with disappointment and frustration. “And you dare lie to me, thinking I wouldn’t find out?”
His words cut through the silence, sharp and authoritative. You could barely manage a syllable, much less a guttural sound from the waves of anger rolling off him. You felt the heat in your stomach travelling to regions it shouldn’t, knowing how things were about to escalate. Nevertheless, your panties started soaking as your arousal slowly seeped through your fold and you shifted on your feet, something Fingolfin noticed.
Gently resting the glass down, Fingolfin wiggled out of his dress shoes, followed by his socks and pushed them aside to stand bare feet on the carpet. You weren’t even aware of his presence before you, as he crossed the room with blinding speed to tower above you, intimidatingly. “Strip. Now.” The command was issued with such finality that you didn’t dare hesitate to resist or sass. Your hands trembled slightly as you undressed, feeling the weight of his disapproval heavy in the air.
Once you were completely bare, he circled you slowly, inspecting you as if deciding your fate. Goosebumps appeared in every area his cold eyes fell upon. “You failed me,” he said, his tone cold. “I expected much more from you, and worse, you tried to hide it from me. Such behaviour needs to be rectified, and what better way than to clarify it via my favourite method? Do you not agree?”
“Yes,” you curtly responded, not wanting to bore him with any extra syllables in his current state of dissatisfaction, while further understanding what you had signed up for. Walking for the next few days was out of the question. Thankful, you were on holiday, so you could more than afford to lounge in bed all day and night—just not in the manner he was about to make it.
There was a low grumble in his chest at your reply. His head dipped to lowly his lips to your ear. “Yes, who?”
“Yes, sir,” you corrected your posture immediately at attention.
There was a distinctive clicking of his tongue behind you and the faint whisps of his breath against your neck. Then, very delicately, you felt his fingers pressing against your lower back, guiding you to his pristine sheets and positioning you to kneel with your face pressed into the mattress. Fingolfin’s fingers traced along your spine, a deceptive gentleness in his touch. “You need to understand the consequences of your actions,” he continued, his voice softening just enough to send shivers down your spine and while leaving you anticipating.
Moving behind you stealthy, you missed the sound of his hand slicing through the air yet felt the stinging pain of the contact it made with your ass. The suddenness made you gasp, but there was no reprieve. Another smack followed, then another, each one harder than the last, until your skin was flushed and stinging. His hand placement was strategic as he lowered it with each slap until his fingertips brushed against your wet folds with intensity. Your body naturally recoiled, however, his left hand reached out to entangle your tresses, giving you a slight arch. “No running. Count them,” he commanded with a hint of seduction. “I want to hear you acknowledge every single one.”
Unable to retaliate given the situation and the level it would become should you, your lips parted with a faint whisper that grew into a quiver, under the attempt to not moan. “One…two…three…” Each number was punctuated by another sharp spank, his hand firm and unyielding. Fingolfin’s other hand drifted from your hair to firmly, without aggression, grip the nape of your neck, holding you in place, ensuring that you couldn’t run from your punishment.
After the tenth strike, he paused, his hand resting on your reddened skin, soothingly rubbing the area. There was a moment where he admired the welts of hands left on your ass. You felt the bed dip to your left before the ghosting of his hot breath on the tip of your ear. “Do you think you deserve mercy?” he taunted, kissing the tip of your ear before biting it. “After lying to me, do you think you deserve any kindness?”
In a broken whimper, you managed to stutter out. “P-Please, ‘m sorry.” In return, you missed the way his eyes rolled but felt his heavy exhale before he removed his hand from your ass to dangle the tie before your eyes. You knew what came next.
Not waiting for you to comply, he released his hold on your neck to neatly secure the tie around your eyes, cutting your sight away from the world. The fresh scent of his cologne waffled through your senses and made your head spin. He always smelt delicious—a blend of mint and spices.
Once you were decorated, he pressed his hand against your back, pushing you head first, into the mattress whilst parting your legs to run his fingers through your wet cunt. He wasted no time in executing the second part of your punishment the way his fingers glided through your folds, toying with your clit. Already needy and dripping despite the harsh treatment. “Look at you.” His voice held no form of adoration like it usually did whenever he admired your form. Instead, they were filled with condescension. “Undeserving of what’s being given.”
His words hung over you like threads had woven themselves into each syllable to taunt you further. You felt one of his hands press into your upper shoulder while his other continued working their way through your, avoiding your clit. The sound of his rich laughter ghosted through the air as he mocked the way you squirmed, turned into a hiss as he sunk them deep inside and crooked them directly towards your sweet spot. In no way were you allowed to shift away from his wicked touch as his hand curled around the back of your neck.
“F-Fuck! P–…lease! God I hate you!” you cried out, finally finding your voice to match his tempo. Your fingers curled into the sheets, fisting at it due to your lack of sight and inability to turn your head and glare at him. The immediate trembling of your body as he continued to twist and crook his finger through your slick, releasing a loud and lewd squelching signalled how close you already were.
But Fingolfin was always a mile ahead of you in terms of making a comeback because he wasted no time growling. “That’s a lot of words coming from a smart mouth that was unable to produce a single Valarin lexicon for your orals. Since when did you get so clever?”
Before you could reply, using the grip around your neck, he hoisted you to your knees and pressed the tips of his fingers against your sweet spot, bringing you close to the edge but never allowing you the release you craved. “Go ahead, mumble some more. Be a smart ass for me princess. Show me how skilled your pretty little tongue is!”
As his words left his lips, you didn’t have the chance to respond as his two fingers curled and thrust into you with blinding speed, leaving you trembling. Whining in choked sobs as drool dribbled down your chin as he squeezed the air out your lungs with his actions, you vibrated. There was nowhere for you to escape but his embrace that loomed behind like a menacing figure with purpose. With every torturous rub, your body bowed and buckled like a worm, and he laughed with a deep rumble in his chest, revelling in the pleasure of your reactions. Nevertheless, this was all a walk in the park the more his fingers flexed against your spongey walls, feeling them clamp around him like a vice grip. “‘M sorry, daddy. Won’t…do…again.”
“Sound to me like you would," he scoffed. “Your cunt seems to enjoy my fingers...feel how tight she is around me. Gripping me with absolute want.” Indeed he was right. Your walls clung to him, refusing to let him slip out smoothly and forcefully sucking him back in deeper.
You shook your head as high-pitched squeals slipped out, your hips moving on their own accord, matching the rhythm of his fingers.
“Really? Do you think I should let you cum, hm? After your poor performance that I spent thousands of dollars on for the best results,” he hissed in your ear, nibbling on the lobe and giving it small tugs before dipping his head to bite the junction of your shoulder. “You gave me nothing good in return except a pathetic excuse. Do I not spoil you enough? Answer me!”
Your fingers found a way to dig into his thighs, unfortunately, they were still covered in his pants, reducing your attempts at marking him. However, it provided support for the wicked torment he delivered. You were constantly trapped in purgatory as his fingers provided pleasure while denying you relief. “P-Plea—”
“Pardon? I didn’t hear you,” he reminded in a patronising tone. His eyes fluttered upwards to glance at you through his dark lashes, enjoying the way your face twisted as the waves of pleasure came on harder. “Speak up, loud and clear, or you’ll regret it.”
Choking on a silent scream, your breath came out in pants and broken sighs. “Oh fuck, please! Just let me cum!”
“You don’t deserve to cum,” he taunted, pulling his hand away just as you were about to orgasm. “Not yet.”
Ignoring your pathetic cries, his hand around your neck travelled down your back to position you into a foul arch while he kicked your legs apart. Easily he wasted no time positioning himself behind you, undoing his trousers—erection spring free, heavy with want and anger at the wait—and rubbing the tip of his aching cock through your puffed-up folds, deeply inhaling at the sensation of your wetness coating him. You were dripping wet, just the way he enjoyed having you for every session. All flushed with ache and want, begging him to put out the flames and stuff you till thy kingdom come.
And indeed he loved every second of the torture he took, applying his patience as he rubbed your clit and nudged it with his tip. Your cries went in one ear and escaped the other without care since you didn’t have any regard for the finances you wasted. Then, without warning, he pushed into you roughly, a sharp contrast to the teasing touches from before. “You don’t get to enjoy this,” he growled, not wasting a second to build his tempo, and going directly for the kill. “This is for me, not you. You’re not the one frustrated and in need of relief after your stunt—you could never be.”
It turned out that learning of your failure at the same time one of his clients entered a lawsuit, created a torrent of pent-up frustration. His plan was to spend the entire evening with you—not much had changed, only with a minor adjustment of your orgasmic denial and increase of roughness.
One hand, firm around your neck while the other gripped your hips, you were forced into a profoundly painful arch to take the rough pounding of his hips meeting your ass. Every thrust caused his cock to faintly brush against your sweet spot, tickling your sensitivity and never granting you a reprieve. With great precision, Fingolfin ensured that you felt every vein on his cock and thrust, as he pushed deeper and harder with dominance. You could feel the way his veins rubbed your walls just right, fitting in all the cracks and crevices just the way you were moulded from the start. At the same time, it was disgusting that he hadn’t removed his clothes to grant you the opportunity to let you feel his silky skin on yours.
You wanted to feel the ripple of his muscles as he clenched and flexed his thighs against your body the deeper and harder he went. This materialistic barrier only fuelled your anxiety at the wreck of punishment this was turning out to be.
“Even when being…punished, you’re still wet…and tight. Fuck!” he groaned. “Do you think you deserve to cum?”
“S-Sir, p–…please. ‘M sorry,” you cried out, hands fisting the sheets as you sought after your orgasm. “Won’t…do…again…”
“Of course, you would not perform that same stunt again,” he growled and tightened his grip on your hip. His rapid, deep strokes never stopped as he pressed you into the bed, pinning you under his weight. “You wouldn’t want to miss the feeling of my cock in your pussy, would you? How good it feels to claim you over and over again as mine.”
Squeaking, unable to form a coherent reply, he slowed his pace and pulled all the way out, leaving his tip inside before pushing back in roughly. Your body rattled, the air knocked out of your lungs and the scream lodged in your throat. Soundless sobs were your relief as you prayed he would grant you mercy with each powerful thrust from his cock. And yet, he continued to purposefully miss your sweet spot, aiming to get himself off alone. “Do you understand now? he asked as he leaned down, voice deeply rooted in your ear as he panted. “Do you understand what happens when you lie to me? Failing is one thing, but lying to me…”
You could only nod—or hope that you did—your voice lost in the intensity of the moment. Only the sound of his hips meeting your ass and his cock sliding in and out of your wet cunt echoed. Like music to his ears on a stressful day. His grip was unyielding as he continued to pound into you, slow and deep, relishing in the power he held over you. Each thrust was a reminder of his authority in your life.
The elaborate rolls of his hips and the articulate angle of his cock left you in a frenzy. He did everything to miss your sweet spot, focusing on pleasuring his cock with the softness and warmth you provided. The lewd echoes of his cock penetrating deeper fuelled your pussy to grow wetter, on the verge of squirting, but not quite there. Ever so rarely, he would laugh in your ear as you attempted to squeeze him, wanting him to stay longer. The sweet grips of your lips around him was sinful and made his head spin.
You were going to be the dead of him. No wonder why he picked you at first sight. It was pure instincts telling him how good you would feel wrapped around him even if you were to disappoint. Your pussy had a magic to it that he couldn’t get enough off—the relentless pounding and groans told it all. He’d always choose to fuck you as his life depended on it as a punishment, and who were you to resist.
There was a moment when you could barely keep it together as your head started spinning. Toes curling into the bedsheets, nails fisting the pillows, and head buried into the mattress, you muffled your whines as he finally brushed his tip against you. But you should have known his strategy from the start. Rapid and deep thrusts against it left you fighting for your life as the fire pooled in your abdomen. Your walls clamped harder around him, forcing his pace to stutter and pants to turn into groans.
“You like that...don’t you? You wanna cum all over my cock for free,” he groans, gyrating his hips to rub his tip against your sweet spot. “Maybe I should let you, but not now.”
And with ease, his groans turned into deep grunts before you felt his cock pulsating and his thrusts faltering. The fluid motion of his hips stuttered as he tried to continue the powerful rolls of his hips, wanting the sound of his heavy balls to slap loudly against your wet pussy. Yet soon, with a satisfied groan, Fingolfin’s hips stilled, and his grip tightened around your neck and hips, as he spilled his hot, sticky cum inside you. He was quick and sharp to pull out, dabbing his forehead to remove any beads of sweat while gazing at your trembling, weeping form that held his cum, slowly oozing out.
Straightening his posture and rising to full height, he gave a light tap to your ass and commanded. “Get up. On your knees on the floor, now,” he muttered, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt to discard it, along with his trousers. He observed how clumsy you were as you carefully climbed off the bed and onto the floor to kneel before him. Reaching out to grip your chin, he focused you on his authoritative figure towering above with his rigid cock, pronounced and ready for another round. Even with the blindfold covering your eyes, you could feel the intensity of his gaze burning holes into yours.
“I want you to remember this night carefully because I would hate to repeat this all over again,” he whispered lowly, cupping your chin to tilt your head upwards and running his thumb over your lips. “Now part your pretty lips for me while the night is still young. I have a lesson to teach…”
Masterlist
Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @aconstructofamind @sakurayaxd @addaigio @elficially-done-with-life @involuntaryspasms @eunoiaastralwings
#silm smut#fingolfin#fingolfin smut#fingolfin imagine#fingolfin x reader#fingolfin scenario#house of fingolfin#silmarillion x reader#silmarillion imagine#silmarillion smut#silmarillion fic#middle earth imagine#middle earth x reader#middle earth smut#middle earth scenario#middle earth fic#ñolofinwë#house of finwe#x reader insert#x reader smut#silmarillion#doodlepops writings ✨
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
Down the Rabbit Hole Chapter 11
Chapter one here, two here, three here, four here , five here, six here, seven here, eight here,nine here, ten here
master list
Pairing: Walton Goggins x You
Rating/Warning: As always minor get out. Like why are you even here leave. Very domestic, lots of fluff, established relationship, some anxiety, shower sex, P in V, Oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, marking, biting, possessiveness, slight sub/dom if you squint, cleaning, idk look I am tired and trying..
Synopsis: Updated synopsis, Travelling down to LA for the first time on Red Eye, you're both tired and a shower leads to some exploration.
Note: These are going to be spacd out going further as I have a fallout AU I want to start releasing. But these will still be coming out every 2-3 days <3 Thank you for all the love and support it's greatly appreciated!
The airport was somewhat quiet, the perks of taking a red-eye flight. The week had been a blur, Liz had resigned Wednesday leaving them to try and pick up the pieces. It meant a lot of early mornings late nights and meetings with production to try and make sure the end of filming went smoothly. No one batted an eye when you and Walton would hold hands on set. Or steal kisses in between trailers. It was nice to not have to hide things. Even though it seemed like everyone had known about the relationship long before you’d said much. From what you'd heard Walton never shut up about you. The thought made you flush, he'd taken to hanging out at your place. Making sure you actually consumed something besides coffee and whatever craft services had cooked up.
Waking up next to him would never get old. He would often keep you snuggled in most mornings, playing with your hair, talking about people he had met. One evening you'd fallen asleep listening to him read one of the novels he had. There was a night he'd paced around your room spouting off lines as you plug info into your laptop. He had a heck of time sitting still, always moving and wiggling.
You'd seen a few people watch the two of you move through the airport. It was a strange feeling always being watched. Security had recognized Walt asking for a photo which he happily obliged to. You’d snapped a couple of photos and then continued to your gate. The two of you tucked yourselves a good distance from everyone. Walton’s hand rested on your knee as his eyes moved over the sparsely filled space.
“Are you excited to see the city?” He asks, fingers playing along the inner seam of your pants.
“Yes, I haven't traveled in a while. Little nervous,” You say, hand laying on top of his as you lean your head against his shoulder.
“I'll get you used to traveling. Have a few places in mind we could go to.” He smiles, kissing the top of your head.
“Mmm, what plans do you have for us?” You reply, watching as a woman walks by for the third time.
“Think maybe South America, I've always wanted to explore Peru, go south to Chili, see where it takes us. Go hike up the mountains, explore the jungles, and lie on beaches. Where no one will know us, just the two of us some good drinks and long nights.” He winked at you.
“Going to sweep me off my feet, go on a grand adventure,” You tease, your hand dragging his up your thigh.
He looks down at where his hand is situated, licking his lips before looking back up at you.
“Oh, I am gonna take you on adventures, baby,” That southern drawl dripping out as he traces small circles over your inner thigh.
You let your hand slide along his pant leg, eyes still fixed on his face. Watching his cheeks turn pink. “So many promises, Mr. Goggins.”
He grins leaning in to kiss you, his hands cupping your cheeks. You kiss him back leaning over the seat divider, you nip at his lips wanting access. Walton pulls away shaking his head.
“Gonna have to wait till we get home,” His voice is thick as he looks at you.
You groan shifting in the chair, feeling yourself get hot as you rock slightly. “That is an awfully long time to have me wait. Don’t want to join the mile-high club.”
A chuckle escapes from him as he continues to rub at your leg, “I don’t know about you but those bathrooms are a lot smaller than they make them in the movies.”
“Well could always have a little nap,” You sigh resting your head on his shoulder. “Got to make sure I can keep up to my old man.”
“Hold on a second, who are you calling old? Pretty sure you were the one drooling in the car over here.” He poked at you, his hand grabbing at your pants.
“Cause I didn’t pass out in my trailer at lunch,” You jest, returning the squeeze.
“I am pretty sure you could have come over,” He grins standing up as the flight attendant calls for them.
“Kristy was having a breakdown, pretty sure she’d have quit if I hadn’t come to help.” You state as you walk up with your ticket on your phone.
The flight attendant blushes slightly when you walk up with Walton, she fumbles with the scanner slightly, apologizing several times. Walton assures her it’s fine and runs a hand over your waist. Her eyes looked between the two of you before handing you back your phones. The two of you walk down the walkway to your plane, his hand firmly around your waist as he lead you into your seats.
“Oh, this is nice,” You state, first-class seats, enough legroom you could easily stretch out. Bags tucked away you settle in, the week seeming to catch up to you now that you’re finally on the plane.
“Want to make sure you were comfy,” He says, getting himself settled beside you, lifting the armrest out of the way so he can drag you close to him.
“You seem awfully possessive tonight,” You whisper in his ear as you slide up next to him.
“Got to make sure everyone knows that the pretty lady is mine,” He whispers back, voice so low that only you could hear.
You can’t help leaning in to kiss him again, you loved kissing him. “Didn’t take you for the jealous type. Then again the number of bruises I have may have been an indication.”
Walton shifted in his seat, watching as the few remaining passengers boarded. “You interested in getting a few more marks added to that collection you have.”
You go pink and turn your face into his neck failing to hide the flush. Things had been pretty vanilla still besides the marking, but you knew he had plans for this weekend. What those plans were he wouldn’t tell you, but he had hinted that Saturday and Sunday were for you two to explore new things together. Then Monday and Tuesday would be spent going to various interviews and keeping him company. You had to stop yourself from wondering if you’d be able to walk on Monday if the ‘vanilla’ sex was any indication you were in for a ride.
***
You woke to Walton kissing the top of your fingers, you had fallen asleep on the short journey to LA. The plane was unloading and a car was waiting for you both. The night sky was ablaze with city lights for as far as you could see in either direction. The airport was surprisingly full of people moving in and out. The one nice thing was everyone was way too busy to pay attention to you.
Awake now as the car took you through the city, the lanes on the highways were insane, and you wondered how anyone could even drive there. You travel through the various streets and highways that would have you yelling at google maps. You finally pull up to his place, it’s sat back on the streets, with a tasteful rock garden out front. The driver drops you both off, helping to unload your bags into the house. It was beautifully decorated, with large windmill palms in the front entry, and several skylights to let in the sun. The walls are filled with tasteful artwork, it's a barrage of colors as you get into the living room. A patterned soft with a velvety green rug, one wall lined with heavy wooden bookcases full of books. You can see how each piece is something he picked out and has a story for each. You pause looking out to the backyard, a covered pool shaded by various trees. The place was glorious, elegant, and at the same time so him. You feel fingers twining with yours, turning to follow him down the hallway. Big wood doors open into a large bedroom. The bed is a simple navy bedcover with several large pillows, a wood headboard, two side tables everything matching, and plush carpet squishing under your toes. You tuck your suitcase against one of the walls, the far wall is all windows leading into the backyard. Turning all the way around you can see an open entrance to a large bathroom.
Walton comes up behind you and wraps you up in his arms “Not too shabby hey?”
“It’s beautiful, can tell you put a lot of love into this place.” You say with a small smile, leaning against him, eyes closing as you just let yourself relax. It was nearly three in the morning and you desperately needed to sleep. But also the gross feeling from travel made your skin feel tacky.
“Shower,” Walt, asked unwrapping himself from you, his hands pulling his shirt over his head.
“I would love that, I always feel sort of gross after traveling,” You reply, as both of you strip out of clothes, you grab your toiletry bag out of your suitcase and follow him. A large deep tub was set against one side, and an equally large glass shower was at the foot. Walton dug out some towels, turning on the water.
You couldn’t really remember the last time you’d been comfortable being completely naked with someone else in the room, besides during sex. A creeping realization that you had never really been in a ‘long term’ relationship. You’d dated and flirted, but nothing like this. This right here was so new, it froze you in place watching the man completely bare move around the space like he was clothed on a set.
“You alright, darling,” Walton asks moving over to you, your eyes watching how his skin moved, the way his hands came up to rest gently on your hips.
You had long since given up trying to hide anything from him, the man saw through your bullshit like he could read minds, “I’ve never been with someone like this.” Your cheeks grow hot as he watches you, “I’ve never been in a long-term relationship.”
The words hanging in the air for a moment, Walton pulling you closer to him tipping your head up to look at him. He leaned down and kissed you, the two of you standing chest to chest. Space cool and warm at the same time as he held you close. It was so strangely intimate and soft. Gooseflesh rippled over you as you just took in the moment.
He pulls away just enough that you can both speak. “I couldn’t be happier, that you are comfortable here. But. Let’s not forget it’s 3 am, and I have several ideas for tomorrow that will not be half as fun if you’re exhausted.”
You smile snuggling against him, “Why do you always make sense?”
“Cause, I am wise beyond my years,” He scoffed leading you into the hot water, the water feeling incredibly comforting for a change.
You lean into the water letting it flow over your body, his hands reaching out with soap to start cleaning you. Taking his time to wash your legs, and feet, scrolling up under your ass, and hands staying there a little longer which made you wiggle. He came up over your back, spinning you to face him, his eyes watching the water go down over your breast and stomach. Your eyes doing the same, his hair is wet and disheveled in his head, droplets following the expanse of his chest down along his abdomen. You lick your lips leaning down to lick from the middle of his abs up in between his pectoral muscles. Eyes looking up at his, the way his lids drooped eyes darkening. It doesn’t stop him, continuing to drag the soap over your stomach, under your armpits, breast fingers brushing against your nipples which make them perk up. You grab the soap from him turning him so he is more under the water, and you treat him to the same treatment he gave you. You stop, moving to drop to your knees, but his hand wraps around your waist and drags you up.
“We need sleep first,” He says, but you can feel his cock poking against your abdomen. You can’t help reaching forward fingers sliding over the soft but hard skin.
You watch him swallow, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, as you work your hand up and down his shaft. A small hitch in his breath as his head tips up, you grin knowing you’ve won this battle. You let yourself slide down he moves so that you aren’t going to drown under the water. Licking your lips you keep your hand moving, you drag it out slightly, his eyes following you. Mouth parted slightly, delicious groans coming out, you look back down to where your hand is. You open your mouth and lean forward licking along the slit, his hands running into your hair, swirling your tongue under the head before sucking at it. The wide head and shaft fill your mouth as you do your best to take him all the way in. Breathing through your nose you hum at the salty musky flavor, holding yourself there until his fingers grip your hair.
One hand resting on his hips, the other finding its way between your legs, you suck in through your nose and swallow. Getting a lovely echoing moan from the man above you. His hands gripping the side of your head adjusting your pace. You can feel between your folds how wet you are. Looking up at him his head tipped back as his hips move. You still yourself letting him use your mouth, he doesn’t push all the way pulling back when he feels you gag. You aren’t having it grabbing at his hips and pushing yourself down until your nose touches his stomach. Throat pulsing at the head as you do your best to fight your gag reflex. A stream of curses comes out a his thrust picks up speed, one of his hands coming to cup under your chin so he can feel himself going in and out.
Pulling you off, you groan rocking against your hand as he pops out of your mouth. He motions you to stand and you comply, strong hands guiding you up to your feet. His mouth slammed against yours kissing you deeply, before he turned around, pushing your legs apart and tipping you over. Your hands catch you as you lean against the glass, water running over your back. His fingers push their way into your cunt, the quickness sending a small jolt of pain down you, keening as he thrust in and out quickly. Fingers were replaced soon with the tip of his cock. You rock back on your heels standing on tips so that it can slide in. Filling you up in ways that make you whine.
His hips snap in and out of you with a fast pace that makes you feel almost dizzy as you try to keep yourself up, his hands gripped onto your hips tight enough that there will be bruises. He lets go briefly only to rub at your aching clit. Whimpering at the strain of keeping yourself on tiptoe and the punishing pace making you dizzy. The pressure on your clit having you right there.
“Oh god, don’t stop,” You whimper, free arm tipping you up so that his cock changes his angle. Stars blind you as you climax, his fingers not stopping the movements around your bud, and your legs are shaking. He goes to pull out, but you’re grabbing him holding him there. His hips stutter until he pushes in holding you tight against him. You groan as you feel him filling you up, your breath caught in your throat as you go near limp. The water of the shower started to feel cool. He slips himself out, fingers running over your now aching hole. You move to stand but the day has finally caught up to you, he easily holds you up. Angling the shower to clean both of you of your excursion.
“You just had to push my buttons,” He grins at you helping you out of the shower and wrapping you up in a fluffy towel.
“Didn’t seem to mind,” You grin, eyelids heavy as you flop yourself down onto the bed.
He humms his approval getting you under the covers before he snuggles up against you.
“You better not complain tomorrow about being sore,” He pokes, letting himself slide in so he can rest his head against your chest. Your hand tucks under him running through the mess of wet hair.
“No, complaints,” Your free hand making a cross over your heart. He chuckles kissing at an old bruise.
“Get some sleep,” He grumbles hand wrapped around your waist.
*if you'd like to be added to tag list, please comment below.
*sharing iscaring, and I am so happy you're all here. Much love <3
#fanfic#writing#writer#fluff#domestic fluff#shower smut#established relationship#x reader#walton goggins x you#walton goggins x reader#au#alternate universe#its fiction#fiction#down the rabbit hole
22 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hey I wanted to request hcs of itachi with an S/O that’s a wild sleeper (like they move a lot and knock things down while sleeping)
author's note: haha, that is so me! I move so much in my sleep and I swear it is so annoying to wake up in a completely different position than the one I fell asleep in! Anyway, that was really fun to write and I hope you enjoy! Thank you for requesting! <3
A relationship with Itachi moves very slowly, especially in the beginning. Chances are his s/o fell asleep on top of him or on the sofa while talking to him quite a few times before they shared a bed for the first time, thus giving the man a glimpse of how much they move while they sleep.
He is not the type to openly discuss it, as he doesn't want his partner to feel bad or embarrassed by it. Deep inside it does worry him, at least initially, so he tries to ask indirect questions about their sleep and if they dreamt about anything in particular, just so he can understand the reason for them not being able to rest peacefully.
The Uchiha is a very light sleeper so when he finally spent the night in his s/o's bedroom, he couldn't really relax as every few hours he was getting either an elbow in the face or a kick. Of course, as a ninja, his reflexes are fast and he managed to dodge most of them, but his partner was still successful in hitting him at least once.
Soon he learned that the only two ways to deal with his lover's constant moving is either to hold them in his arms the whole night, preventing them moving too much, or to build a pillow barrier between them. He much preferred the first option, but during hot summer nights, he would choose either the barrier or the sofa downstairs.
Itachi would keep quiet about the hitting and the kicks, but he will 100% tease his s/o about the times when they knocked the bedside lamp by accident or when they rolled off the bed.
He usually won't wake up his partner, but if they clearly can't relax and keep tossing around, he will rub small circles on their back or gently massage their scalp, so they can calm down. 9/10 times it works like a miracle!
One night he came back pretty tired and stressed from a mission, so his s/o decided to prepare him a nice bath with candles and different oils, just to help him relax before bed. Turns out, it worked more effectively on them than on him and since then, he tries to pamper his s/o before bed at least a few times a week. (Needless to say, these are the nights he gets the most sleep.)
Overall, it would bother him a bit, but he will get used to it eventually. He loves his s/o, so adjusting to their sleeping habits is a small sacrifice for having them in his life.
cc artwork: concept art for "Stray"
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
Having Zoro thoughts bc of that post and he really is such a great character like. He has such a rich inner life & experience but you only notice that if you’re paying attention. It’s so easy to write him off as this super cool loyal confident warrior that’s a little dumb but very driven which sure, he can be, but he’s so much more than that. This is a character who defines everything by love, everything he does is motivated by a deep & meaningful connection with someone else. World’s Greatest Swordsman may not have emerged solely because of Kuina but Kuina’s memory is the primary thing that drives him to achieve it. He thinks about her all the time…his favorite sword is just that because it’s infused with the memory of her. His staunch loyalty to Luffy is because he believes in him, yes, but also because he does love him, in whatever capacity you think that may be. He’s protective of the crew is because he believes it’s his job, yes, but also because he loves them, and you can tell because he always reacts emotionally whenever any of them are in danger in front of him. He wears his emotions on his sleeve when it comes to the crew. He’s a really emotional guy and it’s very evident but he’s also very cool and those things aren’t usually depicted as coexisting so I don’t think the general reader notices that.
125 notes
·
View notes
Text
purple and pink. (rafayel x reader)
summary: you and rafayel cover yourselves in paint and (redacted).
word count: 3450
warnings: porn without plot, smut, swearing, nsfw, mdni, fem!reader
tags: @keiva1000 @kindnessspreads @msbyomimi
a/n: my brain is rotting for this man so this is just self indulgent crap atp
You weren’t exactly an artistic person.
You just never indulged in art before. Of course, you admired the craft and thought it was extremely difficult to actually create meaningful art. But you didn’t think you were a particularly creative person, nor did you think you had an eye for such stuff.
Ever since you began dating Rafayel, you would say your appreciation for art had definitely improved. How could it not, considering he spent all day creating it, and in the time he wasn’t, his world was still colored by the lens of it. Rafayel saw art everywhere he went, in the gentle roll of the water where it rippled in fountains, or the timid but pinpoint light of a lone star in a dark sky. He loved describing it to you, and the way he put it would make you look around twice. He had really changed the way you viewed the world.
What you were about to do now wasn’t exactly the kind of art that made you think deeply of the universe, but hey, not all art can make you question your existence. Sometimes you need to create….. lighter pieces.
Stepping back, you stared down at the bed sheet sized canvas you had stuck to the floor, sure that you had used enough adhesive to keep it temporarily in place. The clock on the far wall of the studio told you that Rafayel would be home in a little while, which meant you needed to start the next phase of your plan shortly. But first things first, you needed lighter clothes.
After you had switched your jeans and button down shirt for a thin, short robe, you began pulling down buckets of paint from the storage closet connecting to the main studio. You chose only two, a light purple and a light pink. Both colors you knew Rafayel liked using in his pieces. You might not know a whole lot about art, but you knew him inside out. And you also knew he would love this idea.
You spent the next few minutes going over the canvas with the two buckets, pouring a few globs of paint over it. Small, but dense, with lots of blank canvas around them so they could be spread. You decided to only do two or three globs of each color. After all, wasn’t the art in how the colors would move and slide on the canvas? This should be enough paint for that purpose.
Your face was heating up at the thought of what was about to happen, and you felt almost giddy. When was he going to be home? You couldn’t wait to get started.
As if on cue, the door of the studio clicked open, not making a single sound as your boyfriend lumbered in, closing the door behind him. His white shirt was loose, black pants tight, and you couldn’t help but admire his ass when he turned around to shut the door with a light snap.
“Hey-” He stopped almost immediately upon seeing you, eyeing the half empty paint can you were setting down and the flimsy robe covering your body. A body that was definitely naked under it.
“What are you doing?” You saw his eyes flick over you and then behind to eye the massive canvas you had laid out, along with the little circles of paint looking fresh and shiny on it. You gave him a grin.
“I was hoping we could collaborate for your next piece.” You tugged at his shirt until you both stood closer to the canvas, taking special joy in how confused he looked. His eyes kept darting all over the place to try and make sense of what was going on, and you had to stifle a giggle.
You thought to elaborate on your suggestion by slowly unbuttoning his crisp white shirt. Rafayel raised his eyebrows but didn’t stop you, probably curious to see what you were cooking. You tugged his shirt off his toned shoulders, before going to work on his pants. His hand finally seized yours, tilting his head so your eyes would meet his.
“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” His tone was amused. You hummed almost in thought, pulling your hand away. You tugged on the belt of your robe until it slipped free, and the front fell open. You saw the tips of Rafayel’s ears turn red, and his expression blanked a bit.
“You have paint. You have a canvas. And you have me.” Your voice was a low whisper. You reached into the bucket next to you, palms stretched, until they were both covered in paint. Then you reached one hand up and dragged your fingertips over his bare abs.
The cool paint made them contract a bit, and you heard the way his breath hitched under the touch. Four long streaks of pink now stood out against his pale skin. Finally, you looked back up to meet his gaze, his face inches from yours.
Rafayel’s blush had extended from his ears down to his neck, but the corner of his lip twitched up into a slow grin. His hands were eager as he undid the button of his pants, and you felt a thrill run up your spine. You watched him undress quickly. He was slow, smooth, as he lifted one precise hand to tug on the shoulder of your loose robe until it was falling off your shoulders and pooling at your feet.
He looked around and his eyes caught the second can of paint. Purple. He dipped his hands into it, and you watched him walk back over to you.
“Where did you get this idea, baby?” His voice had lost its confusion, coated in honey now, sultry and low, nearly a whisper, and you shivered when his breath hit your bare neck. He took advantage of the fact that your hair was pulled up and away from your shoulders, tracing gentle lips over the slope of your shoulder. Instinctively, your hands smoothed over his torso, and you were reminded of the paint on them, still wet, now swiped onto the man before you.
Rafayel hummed at the feeling and proceeded to return the favor, his hands set on your hips. The paint was cool on your skin, and you almost jumped at the temperature if it weren’t for his warm hands taking the feeling away in the next second. Your boyfriend gave your naked bodies a gentle tug backwards until you were stepping on paper, slight crinkling noises hitting your ears.
Gentle lips now made contact with yours, and you sighed in relief. You had missed this, just the feeling of him kissing you. You had been thinking about it- and other things- all day, and you were so excited to start. Hands caressed over each other slowly but eagerly, and you couldn’t even begin to imagine how much paint you had managed to get on each other.
Your kisses became more hurried, more firm, and you could feel Rafayel’s body temperature rise a bit. His breath stuttered when you moaned into his mouth, tongues dancing together in a synchronized battle. He nibbled at your bottom lip and you arched deeply into him, nails digging into his biceps.
“Fuck, the paint is drying.” You managed to gasp out when your lips separated, his mouth finding the skin behind your ear immediately. He sucked hard on it, until you shivered and let out a long, shaky breath. Your knees were so weak, and you were glad for his strong arms wrapped around your waist, since it was the only thing currently holding you up.
He hummed against your skin, not letting up on the marks he was marring it with. You had discovered pretty early on that Rafayel was a biter, and marks on your skin was another way he created art. It just so happened that you enjoyed the feeling more than you could ever think to describe.
“Good thing you laid more out for us then.” He responded, referring to the globs just below your feet, before tugging you down until you were sprawled on the canvas below you. It was cool under your skin, and you felt something wet just under your shoulder. Oh. Your eyes met Rafayel’s before they finally traveled down his body for the first time since you two had started. You gulped in a deep breath.
His pale skin was covered in purple and pink streaks, like smooth color streaked over brilliant porcelain. The ridges and bumps of his muscles stood out even more under the paint, and you could tell in a few places the exact route your hands had taken, pink running over his waist and down his V-line. The remnants of the journey your fingers took stood before you, proud on his skin. You felt a thrill run through you at the sight, something stirred in your core.
“This is turning you on.” Rafayel observed, a light smirk resting on his face. You felt your body burn at the teasing lilt of his voice.
“As if this isn’t something you’ve dreamed of doing.” You retaliated, opening your legs so he could fit himself between them, resting his elbows on either side of you so your faces were a hairbreadth away. He hummed and sighed, lowering his body until his erection grazed right over your center, making you gasp.
“Believe me, I’ve dreamed of this.” He sighed, reached for the paint to the left and just above your head. You watched him cover his palm with it before he reached down, hooking a hand under your knee and pulling it up until it folded against your torso. The paint was wet on your skin, and you were learning to love the feeling more and more. His cock prodded your entrance, now on full display for him. He gave you another mischievous smirk.
“Baby I’m about to ruin you so bad.”
The first slide of him inside you had you crying out and arching into him, his cock carving its way through your unprepped hole and bringing with it a burn so delicious it made your head spin. When he bottomed out, he moaned unabashedly into your ear, hot breath hitting the shell of it and sending shivers through your spine. Your core clenched and unclenched rapidly, trying to adjust to the glorious intrusion. Your brain screamed at him to move, to slide in and out, do anything at all. You needed to feel him rock into you. Your hips twitched and jerked, making your boyfriend moan before he finally started moving.
His thrusts started out languid, smooth, gliding in and out of you at a reasonable pace. You sighed, head leaned back and reveling in the feeling it brought, leg tensing under his grip. Little tendrils of pleasure zipped up from where you were connected, heavy cock stretching you open until your pussy was adequately wet, ready to take the pounding you knew was inevitably coming your way.
And oh, did you receive it.
Slowly, steadily, Rafayel picked up the pace until his hips were smacking hard into your pelvis, knocking every breath from your lungs. You cried out, one arm thrown over his shoulder while the other seeked desperate purchase under you, used to the feeling of silk sheets but now met with nothing but smooth, stretched out canvas and the wet sensation of sticky color. Rafayel used the grip he had on your knee to twist your leg out further, inviting him to hit that one spot that made you see stars. A broken wail left your mouth and your back arched impossibly high, hearing a low moan hit your ear when you clenched tight around the cock pounding into you.
“F-fuck, Rafi-” His head lifted, just enough to connect your lips in a desperate slurry of rushed kisses, sucking and biting on your lips as his pace didn’t so much as stutter. Your moans dissolved straight into his mouth, little pornographic ‘yeah, yeah, yeah’s slipping out with every thrust. You didn’t bother muffling them, knowing exactly what the noises did for Rafayel’s ego, and with how he was ravishing you currently, you were okay with giving him a little ego boost.
(You would deal with the consequences of that later.)
“Gonna cum-” You managed to choke out just as your orgasm rammed into you with no warning, effectively silencing any other words as you cried and shook through it, muscles seized tight and legs kicking in the air.
“God- fuck,” Rafayel’s first words. “There you go. Fuck, that’s it.”
He fucked you through the last vestiges of your high before his arms slipped under your arched waist and lifted you up, rolling over until you were perched on his hips, throbbing cock still nestled inside you. The change in position made him slide in deeper, and you let out a broken moan. Your orgasm was still lingering around the edges, encouraging you to prolong the feeling, to chase after it again. And so you did. You rolled your hips, placing your hands on Rafayel’s abs as leverage to push your body up and down. You finally took a good look at your boyfriend.
His chest was heaving with exertion, shining under the glow of the lights above you, catching on the swirling mixes of purple and pink. Under the paint, his skin glistened with sweat, tensing and straining under his movements. The paint had reached all the way up the side of his neck, and even into his hair, blending with the purple tresses. The purple complimented his eyes, half lidded and heavy with lust, his lip was tucked under his teeth.
He was a vision.
“Baby, you’re so fucking beautiful.” His voice was fractured and strained, and in your staring you had forgotten that you were also the object of his gaze. You couldn’t imagine how you looked right now, slathered with paint and hot under the stimulation you were receiving, strands of hair leaving your bun and trailing down over your face and neck. You rolled your hips and tightened hard around his cock, watching the way his jaw slackened and eyes rolled shut. Another zip of pleasure ran through you, and you couldn’t help but keen, pushing yourself to go faster, to make him feel even better.
“I’m- I’m so close.” You could feel your vision swim, tears gathering in your lash line as his cock dug deep into your core, prodding into your spongy walls in all the right ways. Rafayel grabbed both your wrists off his chest, pulling them behind your back and then tugging you down until your body was pinned tight against his. You let him do as he pleased, planting his feet on the canvas before he started thrusting hard and fast up into your sopping cunt.
You screamed and arched, body tensing at the pace he set, chin resting on his shoulder and head thrown back as you let him carry you face first into another orgasm, gushing around him until the sounds of his thrusts grew impossibly wetter, sloppier than the paint around you and covering you, blabbering incoherent phrases and curses as tears poured from your eyes. With every thrust, the ecstasy prolonged itself, like an endless high that came with intense drugs, except all you needed was him, and he would get you there if it was the last thing he did.
Your perspective was shifting, Rafayel’s cock leaving you until you felt cold and empty. He maneuvered you onto your hands and knees, or rather, arms and knees since you felt that you couldn’t even hold yourself up at this point. A firm hand pushed on your back until it arched to his liking, spreading you until he could slide his massive length back into you with little to no resistance. You whimpered pathetically, eyes rolling unhindered in your head, cheek smushed into the paper beneath you. Briefly, you felt like you could almost taste the paint, but the thought left your brain faster than cigarette smoke dissipating on a windy day when Rafayel started moving again.
“Stop me if you can’t take it.”
You could never, would never stop him, not when your pussy keened at the feeling of his cock filling you up to fulfillment once more. Especially not when he planted a foot on your side that gave him leverage to thrust harder and stronger into you. Your body buzzed and reveled under the feeling of being used like this, basking in the sounds coming from Rafayel getting heavier and choppier as he finally chased his own orgasm instead of yours. You wanted nothing more than for him to warm you up, fill you with his seed until you couldn’t take any more of it. Your depraved mind was wiped blank of everything else except that crushing need.
“Cum in me.” You managed to whine, clenching hard around him. Rafayel moaned and his hips stuttered.
“Fuck. I’m gonna- I’m cumming baby, take it, take it, take it, take it-” Your body jostled at the strength of his thrusts, once, twice, and then he was slamming his cock deep into you and holding it there, hot spurts of cum hitting your walls. Painting your insides white like your bodies had painted your outsides purple and pink.
Your entire body collapsed on itself when Rafayel pulled out, dropping onto the paper heavily as you tried to catch your breath. Your vision was swimming and so was your head, unable to do anything but focus on the faint buzz in your muscles. You could hear shuffling somewhere behind you before you were being lifted into strong arms. You sighed and curled into them, seeking the warmth of your boyfriend after the beating your body just took. And he was happy to provide it- in the tub he ran for you while both of you settled into warm water.
You dozed in and out of sleep as Rafayel cleaned you up, giggling and humming along with whatever little anecdotes he was telling you. He knew you would barely remember most of it later, considering how dopey and spacey you got after sex. You pouted and leaned up to him every few minutes, stealing tiny kisses from his lips. And afterwards, you let him pat you dry and put you to bed in the usual “princess treatment” he gave you after one of your sessions. The only time he backed off from teasing you relentlessly and instead doted on you properly.
You couldn’t tell how long you slept, but you woke up feeling well rested. The bed next to you was empty but still slightly warm, and you could hear quiet shuffling outside in the studio.
Your muscles screamed when you forced them to move, your hips and thighs feeling like particular sore spots. You ignored the feeling in favor of pulling a shirt off the floor to throw over your body, realizing it was your boyfriend’s when it fell all the way to your thighs. You trudged out of the room while rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You saw him standing with his back to you, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. The muscles of his bare back shifted as he moved, now clear of all the paint you two had slathered on it. Oh right, the paint.
Your eyes shifted behind him to the canvas, which Rafayel had propped up against the wall now, and was observing silently. You walked closer to admire the streaks of pink and purple on it, watching it carefully. Somehow, the choppy strokes showed your desperation, your passion, and you felt your face heat up at the thought.
“Looks pretty.” Your voice was slightly rough. Rafayel turned around at the sound and gave you a soft smile, pulling you closer and wrapping his arms around you from behind as you both stared. You settled into his warmth as you swayed gently back and forth.
“Why’re you thinking so hard about it?” You asked.
You turned your head to watch as he huffed and pouted a bit. He looked so cute, you bit back the urge to squish his cheeks.
“Pretty sure there’s some cum in there somewhere.”
Aaaaaand the urge was gone.
You smacked his chest hard, making him jerk back and laugh, but not releasing his hold on you.
“You’re disgusting.”
“Not more than you.”
He kissed you before you could land another smack, hand cupping your jaw to tilt your head back. You fought to keep a grin down, but failed when you felt his lips stretch with a smile of his own, erupting into giggles.
#rafayel x reader#rafayel x you#love and deepspace#love and deepspace fanfiction#lnd#rafayel#love and deepspace x reader#rafayel smut#love and deepspace smut#rafayel x y/n
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
All My Dreaming
Summary: You came to the Night Court as a fugitive and quickly became a valued member of the Inner Circle. Azriel’s love for you has burned brightly in his chest for nearly two centuries now, but when an unknown force threatens to take you from him, he must fight to keep you at his side.
Pairing: Azriel x Winter Court!Reader
A/N: I don’t use Y/N here just out of personal preference, but the IC do call reader “Little One” because she’s younger than them by like a century or so. Also, slight timeline deviation? I kind of just made the ACOTAR timeline work for me a little bit but the important bits are there mostly. If it’s not totally accurate, please suspend your disbelief and go with it. I also took some serious liberties with Prythian geography and Azriel’s shadows in this. I had to force myself to stop because I could’ve written five more scenes, so let me know if you all want a part two. I got nasty Azriel thots to spare, baby!
WC: 16.1k ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
TW: 18+, Minors DNI, violence, death, descriptive gore, lots of time jumps, torture, smut, p in v, fingering, porn with plot, mating, slow burn, angst, friends to lovers, declarations of love, loving sexy times, miscommunications abound, Azriel being a big ole softie, Azriel being a big ole bitch to bad men, Azriel really going tf thru it emotionally, and Azriel being mouthy as fuck. Just girly things.
Part 2
Azriel hadn’t seen you in four days. Nearly a week had passed since you’d left. Rhys mentioned a mission but no additional details, Cassian avoided the topic, knowing how frustrated his brother got when you were gone, and Feyre was decidedly unhelpful the few times he’d brought you up. His shadows searched aimlessly, they’d found nothing as far south as Winter Court, daring not venture into Autumn, and knowing damn well you’d never step foot into Spring. You were slowly driving him mad; the bond in his chest aching at the loss. Even if you hadn’t recognized the golden thread linking the two of you, he felt it.
Gods, did he feel it. He’d often lay in his bed at night, eyes tracing the intricate foil patterns of the ceiling tiles. When sleep evaded him, as it frequently did, he’d grasp the thread tightly in his minds eye and tug it experimentally, begging you to see, to notice it was him that loved you with a ferocity that rivaled the sun. Try as he might, the responding tug never answered, his call into the void not returning an echo.
The second it snapped for him, Azriel had resolved himself as unworthy, not of someone like you. You were powerful, breathtakingly beautiful, intimidatingly intelligent, and you regularly brought men to their knees, both in political circles and on the battlefield. Rhys relied on you as much he did Cassian and Az, you were a core member of his court, a valuable asset, and the love of Azriel’s life. Azriel avoided the latter subject entirely, choosing instead to silently stoke the ember in chest with unyielding affection; his own private paramour.
When you’d joined the Night Court, you’d been on the run from both Winter and Autumn Courts. Your father was a high fae noble in Winter that had attempted to arrange a marriage to the second youngest Vanserra of Autumn. The family’s brutal reputation was legend and you were terrified. You were young then, barely a century old, and upon your introductory visit to the Autumn Court, Beron sought to make an impression by presenting a welcome gift. That gift? The public torture and execution of a servant he’d deemed traitorous.
His gleaming eyes remained on yours with each cast of the fire whip he’d conjured using his cruel magic. He’d cracked it again and again until blood splattered and the servant was left flayed beyond recognition, flesh searing, and finger tips twitching from the remaining neurons firing in his brain. Only after his death did Beron announce his crimes. He’d stolen a parcel of food from the royal pantry to feed his wife and small child. Your stomach churned at the thought of the now widow and fatherless child waiting at home for the male that would never return.
It had all been a test to see if you were worthy of the most violent and petulant of the broody sons, and you’d passed, holding Beron’s stare and keeping your back straight as you faced his wrath head on. You’d cried yourself dry in your room that night though, sobs wracking your form until your chest ached, grief for the male that was lost. Fear settled into your heart, terror of the family you were set to marry into.
You’d ran at first light, leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back. Your Winter white blonde hair streaking across the red and orange forest as you bolted. Beron sent his dogs after you. You still had the scars lining your calves from where they’d gotten too close, brought you down into the dirt, jaws snapping and tearing at the muscly sinew there. But you’d fought. You’d kicked and clawed like a feral child of the woods, screaming with a sense of self preservation you’d never known you possessed.
Rhysand had found you half dead, starving and a little savage in the mountainous border between the Day and Night Courts. He’d made a bargain with you then; he’d save you, if you worked for him. Word had already spread of the ousted Winter female and spurned Autumn princeling and Rhysand was impressed you’d lasted in the wilds undetected for so long. The small star flecked tattoo of the Velarian night sky that lived on your wrist since was the only evidence of his deal.
You’d long moved past such a bargain. Rhys had offered to lift it half a dozen times in your first hundred years within his court, but you hadn’t minded. A reminder, you’d insisted, a mark of your loyalty to the family that didn’t lead you the wolves with such glee.
You’d settled into a routine in Velaris, training with the Illyrian brothers and charming Amren with your intelligence and wit. But you’d become the closest with Mor, who felt a kinship in your shared traumas. She’d soothed you in those first years, fiercely protecting her friend when Eris Vanserra had shown up in Hewn City as an emissary to inquire on your new position in the Night Court. It was that same night that Azriel realized how fucked he truly was.
Eris smirked at you and your back straightened, face growing cold. He spoke, “My brother was wondering where you’d scampered off to.” A laugh followed, “You couldn’t stomach our court, but found yourself bound to the Court of Nightmares? My my, what a wicked turn of events.”
Rhysand had spoken then, wearing his High Lord mask well, “Watch yourself, Eris. You know not what our Little One can do.” Eris laughed, the sound laced with the dark spark of a threat. “Little One? Fugitive and Night Court whore, I must tell your father. I’m sure he’ll be proud to hear of his daughter’s fate.” Azriel’s wings pricked, then fluttered, he would’ve killed Eris right then for you. Your hand came to rest on Rhys’ arm as you stepped around the throne to level your accuser with a look that should’ve turned him to stone.
“I am no male’s whore and I belong to no court except Night. Report what you wish to my father, to your father, your brother. May you all rot.” You’d spat at his feet then, and the room heated twenty degrees, Eris’ barely kept rage simmering under the surface, fire blooming on the fringes of his figure.
He stepped forward and Cassian, Azriel, and Mor all shifted, prepared to take out the threat. Eris’ eyes tracked their figures, gauging the situation. He knew better. Any attack here would mean war on his court and his father have his hide for that. You stepped forward to meet him, knowing he could make no move without endangering his position. You kept your spine straight and narrowed your gaze at him with such contempt he would’ve been impressed at the show had you been anyone else.
“I will say this once Eris Vanserra,” you held up one long manicured finger, and Azriel traced the action with thinly veiled obsession. “Leave my court or I will be the one to kill you. I’ll rip your spine from your body and I’ll do it with the same glee in which your father,” you’d spat that word, the hatred you held for Beron burning your throat as the words exited your mouth, “killed that male for feeding his family.” You took a step closer, summoning a dagger in your left hand, and rolling it your palm. “Trust that we have no tolerance for your family or your bullshit in these lands.”
Eris had good enough sense to step back then, peering around your form to where Rhysand sat, legs spread, slouched in the throne, smirking at your display of dominance. Azriel to his right looked on in pure male satisfaction, you were a powerful little thing and he was rather fond of you in that moment. Eris spoke up, “Should I note that the Night Court threatens other Courts for sport?” Cassian and Azriel rolled their eyes in synchronous fashion, but it was Mor that spoke with the dark edge of a threat, “Only ones that deserve such brutality.” Her father, Kier, stood in the gathered crowd and sneered at the tone of her voice.
You’d done the unthinkable then, winnowing behind Eris, grasping the male by his red hair and dragging the dagger to his neck, digging in enough to cause the male’s heart to speed, a line of scarlet leaking from the press of your blade. You could feel the heat in his skin, the flame licked at your hand as you released him with a shove.
You brandished your dagger as if it was an extension of your hand, the tip of the silver blade glinting with red from the now healing cut at Eris’ throat. “Come for me again and I’ll kill you.” It was then that Azriel noted the slight tremble in the hand at your right side and he wished on some distant star that he could reach out to you, soothe you, tell you that he was proud and you defended yourself and your court beautifully.
As if his wish was granted, he felt his chest give way to a canyon of emotion, heart stuttering as the bond fluttered and snapped, thrumming with affection for the female standing at the center of the room. He had selfishly allowed himself to hope it would be you, in the dark of the night when he was alone and his shadows whispered to him of your whereabouts. Since he’d met you, he fostered that small romantic notion of soulmates. His most private desire.
Eris whirled on you with a roar, grabbing your throat with hands of fire. Azriel felt the breath leave him, and he took two then three steps forward before he could think, hazel eyes alight with a fierceness you’d not yet witnessed. Your eyes found his and you held up your hand to halt his movements, the one that had trembled seconds earlier, now steady as a stone. You’d looked at Eris then, raising your chin defiantly, a slow smile overtaking your face as you once again spit at the Autumn male before winnowing back to your place in front of the dais. Rhysand raised to his feet then, taking steps down to meet you. His hand grazed your arm this time and his mind reached out, “Very good, Little One, very good.”
“As the lady said, Eris, come to my court in search of her again, and she’ll be the one to kill you.” Rhys circled Eris, tracking like prey. “But not before I sanction it for laying your hands on a member of my house.” Rhysand spoke with such quiet cunning, it was no wonder he excelled as High Lord. Eris snarled then before winnowing out of the Hewn City and Azriel quickly set his shadows to following him, ensuring he was actually gone.
You returned to Mor’s side and the shameless pride that set on your face the rest of the night made Azriel want to kiss you. Gods, he was fucked..
You’d flirted with him constantly in the first century you’d been in Velaris. You had laid it on thick too, dragging a long nail up his arm, your mouth sliding into a smirk after one too many drinks at Rita’s. Azriel had always feigned friendly indifference though, a mask he slipped on that was equal parts protection as it was self soothing. His only crack coming in the form of a slight tremble in his pinky as he tried to gather himself to avoid closing the space between you, touching, grasping, feeling.
He’d worn black leather gloves around you in your first few decades with them. His hands always held the most insecurity for him, the silver scars and warped skin a brutal reminder of his childhood. It was after training one day, as you all packed your small bags and threw towels into bins that you’d asked about it.
“I don’t mean to pry, and feel free to tell me to fuck off, but why the gloves?” You asked quietly leaning against a wall less than ten feet from him. He’d stiffened and breathed tightly, “it helps with the work.” That had always been his excuse, wearing gloves when killing helped reduce the touch memories associated with the act, and it was partially true. But he wasn’t on a mission right now, and you called him on that, “are you spying right now?” Your lips quirked, “should I tell Rhys?” Your words were mirthful, but your eyes held nothing but empathy for the Shadowsinger, sometimes Azriel wondered if that was your Cauldron blessed gift.
You’d reached down then, rolling up the left leg of your training leathers. You’d resumed your full height and rotated your calf outward for his eyes to survey the damage there. Ragged silver keloid scars marked the skin from your ankle to the soft back of your knee— a knee he’d admittedly fantasized about many nights in a row now. He’d selfishly thought about trailing kisses up your leg, pausing to nip playfully at the soft skin at your knee as he made his way north, up your thigh. He breathed deeply banishing those thoughts as he took in the site of your marred skin. Judging by the heavily keratinized markings, the injury had no doubt been painful when incurred originally. Azriel’s fingers twitched again, wanting to touch your face, hold you as he kissed away your grief.
“From Beron’s dogs,” you breathed, rolling you shoulders, as if shaking the memory from your mind. “They wouldn’t heal when I was out there,” you clicked your tongue, “granted I was starving,” you sighed, “but that’s a story for another day.” You looked at him then, and he had to steady himself at the emotions pooling in your eyes.
He’d already planned on killing Beron if the opportunity presented for what had happened with Mor, but for you, he’d make it hurt. He’d drag it out and make it slow. He’d torture him for days, flaying skin from bone, taking fingers then limbs and when at last he begged for death, Azriel would set the dogs on him and laugh as they tore him apart. He felt a long repressed need for vengeance creep up his spine, and he hated to acknowledge what its presence meant in regards to you.
“It’s okay, you know,” you’d said, head lolling to the side as you watched him, eyes swimming with a gentle affection, “I’ll never judge you for something like that.” Azriel squeezed his eyes shut as he turned his head from you and breathed in tightly. How did always manage to be so fucking disarming and vulnerable? That must’ve been a gift too.
He pinched the middle finger of the right glove and pulled it from his hand, grasping his now exposed fingers into a fist, knuckles cracking. He extended that arm out, palm up as he let you view his deepest insecurity, the thing he hated most in his appearance.
You’d stepped forward, looking at his palm. Your hands went to reach but you’d paused, looking to his eyes as you silently asked permission to touch. He nodded stiffly, watching you with the same intensity of an animal being hunted, prey ready to bolt at any moment.
Your fingers touched his hand, and he felt the connection race up his arm and to his chest, settling in his heart. Your eyes studied, and you rotated his hand, fingers gently tracing from his wrist, to knuckle, to fingernail in reverence. You covered his hand with your own, moving your eyes to his hazel ones. “Are they dead?” You’d asked seriously, and he stuttered a shocked laugh. “Yes, Little One, they are,” he answered, a small smile playing at his mouth. The two of you far too similar it seemed. “Good,” you’d said simply before kissing his knuckles and pulling the glove back on for him. The action was quietly intimate, and Azriel should’ve kissed you then. Mother knows he considered it, eyes watching you with rapt attention as his heart sped up and breathing shallowed.
“If you two are done flirting, lunch is ready,” Cassian announced from the doorway, breaking the spell you were both under. You’d jumped and laughed freely at the large male smirking at the entrance. You grasped Azriel’s hand tightly in affection before releasing it to turn on your heel to exit the room, passing by Cass with an eye roll, thumping him square in the chest.
Cassian looked to his brother as he walked into the room and his face split into a shit eating grin. “Let’s go, loverboy,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Azriel glared, scoffing as he followed behind you, praying to whatever Gods were listening that he’d get you alone again soon.
In your second century with the Night Court, you’d lessened the blatant flirting and settled into loving, easy friendship. You regularly attended balls and galas in Hewn City, fitting into such pomp with practiced ease, but always with a dagger strapped to your thigh, ready to cut a male down in seconds. Those events were almost routine at this point: Azriel would save you a dance, and you’d move together in a slow ritual that you’d both perfected over the years, he’d bow as the violinist played their final note and resume his place on dais at Rhys’ right. His eyes would follow you the rest of the night, as you spoke in an airy manner to various high fae, glaring at any male whose hands ventured too close to his mate.
Nights when the Court held parties at the House of Wind were different though. You were far less rigid, finding it easy to exist without scrutiny. Those were the nights Azriel’s eyes rarely left your form as he watched obsessively from the corners of the room.
“You’re staring,” Rhys chimed from his place next to Azriel, eyes not leaving the crowd as he spoke to the Shadowsinger, mouth smirking. Azriel was staring. You’d worn cobalt blue tonight, a lovely color on your skin. His color on your skin. Mother above, the male possessiveness that crawled up his spine was unreal. Mate, mate, mate, his shadows had sang in his ear. He wanted to pluck the eyes from every male in the room for even glancing in your direction. He wanted so much more than that too. Your breathy sighs as he marked you, your moan as he made you come undone, his name crying from your lips as he ate his come from your cunt after. Azriel had a million and one scenarios running through his head. He yearned to make each one of them come to fruition too.
He hadn’t answered Rhysand, so the High Lord tried again, “you really should tell her, but please,” Rhys closed his eyes with a grimace, “quiet your thoughts first, for Cauldron’s sake.” That got Azriel’s attention, his back straightening and mental shield slamming down. His eyes squeezed shut, almost as if he was in pain. “I cannot burden her with that now,” he said, “not with war at our doorstep.” Indeed, the second war with Hybern creeped ever closer, disappearances of other high fae occurring daily. Whatever they were planning across the sea, it was going to bring Prythian to its knees.
Rhysand sighed then, feeling older than his 500 years. “Be that as it may, we should hold those we love tighter.” Rhysand looked to Feyre at that moment, his eyes meeting his mate’s, as he sent a strum of warm affection down the bond. She smiled and returned it cheerily. He turned back to Azriel, “if it all ends tomorrow, I know my love and she knows me. That’s all we can ask for in this immortal life.” Azriel looked back to you, and your eyes were already on him, tracing the shadows that wound around his chest. You met his eyes and winked, before turning back to Mor and laughing freely.
“I thank the Cauldron daily it was you that found her in those mountains, Rhys.” Azriel spoke quietly, admitting a small secret he’d not told anyone. Rhysand softened, and clapped his friend on the shoulder, “As I am, brother.” Azriel nodded, letting the conversation die between himself and the High Lord as he drained the drink in his hand and moved down the steps in your direction.
You’d been in conversation with Mor when he approached. She was telling you of the seamstress she’d been seeing, and how happy she was. Azriel cleared his throat from behind the two of you and you turned to meet him, taking in his appearance with wide eyes. “Ladies,” he started, bowing to you and Mor, who snorted at the silly formality. “And that note, I’ll be taking my leave. I’ve got a lady to see,” she said with a wink and a flourish of her red dress. You laughed and shook your head before turning back to the Shadowsinger. He’d caught you staring earlier and your heart had nearly jumped into your throat, before Mor mocked you lightly, diffusing the tension.
“Hi Az,” you greeted softly, before dropping your empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and thanking them. Azriel watched you closely, noting the revealed skin that shifted with each movement, committing every angle and freckle to memory.
“You want to get out of here?” He dared ask, jerking his head toward the private balcony on the House of Wind. You raised a brow, Azriel? Asking you to leave? Together? You heart was back in your throat and you thanked the Mother that you’d taken your time getting ready that evening. Nodding, you grasped his arm as he offered it to you like a proper courtier. He walked the two of you up a round of stairs and away from the eyes he’d threatened earlier in the night. Voices dulled the more space you put between yourselves and them and you couldn’t help but start to sweat a bit at the thought of being alone with Azriel.
You’d been friends for nearly two centuries, but you’d always felt a connection with the male. Your heart thrummed with a warm, golden affection when he got close. It made keeping a clear head during training hard. It made sitting next to him at dinner difficult. And when he’d looked at you like you hung the moon as you danced earlier in the night, it made you want to take him to bed and ride him until he moaned your name. You breathed deeply. ‘Focus,’ you chided yourself, ‘he is your friend, for Cauldron’s sake.’
He led you out onto to the balcony and stopped at the railing before looking up at the star flecked sky. “This is my favorite part of the House,” he said eyes scanning the sky before looking back to you as you watched him. A blush crept up his neck, before he cleared his throat again.
“I’ve always wondered what it was like to be able to fly, you know,” you said quietly, removing your hand from his arm, rolling up onto your toes, leaning against the stone railing, and looking out on Velaris before scanning your eyes up to the three stars that shone brightly overhead. “When I was a child, I met a Peregryn from the Dawn Court and thought she had the most beautiful wings I’d ever seen.” You chanced a glance his way, “I’d not met an Illyrian yet.” You reminded with a smirk, bumping his arm with fondness. Gods, he was in trouble.
“I asked her what it was like and she said it was the purest sense of freedom possible.” You glanced down at your feet, “I spent the next year wishing for wings.” He mulled on your words. He wanted to say something cheesy as Cassian would, like ‘I’ll be your wings’ but he couldn’t, so you continued on.
“When I was a little older, I witnessed a blue skinned lesser fae’s wings ripped from his body as punishment and it was the most gruesome thing I’d seen at that point.” You took a shuddering breath, “I cried for him that night. The lost freedom. How maddening it must’ve been.” You looked at him then and he watched you with furrowed brows. “How does it feel for you?” You asked softly, eyes tracing the shine of his wing. ‘Magnificent things,’ you thought. You remembered seeing his wings for the first time and thinking the Peregryn had finally moved to second place in your mind.
Azriel had to gather himself as he spoke, “It’s… everything.” He said quietly adjusting his body to extend a wing. “My ability to fly came in late,” he said, and your eyes widened, you hadn’t known that. “My childhood was… rough and I didn’t learn to fly until I was nearly grown.” He laughed, scuffing the toe of his boot, wings folding in behind him. “It was a lot of crash landings those first months.” You snorted, mental image of a younger Az, landing in a puddle of mud crossing your mind.
“I was never a proud Illyrian, not like the others,” he continued, “it was hard for me to reconcile my heritage and our traditions.” He looked to the cityscape then, “but the stronger I got, the more I understood why flight was so crucial to my people.” He looked to you, eyes shining, “it’s the closest we can get to the stars.”
You leaned over the railing again, staring wistfully at the night sky, the moon reflecting on your skin. “Will you take me someday? Flying, I mean.” Did you not know Azriel would give you the world? Of course he’d take you flying. He’d give you the moon, the stars, walk through fire and back, anything. He nodded, “you say the word, and I’ll fly you the the ocean and back.” The smile that broke across your face crippled him, his knees threatened to give way.
“Yours are my favorite,” you murmured softly, eyes glancing from his wings to his face. Azriel blushed in full, pink speckling his neck and cheeks as he laughed. “Don’t let Cass hear you say that, he’s got an ego,” he said, a smile remaining at his lips. You liked him like this the most. Loose, smiling, free. You reached up then, cupping his reddened cheek, thumb stroking. “I don’t care,” you said smiling, “it’s the truth.” Azriel swallowed roughly, staring at your eyes swimming with an emotion he knew, but was much too stubborn and scared to name.
Just as your hand went to retreat, he grasped it between his own. “You can touch them,” he offered, knowing damn well the implications, “if you want,” he added. Your eyes widened. Mor had mentioned once that Illyrian’s wings were ‘sensitive,’ was the word she’d used. It was a sign of great intimacy and trust to allow another to touch them. You felt the air shift between you two then, as you nodded.
He extended a wing toward you. This felt so much like the first time he’d shown you his hands all those years ago. Your hand crept forward and gentle fingers met the red gold membrane that stretched between two metacarpals. Your fingers traced the membrane in smooth circles, then traced up to the crest. Azriel felt his breath gutter out of his mouth in a loud, choppy exhale, and he felt himself harden at the sensation of your fingers against the most sensitive portion of his wings. You gasped and jerked away at the sudden noise, before apologizing. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten carried away.”
Azriel shook his head, “It’s not that, they’re sensitive.” There was that word again, only it made you think of how they’d been shredded before the King of Hybern, and you opened your mouth to apologize again, but he stopped you short. “I haven’t allowed another to touch them freely since my mother.” The admission floored you, your gut giving way with a breath.
You looked to his eyes then, the air between you had shifted again and you knew this was it. This was the moment you’d waited for, he was going to kiss you. Mother, it felt you’d waited a millennia, and he felt just the same. But that kiss never came. Instead, Azriel went stock still, his eyes now on the House behind you.
“Azriel?” You questioned. “It’s Rhys,” he said tightly, “he’s summoning me.” You understood then. He looked to you desperately, eyes a little wild and apologetic. “I’m sorry, I have to go to him.” You nodded, you both worked for the High Lord, you’d never get in the way of Azriel’s allegiance to his Court. “Of course,” you said quietly, taking a step back and swallowing down your disappointment.
Azriel took three steps towards the entrance then stopped. “I’ll take you,” he turned around, backing his way to the arched stone, but keeping his eyes on you for a moment longer. “When I get back, I’ll take you flying,” he offered. Another smile etched its way across your face and Azriel took a long moment to memorize it greedily. “It’s a date,” you said confidently. He beamed then, turning on a heel to pick up into a jog, Rhys no doubt shouting to hurry up.
That date hadn’t happened though. The second war with Hybern broke out days later and you both barely made it out alive.
When Feyre had come to Velaris after Amarantha’s defeat, you’d accepted her with easy friendship. You saw Rhysand, your longtime friend, overcome with love for his newly found mate, and you couldn’t help but love her as well. You’d shared your story with her and the two of you bonded deeply over her art. She’d offered to teach you to paint, and you began taking lessons in your off time. Rhys had been Cauldron blessed with her and you reminded him daily.
Later, when Feyre’s sisters joined their little unit, you’d been the first one to break Nesta’s tough exterior. The female saw parts of herself in you and you’d gotten her to crack a smile when you mocked Rhys’ High Lord voice at dinner one night. Elain had been a tougher sell, but you’d tried, along with Azriel, to bring the female out of her shell. The day she joined you in the library to read, you knew progress had been made, even if you two had only sat in silence a few feet apart, a small smile gracing her features.
You left her book recommendations with small notes and she began to do the same. Your friendship playing out in the margins of the library’s tomes. You won her over with silent conversation. Nesta noticed, of course, and she looked to you with gratitude as she saw her sister’s eyes brightened and skin began to return to its normal, healthy color. The night Azriel mentioned it as you walked down the hall toward the dining room for the family meal, you’d shrugged. “I met her where she needed me to,” you’d said quietly, glancing to your feet. Azriel smiled, a Cauldron blessed gift indeed.
Dinners at the House of Wind were by far Azriel’s favorite version of you. You’d laugh with abandon, smile splitting your face, showing every tooth as Mor cracked a joke and leaned against you for support, one too many drinks in her system. The first time he’d seen that smile, it blinded him, and he’d gone a little dazed, staring at you in wonderment. Rhys had interrupted his train of thought with an invasive insertion of “How quickly she reduced you to a puddle, brother.” Azriel had scowled at Rhys then, mental shields firming up, but not before he heard the distinct sound of his High Lord laughing at the Spymaster’s defensiveness.
Indeed Azriel was gone for you. When Cassian finally confronted him last year about the truth of his feelings, Azriel saw no point to avoid it any longer, not after his brothers had also found their mates. “Our souls are one in the same, she’s my mate,” he’d said pensively, as if he was letting his deepest secret breath in the light for the first time in centuries. Maybe he was. He’d made Cassian promise on his life not to tell anyone, and despite being the biggest gossip in the Inner Circle, he kept his promise. He was thrilled for his brother, knowing you were the perfect match.
Little did Azriel know, everyone else was already more than aware of his affections. Amren had figured it out a century prior when Azriel had tended your needs as you’d recovered from an injury sustained during a mission. He’d fretted around you like a mother hen, buying you flowers, sweets, and books while you were bedridden. The female had watched and hummed with a raised eyebrow as Azriel exited your room for the fifth time in one day, wringing his hands with worry despite Madja’s clean bill of health.
Feyre had figured it out the same year she’d returned from the Spring Court, just before the second war with Hybern. She’d seen the way his eyes had followed you in the war room Rhys had created to host strategy meetings. Saw him lean towards you when you spoke, saw his wings flutter when you finally cast your gaze to him, eager for your attention. More than anything, she’d seen his shadows, desperate little things, sneaking across the floor each night, sidling up your ankles and wrists, begging for your affection. You always laughed and nuzzled them as the wound their way to your hair and Azriel went a little soft at the sight.
When she told Mor, the blonde had laughed, “They’ve been circling each for two hundred years now, eventually one of them will cave.” Mor leveled a sardonic look at Feyre then, “and when they do, we’ll all have to relocate to the River House for a year lest we be subject to the frenzy.”
This mission should’ve been simple. Rhys had asked you to check out reports of rogue soldiers spotted making their way towards the border of the Night Court from the Day coastline. The intel he’d received had mentioned three to four maximum, all of them drunken ex-Hybern loyalists. It should’ve been a matter of locating them, spying for a day or two, then winnowing in to neutralize any threat. Gods, this was far from simple.
When you’d arrived in the region, the hairs on your neck rose, the air itself feeling off. As you tracked them, you’d noticed intentional attempts to throw you off course. A carelessly trashed map, crudely laid tracks in the opposite direction, Dawn Court wine bottles that had been emptied and tossed about. They knew you were there, and you quickly realized that a trap had been laid. You backed off them then, staying further than you’d have liked, but trying like hell to make them think you’d given up.
On your fourth night following them, you’d drifted away to an inn two towns over, desperately seeking a place to bathe and rest, even for a few hours. As you bathed, you felt watched in a way that discomfited you to your core, and your dagger stayed within arms reach the rest of the night. Suddenly, the role you’d played for the last two hundred years had left you entirely ill equipped for whatever was happening here.
You’d left out before dawn, refusing to lose an ounce of daylight, but as you hit the tree line, readying yourself to winnow out, you’d noticed it. Hanging from a tree, a hundred yards away was a piece of clothing, your clothing. Clothing that should’ve been in the pack at your back. Your breath shuttered out of you as you opened your mind to Rhys, asking for back up. You were in over your head and you knew when to admit it. There was no pride in getting yourself killed.
As you turned to move back to the inn where you could wait out contact from Rhys in a public location, you were met with a pair of shining blue eyes. You stepped back, keeping your grounding, readying for a fight. “You’ve been following us,” the stranger said calmly, beginning to trek in a slow circle around you. You opened your mind to Rhys again, “Help,” you called. Rhys answered this time, “Where are you?!” It was a frantic response, you never asked for help, Rhys knew this. “Just off the coast, beneath the mountain range, Day court border, 400 hundred paces from the inn” you spoke to Rhys in choppy thoughts, trying to establish a location before all hell broke loose.
“I have,” you finally answered the stranger, whose lips quirked at your voice. He stopped circling and resumed his stance in front of you, blocking passage to the inn. “Why?” He asked and you tried to keep your mind steady as you answered. “You’re trespassers in these lands” you stated simply, shrugging a shoulder up. He grinned then, “had your lot not gotten in the way of our King’s plans, these would be our lands. We were promised them. I was personally promised the Court of Nightmares.”
“Well,” you shrugged feigning indifference, “that’s not how the war played out, so I will have to ask you to leave,” you offered in your most bored political tone. The same tone you’d used with High Fae that ran off at the mouth in Hewn City. The stranger cocked his head the side then, eyes twinkling, “I don’t think I will.” At that moment, one by one, additional soldiers appeared from the forest line. One, then four, then ten, until near twenty stood around you, looking on with hatred.
Shit.
“We’d hoped for the Illyrians, but it seems your High Lord sent us a treat instead,” the stranger said with mirth. You steeled your spine, looking down your nose at the stranger, “They’re going to kill you, you know.” He’d laughed at your threat. “I think not,” he said as as arrow was released from your left, finding purchase in your shoulder. You folded over on yourself at the blow, and looked up baring your teeth, before drawing your dagger and rushing the stranger with a feral sound.
Five more arrows hit you before your blade could find its target. One into your hip, two in your back, a fourth piercing your in your upper thigh, until the last burrowed into the back of your knee, bringing you down in front of him — forcing you to bow to the stranger. The arrows were laced with faebane you realized as you’d begun to feel its effects in your blood. Your power waning quickly, thoughts becoming murky.
You released another shattered thought to Rhys then, “Tell him, please,” you begged raggedly. Rhysand came back with a rushed and tight, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” You shook your head, there wasn’t time. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” He responded but it muddled out, sounding like words shouted through a pool of water, then your brain fell quiet. The line severed.
The stranger lifted your head, hand wrapped around your throat, as he bent to meet your crouched form. “I’ll be sure to savor this,” he smiled and the hilt of his sword came in fierce contact with your forehead.
It was the early morning on your fifth day away when Rhys heard you. “Help,” it had come through so clearly that it startled Rhys awake and set his heart to racing. You’d only asked for help once, during the war when you were overrun and near death. You were in danger.
He’d sat up straight in bed, Feyre still sleeping silently at his side, hand resting on her pregnant stomach. “Where are you?!” He’d asked down the line, a little frantic, remembering the state he and Azriel had found you in last time. Gods, you’d been run through on a Hybern soldier’s sword, the damage was astronomical. Azriel had nearly killed everyone within a mile radius at the sight of you.
You recited your location in short bursts and Rhys focused on the bond of your bargain, using it to locate you with more precision. He reached out to Azriel then, “Get Cassian and meet me downstairs. Be ready to fly.” Azriel responded an affirmative and Rhys rushed around his room, grabbing his dagger lined belt, and using his magic to dress in his leathers quickly. He winnowed to the base of the stairs and was glad to find Cassian and Azriel waiting.
“Tell him, please” you begged into Rhys’ mind then, words growing ragged. Rhys’ eyes slammed shut with a wince and he attempted to reassure you, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” Rhys opened his eyes and looked to Azriel, who was watching him with anticipation. You responded again, words growing murkier, a little warbled. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” Rhysand felt sick. “We will find you and you will tell him yourself,” he spoke but the bond was dead, silent, foreboding. Rhys thought he might vomit.
He looked to Azriel again, “It’s her. She’s in trouble. We have to go.” Azriel’s face darkened with a thunderous ferocity. Mother help the males who’d harmed you. “Where?” He asked, voice deep with the threat of murderous violence. “The wilds on the border, off the coast of Day. I’ll winnow us as close as possible.” Azriel nodded his acquiesce and lifted a trembling hand to his hair, running scarred fingers through the strands. Cassian spoke then, “we will get her back,” he’d said softly as Rhysand put his hands to the two of them, preparing for the jump. “And we will kill every last one of them,” Cassian added darkly as blue-black shadows encased them and they disappeared.
You awoke with a start, gasping like you’d been underwater. Your shoulders ached from your position. You pulled on your hands only to realize you were shackled to a tree somewhere deep in the forest, the same forest you’d been on the outskirts of earlier. You looked up to the sky, trying to find the sun to gauge how much time had passed. The sun had long moved past midday and was sinking towards the evening horizon. Your throat tightened. Where was Rhysand?
“Nice of you to join us,” a voice spoke. It was the stranger again, he emerged from the camp set two hundred paces to your left, hidden by shrubs and underbrush. You got a good look at him this time. He was tall, leanly muscular in a way that reminded you of Lucien Vanserra. His hair was a dishwater blonde and lacked any sheen, falling in choppy dry waves around his shoulders. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken, bruised with a lack of rest, and his cheekbones were sharp, giving his face an angle that made him look harsh and unforgiving. Though he carried himself with confidence, you noticed a slight, barely there limp in his right leg, an old wound perhaps, one that never healed correctly. You noted that for later, if you ever got out of these shackles.
You leveled a glare at him that you hoped looked more fearsome than you felt. Mother, your bones ached and your wounds throbbed. “I left the arrows in, but broke off the shaft. Didn’t want to have you healing too quickly.” He spoke with nonchalance, while polishing a dagger, your dagger, you realized as your eyes focused. You pulled at the shackles above your head, and the stranger chuckled at your attempt.
“What do you want?” Your voice croaked, mouth dry from disuse. The stranger laughed, pointing the blade at you, “I want my fucking court and you’re the key to getting it.” You shook your head then, “I am nothing.” The words sounded foreign on your tongue, a lie on some level, you knew this, but you would be damned before you gave up your family. The stranger clicked his tongue at your response, shaking his head.
“Surely you don’t believe that? The High Lord doesn’t trust easily, you’ve been seen with his entourage. The Shadowsinger’s whore.” He squatted a few feet from you, eyes tracing from your tied hands down to your face, pausing at your breasts, before trekking down your stomach, thighs, and calves. He was sizing up how much fight you had left.
Your brain had short circuited though, the Shadowsinger’s whore. Mother above, you’d never even kissed. How long had this male watched you and your family? How had none of you seen it? A bitter laugh wretched from your lungs, “sorry to disappoint, but the Shadowsinger isn’t mine.” No matter how desperately I’ve wished it so, you added silently.
The stranger grinned then, “if you are truly nothing, then I’ll make this a little sweeter.” He took steps towards you, raising the dagger to rest at your chin, the blade pressing to the underside painfully. “You’re far too pretty to be nothing.” He ran the blade along the column of your throat, resting it against your sternum, between your breasts. You pushed yourself further into the tree, back protesting as the arrows burrowed deeper with the movement. You didn’t like the new angle this interaction had taken and your fight or flight instincts were screaming.
You attempted to reach out to Rhysand, but the bond was dead silent. Your breathing hitched at the realization that you were truly alone in this. The stranger chuckled, dragging the blade down your chest, slicing the leathers, letting the fabric fall open and reveal your undergarments to his greedy view. Your legs moved to kick, but you realized quickly they too were tied. The blade came to rest at your bare stomach, and the stranger dug it in below the navel, causing blood to pool there. You winced, but made no sound.
“Ah, I was hoping you’d be louder than that,” the stranger smirked, “I’ll have to try harder.” He backed up then and pulled a whip from his back pocket, unfurling it with a crack. Your eyes widened and you brain went silent, fear overtaking your senses. “There it is,” his smile gleamed with violent delight, “there’s the reaction I was hoping for.” He reared an arm back before cracking the whip in your direction. The leather made contact with your torso, a stinging slice appearing along your rib cage. You jerked, but bit your tongue.
He cracked it again and again until you were bloody, slices in your leathers, festering wounds along your breasts, ribs, and stomach. You’d counted to 25 lashes before your brain gave out and your vision blurred from the pain. You looked up to the sky wearily. The sun was gone and the stars were slowly appearing. You smiled at them, remembering Azriel’s words from that night all those years ago.
You hoped he’d forgive you for not telling him. You hoped he’d understand your fear in revealing that secret, that the bond had snapped for you during the war. When that Hybern soldier’s sword pierced your armor, running through your body to the hilt, and he’d let out a fearsome bellow from across the field at the sight. You felt it then, the golden strumming taking the form of a fated thread linking you two. You been near death when he and Rhys had found you and the only thing you could do was smile. Such an ironic thing it was to die in the arms of your mate.
Your head lolled to the side as exhaustion threatened to overtake you. “Azriel,” your thoughts ventured, calling down the bond he didn’t even know existed, “I love you.” Darkness swam in the corners of your vision but you swore you felt his responding tug. The Mother was kind for granting that hallucinative mercy in your final hours. Your body gave out, slumping against the shackles and darkness overwhelmed you.
Azriel was furious. No, furious wasn’t the word, he was a walking time bomb. You were gone. His mate was missing and he was going to explode. As he’d arrived with Rhys and Cassian to the location you’d given them, he could smell you. His eyes searched frantically around the scene before him until they zeroed in on an item hanging from a branch a few dozen paces out. Cloth of some sort? He approached and could detect your scent on it, realizing quickly it was your clothing. A ripped cotton blouse. His fists clenched and he vaguely heard Rhysand speaking to his left. “They must’ve captured her here.” Rhys crouched down to the ground, two fingers swiping the dirt there, before bringing them eye level to examine sample. “Blood,” he muttered, rubbing the hand on the leg of his pants, “she was injured.” Azriel’s heart thundered, he was going to fucking explode.
He set his shadows work, surveying the forest with rapid precision. They’d cover more ground this way, an army of three operating like a whole infantry. By the time the sun rose to midday, Azriel was ready to begin screaming. They trekked further into the forest, following a line of smoke that was miles deep, originating at a camp somewhere far into the wilds. His shadows murmured to him of a small band of males there, of you, shackled to a fucking tree, arrows buried in your back. He’d nearly lost the contents of his stomach at the information and set to a run alongside Rhysand and Cassian.
As the three approached the encampment, the sun was nearing dusk. Rhysand had commanded the halt and strategize. There were roughly twenty-five men, all armed. They couldn’t enter this blindly and infuriated, they would lose if they weren’t careful. Azriel hated admitting he was right, his instincts screaming otherwise. Mate, mate, mate, his heart pounded.
They backed off to a thousand paces out, close enough that they could hear if the troop vacated the premises. As Rhysand and Cassian spoke quietly, Azriel felt his heart thrum. The golden thread there had pulled him closer to you and he could tell you were still alive. Though Rhys couldn’t reach out through your bargain, Azriel’s bond was still alight and warm, he stroked it with gentle affection. You might not feel it, but Gods he would try.
As the trio retraced their steps to the camp, stars were just beginning to light overhead and Azriel grasped his daggers tightly, knuckles cracking around the hilt. He was going to kill them. Kill them all brutally for taking you, for touching what was his. When they were within a stones throw from the camp he heard it, heard you. “Azriel,” you whispered into his mind. He went stock still, spine ramrod straight, fingers trembling as they gripped his knives. The golden bond vibrated in his chest, and he felt you reaching out through murky waters, against all odds. “I love you,” you said with a soft exhaustion before your side went dark. Azriel’s breathing guttered and he felt high on mirthroot, sick from fae wine, and enraged to the point of explosion all at once. His blue siphons flared brightly from the surge of power. He closed his eyes and reached out to you through the bond, tugging on the thread connecting your souls. He was coming. He was going to save you.
Rhysand looked to him then, curiosity swimming in his eyes as he took in the Shadowsinger’s sudden stop. Azriel opened eyes, irises alight with fire and shadow, voice grinding with dark threat, “Let’s go.” Rhys nodded and Cassian drew his knives.
They moved with brutal efficiency, killing male after male until none remained alive. Some had begged, others shouted and scattered their belongings as they set into a run. His shadows had caught them, twisting around their ankles and dragging them back to meet their fate, daggers slicing throats from ear to ear until blood poured like a prized hunt being slaughtered, the Illryian’s hands grasping and snapping necks like twigs. It was a practiced routine for the three of them, who’d trained since they were teens.
As they stepped through the shrubs to find you, Cassian gasped and Azriel felt his lungs threaten to collapse at the sight. You’d been shackled to a tree at the wrists and ankles and whipped within an inch your life. Wounds glistened with blood along your thighs, soft stomach, ribs, breasts. There had to be thirty lashes. A knife wound was visible at your exposed navel. Your head hung forward unconscious and Azriel’s heart pounded. He wanted to vomit and his hands shook.
“She said you’d come,” a voice said, emerging from behind the tree you were bound to. The male held a dagger to your throat. This new stranger had to be the leader of this band of idiots. Azriel’s eyes followed the tip of the blade up his arm to the male’s eyes and a growl escaped him as he bared his teeth. The male laughed, “to think she said she was nothing and yet I have both the Shadowsinger and the Lord of Bloodshed before me to save her.”
Azriel’s mind latched on to that piece of information, turning it over in his head. You’d told this male you were nothing? Did you not know Azriel would do anything for you? You were everything. You were his love, light of his life, keeper of his soul, his mate. How alone you must’ve felt, how scared. Azriel’s eyes narrowed, he was going kill him.
Rhysand spoke then, emerging from behind the two Illyrian brothers, “And may I ask why you’ve abducted a member of my court?” He was in High Lord mode, tone bored, fingers picking at his sleeve. The Hybern male’s smile gleamed at the introduction, “just who I was hoping to see!”
“Hybern, the old fool, made a few promises in his last days as King,” the male spoke, digging the blade down to your chest, where it rested over your heart. Azriel stared at the blade, eyes tracing to the the hilt. That was your blade, the one he’d given you when you first arrived in Velaris, the one you wielded against Eris, the one you kept strapped to your thigh. Your own knife had been used against you.
“One of which was that I would inherit these lands after your lot were annihilated.” Azriel wanted to laugh at the male’s words, was he serious? “A dead king cannot honor empty promises,” he ground out eyes shifting to the male’s blue eyes. “A dead and headless king cannot gift you shit,” Azriel spat. The male smiled then, a feline grin growing on his lips. “Precisely Shadowsinger, a dead king cannot give me my due, but this little thing can help.” You’d made a noise then, something akin to a whimper as you came to. Eyes wincing then fluttering open as your irises found Azriel’s immediately, some preternatural magnetism existing between the two of you. Then you looked to Cassian and Rhysand, and your eyes swam with apology.
“She awakens!” The male sang, looking to you. Azriel jumped at the opportunity to send his shadows out while the male’s attention was elsewhere. They traced over the ground to you, circling the tree and working at your binds. He sent two others towards the distracted male. “Who knew the Night Court was so attached to a whore,” the male laughed, “I want my lands,” he fixed Rhysand with a glare, “you can have your plaything back in exchange for my seat, High Lord” he sneered.
Rhysand looked from you to the stranger to the shadow now creeping ever closer to the male. “You must be mistaken,” Rhys said then and Azriel’s shadows wrapped around the male’s neck and wrist simultaneously, whispering violence for touching their mate, forcing the dagger from his grasp and air from his lungs. Azriel tightened them until they heard bones crack in the male’s arm and choked sounds exit his throat, face reddening as oxygen was cut off. “I do not make deals with dim witted cunts,” Rhysand said darkness beginning to surround him, High Lord voice encroaching, “I do not entertain terrorists and I do not take kindly to threats on my family.”
‘Finish him,’ Rhysand said darkly into Azriel’s mind and the Shadowsinger moved with lightening precision, dagger find purchase as the male’s neck was sliced open and his right hand was removed from his body. The male’s body toddled forward with a choked gurgling, before falling to the ground, lifeless, blood pooling.
Azriel’s gaze fell to you and he softened. His shadows finished picking the lock of the shackles that held your arms and they clicked open, allowing your body to fall into his. “Azriel,” you breathed, voice weary with exhaustion, “I didn’t— I—“ you stuttered, pulling a shaking hand to his face. You swallowed, tracing his cheek with trembling fingers, “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” you murmured, your watery eyes searching his face, memorizing the details of his visage.
Azriel picked you up in his arms and unfurled his wings protectively. “I will always come for you,” he said vehemently, eyes watching your face with intensity. You smiled, a weepy trembling smile as you nodded. Rhysand reached the Shadowsinger’s side then and your eyes moved to his violet ones, “Hi Little One, I’m so sorry we’re late.” You let out a single watery laugh before wincing as the sudden expansion of your chest burned the wounds littering your chest and back.
“The arrows,” you gasped, “at my back,” you twisted in Azriel’s hold, “please get them out.” Rhysand leaned down to inspect the wounds. “Faebane,” he surmised, that’s why his connection to you had been severed. “We need to get her to Madja, now.” Azriel nodded, allowing Rhys and Cassian to move closer so the High Lord could winnow them home.
Landing back at the House of Wind had been chaotic. Rhysand shouted immediately to get every healer available and the dining room table had been lined with a sheet, turning the warm family room into a medical ward. You were laid facedown on the table and Azriel took to your side, scarred hands touching your face, keeping you awake as Madja worked to remove the six arrows burrowed in your body.
You’d screamed. The sound would haunt Azriel for centuries. You begged to make it stop and Madja had apologized softly as she worked faster to remove them while minimizing damage. “I’ve got you,” Azriel said softly, “eyes on me, alright?” He rubbed the hollow under your eye with a scarred thumb and you opened your eyes to lock on his. “No gloves,” you said, smiling tightly, before wincing as Madja applied local anesthetic to an arrow wound. Azriel smiled, eyes a little watery. “Not with you,” he whispered shaking his head, “never with you.” You smiled at him and the sight set Azriel’s heart to fluttering.
Later, after the arrows had been removed and wounds bandaged, you’d been given a strong herb tonic for pain that set your head swimming as exhaustion overtook you. Azriel carried you his room, laying you gently onto the mattress and covered you with the duvet. He leaned down then, breathing in your scent as he placed a kiss to your forehead, nuzzling his nose to the Winter white hair there. He would tell you. When you awoke, he would bare his soul to you.
You woke with a groan. Fucking Gods, your body ached with the effort it took to roll over. “Easy,” a voice came from the corner of the room. Your breath gasped out of you as your eyes raced to the figure there. “Azriel,” you breathed. The male smiled warmly at you and stepped forward to rest at the edge of the mattress. You pushed up in the bed, the wound at your shoulder screaming from the exertion. Once in a sitting position, you rested your back on the headboard as you looked at him. “For taking out a small militia, you seemed to be decently uninjured,” you said smiling tightly, memories of the stranger and his whip haunting your mind. He snorted a small laugh, “Yes well,” he looked down then, thumbs fiddling with each other, chest heating, “I had something worth fighting for.”
He looked back to you and your cheeks had grown pink, a small pleased smile at your lips. “I heard you, you know,” he said softly, turning enough to rest a hand on your thigh, thumb drawing small, soothing circles there. The heat generated in the touch sent a spark to your belly. Oh, you were fucked. “I heard you in my head, through the bond,” he said eyes watching his thumb as it traced on your bare skin hypnotically.
“You know then?” You whispered, breath skittering out of you. You were scared to death of the trajectory the conversation was taking, your heart preparing for the best and the worst simultaneously. Azriel’s eyes dragged up your form to your face and a smile broke over his lips, one that caused your heart to ignite. Your Mother had once told you the heart was an organ of fire and you’d laughed, never having cause to believe such a statement. You understood now.
“I—“ Azriel started, before clearing his throat, turning his body to face you in full, a knee pulled up on the mattress, touching yours. “In the whole time I have known you— two centuries, Little One,” he looked at you pointedly, “you have been my dearest friend, my greatest comfort, my confidant, and the person I admire most in this Gods forsaken world.” He breathed deeply, a whoosh exiting his lips as his hand tightened around your thigh. “The times when you were lost to me have been some of the most painful moments I’ve experienced.”
Your eyes began to water, and you moved a hand to rest atop his own, thumb circling the scarred skin at his wrist. He took a breath then and the air shifted between you, his mouth opening and closing, as if he was gathering his confidence for what he was about to say next. “I have loved for you so long that I’d given up all hope of reciprocation.” The words shattered through you as all air escaped your lungs, guts swooping down as heat alighted there. “I felt the bond the night Eris came for you,” he continued, eyes watching your entwined hands. Your body went still and a startled laugh exited your mouth. Azriel’s eyes flew to yours questioningly.
“Sorry,” you chuckled again, “I’m just realizing how fucking stupid we’ve been.” You lolled your to the side, watching him with loving eyes. “I’ve been in love with you for almost two centuries, Azriel,” you smiled, “I thought you wouldn’t want me.” Azriel’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing in disbelief, two then three times. You thought for a second to compare him to the guppy fish that swam in schools along the banks of the Sidra but refrained.
He pushed forward then, hands coming to cup your face, pinky and ring fingers resting in the hollow below your ear, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “How could I not? You’re everything,” he whispered, searching your face, conviction showing in his eyes. You couldn’t stop the smile that overtook your mouth as you spoke, “and you’re my mate.” His eyes moved to your lips, glazing before they moved back to your eyes. “As you are mine,” he spoke confidently.
Your eyes watched each other for a long second, “I really hope you’ll kiss me this time,” your hand trailed up his arm, fingers teasing. “Mother knows I’ve been dreaming of it for far too long.” He surged forward, lips meeting yours and you thought you might float away. You gasped and his tongue moved in, claiming your mouth, your taste with his own.
He pulled away minutes later, a little breathless, “Sorry to have kept you waiting, my love,” he spoke, resting his forehead to yours with a smile, watching your dazed expression, pink cheeks, as your lips split into a grin. Your hand moved to the front of his button down, fisting in the material there, giving an experimental tug. “Kiss me like that again and I’ll consider forgiving you.”
The laugh that came out of him was golden, and you pushed yourself to memorize it. Azriel, Lord of Shadows, Spymaster for the Night Court, Rhysand’s right hand and Illyrian warrior was soft for you. He loved you. He was your mate. You’d be giddy about it for the rest of your life.
Your healing had been slower than you would’ve liked. The faebane had done serious damage but with Madja’s help, the scarring was minimized. The lashes at your front took two weeks to heal, the arrow wounds took three. Three fucking weeks. Meanwhile all you could think about was your mate. He hadn’t left your side in the interim. Helping you take steps, applying the wound creams that Madja had left in small glass pots, keeping you fed, making you laugh, telling you how much he loved you daily. Mother above, you were going to ruin this male.
You walked into the kitchen at the end of week three, the only evidence of your wounds now in the slight limp of your right leg and twinge in your left shoulder. The marks at your stomach and chest had diminished into barely there, silver scores. Cassian was sitting at the small table in the corner as you entered. “Hi Cass,” you greeted, “seen my mate around this morning?” It was fun calling him that, a small part of your chest swelling with pride each time.
Cassian smirked, “He’s been…… out.” Your eyes narrowed, he was being evasive. “Out where?” You asked, grabbing an apple and hopping up on the counter to watch the male. He shrugged, “No idea, Little One.” You smirked, “I know where you sleep Cassian,” you started, “is it really wise to lie to me?” Nesta strode into the kitchen, “What’s he done now?” She asked laughing. “Hey! I’ll have you know I’ve done nothing!” The male exclaimed, “She’s interrogating me on the whereabouts of her maaate.” He dragged out the vowel of the last word mockingly. Nesta took her seat next to Cassian and laughed, “Ah, him.” She looked to you then, “he’ll be around to collect you soon.”
You looked between the two, suspicion dripping from your features as you took another bite from the apple in your palm. “You two are being weird,” you stated. Nesta shrugged, nudging Cassian who smiled at her. “Just wait,” she said softly, “maybe cook yourself a meal.” Cassian’s mouth quirked with a laugh he restrained. “Right, I’m leaving, cause whatever this is,” you waved a hand at them, “is deeply odd.” You hopped off the counter and strolled to the exit. You heard them laughing softly once you were out of the room, making you roll your eyes at their antics.
You’d gone to the library after leaving the kitchen and found Elain already there. Her eyes moved to you upon your entrance and she closed her book, middle finger marking her spot. “How are you feeling?” She asked softly, eyes surveying your body for lingering damage. You sighed, falling into the sofa across from her. “I’m better,” you said quietly, “the pain is gone, scars are minimal.” You turned your eyes to her, she looked brighter than the last time you’d seen her. “How are you?” You asked in return. She smiled sweetly. “Better,” she echoed you and you wanted to laugh. “I’ve been exchanging letters with Lucien,” she added and your ears perked up.
“That’s great, Elain,” you rest your chin on a closed fist, watching her. She shifted and sat her book to the side, page forgotten. “I want to tell you something,” she said quietly, fingers twiddling with each other. She looked... nervous? “I’m all ears,” you said softly.
“I had a vision while you were gone,” she started and took a deep breath. “It was so muddled at first, I couldn’t tell who it was, but then I saw you. Your hair was longer, you stood taller, and your belly was round.” The breath left your body in a powerful exhale. She looked to you again, eyes watching yours, “You were pregnant and happy and in love,” she said quietly, as if the words in themselves were fragile. Your hands trembled and you moved them under your thighs, her eyes didn’t miss the action.
“I couldn’t understand why the Mother would send me a vision like that, I saw Feyre’s pregnancy, but we’re sisters, you know?” You nodded. “Then I realized I recognized the tattooed arm I’d seen wrap around you, knew it was Azriel.” Your eyes watered, and you hiccuped out a small laugh. “I’ve known for a while you two were fated, but the Mother was telling me for certain. I hope you know how happy we are for you.” She finished and moved to sit next you, small hand touching your knee.
“When they brought you in that night, I thought the Mother had lied to me, that it was a vision of what could have been, that you wouldn’t make it.” You’d never heard Elain speak at length in this way, and you thought you might stop breathing. “I’ve never been happier to see you than when Azriel brought you in to read days later, my sweet friend.” You surged forward, throwing your arms around the female and she returned the gesture warmly.
You sat back and looked at her then. “Thank you,” you said, voice small, a little watery. She nodded before turning to resume her original spot at the end of the sofa, picking up her book and opening it to the page she’d left off.
In the hours that followed, you’d returned to the kitchen, grateful to find Cassian and Nesta had left. You took Nesta’s advice, gathering the ingredients to build a small berry tart. It had just gone in the oven when your mate appeared in the doorway.
“Hello love,” he said casually, leaning against the door jamb. You startled, turning on your heel to find him smiling at you. “Where have you been?” You asked walking towards him and running your hands around his midsection in a hug, head resting against his chest. His arm came around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your hair, breathing in your scent. “That, my dearest one, is a surprise.”
You looked up chin resting against his chest, watching his face. “It’d better be good, I baked for you,” you said, smiling softly at the Spymaster. His eyes moved to the oven then and back to you, irises darkening, as his pupils blew a little wide. “You… baked?” He asked disbelieving, “didn’t know you knew how to bake,” he followed up playfully. You gasped and shoved him, “for that, you can starve, have fun finding another mate to bake for you.” He laughed heartily and caught your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, eyes swimming with warm affection as he pressed a kiss there. Gods, the action made lust swoop in your stomach, heat spreading.
“The fool I’d be to turn away such a female,” he said, voice deepening, lips running across your knuckles with each word. “Azriel” you breathed. “Yes?” He offered in return, still smiling, moving your knuckles back and forth against his hot mouth. “Please tell me this surprise involves you bedding me.” A growl creeped out of his throat, the thought of you under him sending lust racing down his spine and to his groin.
“It might,” he said quietly, lips resuming their exploration, tracking small kisses from your knuckles, to the joint of your thumb, the inside of your wrist where Rhys’ tattoo lingered, up the soft skin of your arm, to your elbow, until he reached the skin of your shoulder. His lips traced over the raised skin there, a small nip above the scar as he traced north to your collarbone. You’d gone to putty in his hands, head rolling to the side to bare your throat. He pressed soft kisses there, pausing at your pulse point to trace the area with his warm tongue, a whimper escaping your mouth.
“If this is going to become a regular thing, I’ll need you two to relocate to the River House,” a voice came from behind you and you jumped in shock, but your mate, he let out a possessive growl before turning on the intruder. Rhysand laughed airily and folded his arms over his chest. “Easy, brother,” he smiled, causing Azriel to roll his eyes. You blinked a little dazed, and pulled away from the Shadowsinger. “You’re gonna make me burn my fucking tart,” you shoved him with an arm and laughed as you turned to resume your place at the oven.
Azriel instructed you to dress comfortably and be ready in a hour as he kissed your knuckles one last time and exited the kitchen. Butterflies roamed freely in your stomach at the thought of what he had planned. You’d returned to your quarters after removing the tart from the oven and portioning it into a small travel sized container. You were going to accept the bond, and your nerves were alight with anxious excitement. After you dressed in a lightweight linen dress, you packed a small bag with your remaining creams, and the boxed tart you’d prepared earlier.
You descended the stairs to find Azriel waiting at the base, his wings standing proudly behind him, shadows skittering around his feet. At the sight of you they raced to meet on the bottom step, running up your legs, around your waist and into your hair. A laugh escaped you as one nuzzled into the space behind your ear. Azriel watched fondly. “They love you,” he said smiling, taking a step to meet you, “ever since the bond snapped, I’ve had the hardest time reining them back from touching you.”
You reached a hand out to meet his, interlacing your fingers. “They’re cute, but you’re cuter,” you said with gentle affection. A shadow pinched at your waist and Azriel’s cheeks went a little pink as he laughed.
“Will you tell me what the surprise is?” You asked as he walked you toward the training balcony. “I’m afraid I’m very poorly dressed for training,” you joked. He snorted, “no, we’re not training.” He came to rest at the railing and then turned to you, running a hand up your arm, fingers moving to hold the back of your neck, warm palm heating the skin there, thumb grazing your jawline. “Amongst many things I’ve been terribly late for recently, I realize I owe you a date.”
Your face went a little puzzled and you looked to his eyes. “A date?” You questioned. He nodded, “I was supposed to take you flying.” Realization dawned on your features and a smile overtook your lips, each tooth shining in the setting sun. “I wanted to kiss you that night too,” you admitted laughing, remembering how desperate you’d been for his touch and attention. He smiled softly, “you have no idea how angry I was with Rhys for calling me away.” Your eyes widened, still in disbelief that this male wanted you return. It seemed both a millennia in the making and still so new and fragile.
Azriel snuck an arm around your waist and brought you up into the stretch of his firm body. His other hand tracing down your hip, then thigh, to curve under your knees as he picked you up. His wings unfurled and he shot into the air. A shaky laugh startled out of you and you gripped him tighter, your arms winding around his neck. His wings flapped in thunderous bursts, taking you higher, until you could see the entirety of Velaris spread below, the Sidra flowing like a snake through the winding city. Your breath left you in awe. “The Peregryn was right,” you said loud enough for him to hear and he smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple.
The flight was short, but it took you to the rural banks of the Sidra on the outskirts of the city, just before it emptied into the sea. You could see ships sailing into the harbor, moonlight beginning to trickle across the water. This was undeniably special, you thought, no one would see you up here and you felt like this was the edge of the world itself. You turned to Azriel, finding his eyes already watching you. “Thank you,” you said softly, leaning into him, his chin meeting your forehead as you moved your body to rest alongside the length of his. His hand came to rest at the small of your back, pinky stretching to graze the curve of your bottom. Wherever this was going, you were very interested.
He turned and grasped your hand, pulling you back up the hill and away from the view, towards a field of wildflowers and grasses. There, in the middle, a blanket had been laid out, small candles lit to illuminate the setting. A basket sat in one corner, a bottle of fae wine held within with an assortment of pastries, breads, and cheeses. You realized quickly that your mate, the male you’d loved for damn near two centuries, was courting you. The thought thrilled you.
He led you to the blanket and motioned for you to sit next him. “I must confess, I never took you for a romantic,” you said looking from the candles, to the basket, and then to him. He was watching you again. He smiled, laughing a bit nervously, “I’m a lot of things,” he said and your eyebrow quirked. “Oh yeah? Like what?” You challenged him and he loved you for it. You made him feel easy to love, you made loving fun and freeing. Azriel had once only thought freedom could be found in fucking and flying, then he’d found you and he knew it was there too. In the smile of your lips, in the thrill of your touch, in the ease of your love.
“Well,” he started, moving his wings to lean into you, pressing a kiss to your exposed shoulder. The action caused you to shiver. “I’m a spymaster.” You snorted, “no shit.” A laugh rumbled in his chest. “I’m a bit shy as you well know, I’m quite fond of dancing, I’m—” he hummed the last letter, pausing his thoughts and moving his lips up your neck. “I’m in love with you,” he said biting into the flesh at the juncture of your collarbone and throat, cock hardening at the sound that rolled out of your mouth. “I’m going to take you right here, on this blanket, under the stars.”
You gasped, your hands moved find purchase in the hair at the back of his head, fingers winding through the strands, nails dragging at his scalp. His nose ran the length of your jawline before his lips found yours. He rumbled a small hum the instant his mouth touched your own. At first it was a gentle press, teasing you as he had done today in the kitchen at the House of Wind. The adrenaline racing up your spine made you feel like you might vibrate out of your skin. His hand reached up then, threading broad fingers into your hair as he took the kiss deeper. Tonguing the bottom of your lip until your mouth opened, his tongue stroking your own. Humming with contentment, he tilted your head, deepening the kiss at a new angle that had heat swooping down to your core.
You brought your left hand to his shoulder, fisting your fingers in the fabric there and pulling him closer. He understood your intention and leaned you back into the blanket, pleasure alighting each nerve as his body pressed into your own. He eased up on your lips and began a slow trek south, pulling the strap of your dress down the curve of your shoulder, leaving a love bite there that had you gasping. He kissed down the bust line of the dress, laving his tongue at the swell of your breast. Your breath was coming in pants and you pressed yourself up on your elbows as he moved further south, fingertips tracing the hem of your dress that had risen to the middle of your thigh.
He looked back to you and smiled, mischief playing in his eyes as he ran his hands up your thighs, the slow drag pulling the dress with it. “I’ve been thinking about your cunt for centuries,” he said, his lips on your knee, pressing insistently as they moved north. “I’ve been dreaming of making you come on my tongue since I met you.”
Your breath leaves you in one fell swoop as you feel his tongue at the juncture of your hip and thigh. His mouth was insistent at skin there, tonguing the lace of your panties before pulling them down your legs and off entirely. He picked up a foot, placing it to his chest as he traced the long line of your body with hungry eyes. You were panting already, dressed rucked up around your waist, straps fallen down your arms and breasts heaving. His gaze flowed south and landed on your pink cunt, glistening, begging for him. His eyes went back to your face then, and his titled his head to the side, “Will you let me eat your pretty little cunt?” He asked fingertips tracing the scars of your calf with reverence. He brought your foot up, kissing the inside of the ankle, then nosing his way over your scarred calf, suckling at the skin there. “Please,” he added, eyes moving back to yours as his mouth continued his ministrations.
“Mother above, Azriel,” you breathed and a laughed startled out of you, “you are mouthy.” He chuckled darkly then, nipping at your knee, taking special care to press a gentle kiss at the new scar there. “Is that a no then?” He said softly and your head fell back with a groan, exposing your neck to his view. “As if,” you said, head pulling back up and lolling to the side to rest on your shoulder. “I’ve thought about it too, and if you back out now I will explode.” He laughed again, freely this time, forehead resting on your thigh.
His eyes find yours again, and he kept them there as he traced his lips north. He nosed the juncture of your cunt and inner thigh, running a tongue along your mound. You gasped and eyes narrowed, watching him with rapt attention. He pressed a kiss to the top of your slit and his hands come up to open you to him, pulling the lips apart and tonguing the collected moisture there. Your head fell back as your elbows gave way, falling flat against the blanket.
“You taste better than I imagined,” he said before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. The moan that left you had his hips pushing into the ground to find relief as his cock begged for release. His tongue flicked against your clit as he sucked and hummed. He thought this might become his favorite place in all of Prythian. He thought that every bad thing that had happened in his life seemed insignificant now that he was able to worship freely between your thighs. He traced fingers up and paused to wet them on his tongue, before pushing his middle and ring finger in to the second knuckle, pulling them out and scissoring them back in again. His tongue found your sweet little button for a second time that night and he laved at it, listening to your cries as he pushed you to the brink. Azriel’s life had been a nightmare, but between your thighs, mouth on your cunt, walls fluttering around his fingers, he thought he’d been blessed by the Mother herself.
Your hips rocked up in time with his fingers and you cried as your gut twisted, the coil there tightening. “Az-“ you gasped. “Azriel,” you went a little whiny on the vowels of his name, and your hand reached down to thread your fingers into his hair, nails scratching and tugging the strands. He hummed, the vibration sending shocks up your spine. “Azriel, baby,” you gasped, coming up on an elbow again, rutting your hips into his face as he took you higher. He didn’t let up, suckling at your cunt, fingers finding the spongy spot on the backside of your clit that made the world go blank “Azriel!” you gasped again, hips stuttering out, “Fuck, fuck— oh.” In seconds you were reaching your peak, hips faltering, thighs twitching, toes curling into the hard planes of his back.
He pulled his mouth off of you, pressing kisses to your pubic bone as he moved north up your stomach. He eyes were alight with desire, the male was pure want and you were his last meal. He pulled his fingers from your cunt and trailed them up to rest at your neck as he slotted his body between your thighs and kissed you. The hedonism of tasting yourself on his mouth made you wetter, cunt pressing into the hard line of his cock, still restricted in his trousers. He moaned at the contact, mouth leaving yours to rest his head against your chin and gather himself. The sound sent a pleasurable shock directly to your core. You grasped the hand at your throat and brought his fingers up and to your mouth, tongue laving at them before taking them to the knuckle, and pulling back slow, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking, keeping your eyes on his. He bared his teeth the sight and ground his hard cock into you, the friction on your clit making your thighs twitch.
“My sweet little mate,” he cooed. “Love of my life,” he nosed your cheek, his fingers still in your mouth. “All my dreaming has been put to shame it would seem,” he pulled his fingers from your mouth and replaced them with his tongue, his hands flying to his belt. He growled in struggle and you ventured a laugh. His eyes found yours and his jaw ticked, “keep laughing, sweet girl, I’ll fuck your throat next and you won’t come.” Your eyes went a little wide and a feline grin appeared on your face. “Mouthy indeed,” you said with glee as he finally got the buckle undone and pushed the pants down and off.
His shirt went next and your fingers traced up his exposed arms to his shoulders. “I’ve seen you shirtless a dozen times, and you still take my breath away,” you said softly, a hand resting on his pectoral. He laughed and went a little pink, before he pushed your dress up your body and over your head, leaving you bare. “I’ve always been impressed by your ability to so disarming,” he said, mouth finding the space above your breast as his hands came to cup them, fingers toying with the nipples. “It’s my favorite thing about you, you see me in a way I can’t even see myself,” he followed up.
Your eyes watered at the admission and your hands found his face, bringing his mouth back to yours as you kissed him again, tongue entwining with his. Your hands grasped his shoulders, as your leg found his hip and you pushed him over, onto his back. Your hands came to rest on his chest as you settled your weight on his lower abdomen. You could feel his manhood standing to attention, insistent at the curve of your ass and you reached around to grasp it, pushing your chest out for his greedy eyes. Taking him in long strokes, you ran your hand up and down, circling your thumb around the head. His eyes screwed shut as his breathing shallowed.
“Wanna know a secret, baby?” You offered, rocking your hips in time with your strokes. He whined then, the Lord of Shadows keened a little whine for you that had you ready to come right there. “Last time we hosted a gala, that night before Hybern,” you were panting, “all I could think about was taking you to bed.” His eyes opened and hazel was gone blacked out in pure desire. His hands found your hips and his own began to move in time with you. “I thought about riding you,” you said, twisting your hand in a way that had his breath guttering out of him. “I thought you might love me in the way you looked at me.” His eyes softened and he leaned up, hands tracing up your spine as he pressed kisses to your chest.
“I loved you that night and every night since,” he said before tonguing a nipple and sucking it into his mouth. “That dress you wore, my color, had me hard for a week.” You laughed then removing your hand from his cock and bringing both to his face, so you could kiss him. His hands slipped to your ass then, palming the cheeks as his tongue moved in tandem with yours. When you moved back from him, a string of salvia still connected you two, you reached up to comb fingers through his hair gently.
“I brought you something,” you said quietly, looking to the corner of the quilt where your bag had dropped ages ago. His brow furrowed, confusion showing in his features. “You don’t have to, but I brought some of that tart. If you want,” you offered the statement nervously, as if there was still a chance for rejection. Azriel’s heart went soft and his brain turned to mush.
“You want to accept it?” He questioned, hands sliding up your back and to your waist. You smiled and looked at him incredulously, “Of course I want to accept it, it feels like I’ve waited a millennia for you.” You’d laughed a bit and that feeling of home raced through him again. Gods, he was fucked.
You leaned off his lap, pulling the strap of your bag to you and unzipped it. There, packaged in a little glass container, lay a small slice of the berry tart you’d fretted over earlier in the day. “Nesta made some stupid comment about ‘cooking’ when I’d asked where you were,” you laughed in hindsight at the female’s leading words. “She knew because Cassian knew, he helped me with the food and candles,” Azriel murmured pushing your hair up and over your shoulder.
He pulled the container from your grasp then and opened it before picking the pastry up with his fingers, the same fingers that had been inside you minutes ago. Eyes on yours he took the first bite, your heart thrumming as the golden thread of your bond lit up like the sunrise. His eyes never left yours as he consumed the pastry in four bites, swallowing and pulling his fingers into his mouth at the remaining sweetness there.
The bond between you two was shining, strong and thrumming with love. ‘Hi,’ you tried, your thoughts reaching out to him. He smiled, laughing freely, and his voice came through clearly, ‘Hi, Little One.’ You choked out a laugh, eyes watering as you leaned forward to kiss him, tasting the berries on his tongue. ‘Can I make love to my mate now?’ He questioned down the bond and you laughed again. His hands were already tracing your hips as you leaned forward, hand reaching underneath to guide him into your cunt. Lowering yourself down, you rocked forward once then twice in order to take him to the hilt.
Mother above, he was big. His cock was thick and filled you wholly, pushing against your cervix making your eyes flutter in pleasure. You thought of the comment Mor had made about wingspan once decades ago and you heard him laugh, “I’m flattered, truly,” he said playfully, reading your thoughts and nipping at your shoulder.
You rose up again and set to riding him slowly, hips moving in long strokes as his hands traced your ass, pulling at the flesh there in time with your movements. You gave a experimental squeeze of your walls, and he keened a loud moan that had you speeding up your flow. “You keep that up, Little One and I won’t last,” he panted at your throat. “That’s rather the point,” you laughed breathlessly, your own hand moving to cup your breast, the other sliding down to circle your clit. His eyes traced the view greedily, moving down to the point where you connected, watching your cunt take him in full, his cock glistening with your shared wetness. He bared his teeth at the sight, a rumble lighting in his chest.
Just as your walls began to flutter with your impending orgasm, he grasped you and flipped you to your back, pulling your hands from your body and entwining your fingers with his own on each side of your head. He ground his pelvis in deep and your legs hitched higher around his waist. “Azriel, fucking Gods,” you called out at the switch in angle, the tip of his cock grinding into your cervix. He hummed at your throat, teeth marking you there as his hips pulled out and pushed in, grinding each time he bottomed out into you. His wings flared behind him and you thought you’d never seen a more beautiful sight.
“You take me so well, my love,” he panted, “you were made for me.” You whined then, cunt fluttering around him as he bottomed out deep and held it there, grinding his pubic bone into your clitoris. The pleasure raced up your spine and you thought you’d never be able to leave this place, might have to keep him inside you forever. He growled, reading your thoughts. “You want me to fuck this cunt forever?” He asked aloud leaning up, pulling his hands from yours.
You whined at the loss, but the sound died as he pulled your legs up his waist to his shoulders, kissing the scarred calf. He drew his cock out, only to slam back in. “Fuck,” you moaned out, voice going up two octaves. “You want me between your thighs for the rest of my days?” He said again, hips moving faster, your hands moving to your tits as they bounced from the impact. His eyes watched the movement and he bared his teeth again, turning his head to bite into the flesh of your calf.
“Azriel!” You called out again, pleasure zipped up your spine and you felt your stomach tighten. “Az, baby, I’m so close.” He chuckled darkly. “Be a good girl and come on my cock,” he said as his fingers traced down your leg to find your clit, rubbing the bundle in quick, timed circles. “Az- I-,” you barely got the words out before your orgasm overtook you, a long moan exiting your mouth as your cunt tightened around him, he ground into you and worked you through it, before dropping your legs back to his hips and pistoning deeper.
“My sweet mate,” he gasped at the skin of your throat, mouth tracing up to find yours, hands finding purchase on your thighs as he pulled you open, allowing him dive deeper. “My darling love,” he moaned and his tongue moved with yours, your hips pushing up to meet his thrusts, walls fluttering against his velvet length with the remnants of your orgasm.
You ventured your hand up his shoulder to the base of a wing and traced your fingers up the membrane to the bone. His eyes twisted shut, and he keened a low primal whine that had your cunt ready to come again. At the tightening of your walls, he groaned dark and deep, shadows seeping from him, as he pushed in, grinding against the innermost portion of you. His hips pulled out slightly and then pushed back in as his cock kicked, come spurting against your walls. He panted against your throat as his hands released their hold on your thighs and moved up your body before grasping your throat. He moved up to lean over you and his eyes found your own. He gave an experimental thrust of his hips and your eyes widened. Fucking Cauldron, he was still hard.
He laughed then, nuzzling at your mouth as he nipped at your bottom lip. “I’m giving you five,” his voice was deeper than you’d ever heard it, “and then I’m eating my come from your cunt and fucking you until the sun comes up.”
You gasped out a laugh as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. ‘They call it frenzy for a reason,’ you thought, kissing along his cheekbone and to his mouth. Gods, you were fucked.
#acotar fanfiction#acotar x reader#acotar x you#azriel shadowsinger#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel acotar#azriel spymaster#azriel supremacy#i love this bat boy sm#azriel fanfic#azriel smut#hoo boy this is nasty#Save a horse ride a bat boy am i right?#bat boys#bat boys x reader#azriel imagine#acotar imagine#acomaf#acowar#acosf#acofas#azriel acomaf#azriel acosf
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
calendar | csc
pairing: seungcheol x f!reader
genre: smut
word count: 3.1k
summary: the red mark on the calendar is one of seungcheol's favorites
warnings: minors do not interact, kissing, stimulation, swearing, petnames, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (don't do this), oral (f. receiving), breeding kink, cock sleeve (kinda), dirty talking
playlist: ➝ here
a/n: still a little (a lot) insecure about smut, but wanted to try writing this one. not proof read
please remember that comments and reblogs are extremely important
seungcheol stopped in front of the calendar in the closet, a smile tugging at his lips. the red circle around the date, signaling an important event he always waited a little more anxiously for.
not that having sex with his wife was something he couldn't do as often as he liked, far from that. if anything both of you were always eager to be with each other, even after so many years together. it had never gotten boring or dull at any moment. both of you always wanted to try new things and keep it interesting, mostly you. for seungcheol being buried deep inside you while you moaned his name was to closest thing he'd ever to heaven, if such a place even existed.
he gave up on the shirt, knowing fully well what the sight of him in nothing but sweats did to you. pair it with his wet hair and it was enough to drive you crazy. the good thing about being with someone for so long is knowing exactly what ticks the other person off, and what buttons to press. well, it could be both a blessing and a curse. in that moment seungcheol chose to believe that it was solely a blessing.
a small groan left his lips at the sight of you lying on your stomach, scrolling through your phone, in his shirt and black pair of panties — the one he bought you after there was a small accident with a few pieces of underwear.
the thing about ticks and buttons is that it works both ways and, obviously, seungcheol wasn't the only one who could play that game.
he crawled on top of you slowly and pushed your hair to the side so he could kiss the nape of your head. you sighed in contentment when you felt his weight on top of yours.
"look," you said, raising your phone slightly "hannie sent me pictures of his daughter today"
seungcheol looked at the smiling face of his friend with a little girl in his arms. it had been many years since he had seen jeonghan look quite that happy. of course that suddenly finding out about a child and suddenly needing to be a full-time dad wasn't the easiest thing in the world but he was playing it like a breeze. you swiped your finger and a picture of the little girl in a bright yellow dress greeted him. seungcheol smiled. yeah, she was cute and looked every bit like jeonghan, acted too. a little menace, she was.
"what does he want? if he's sending pictures he wants something" he chuckled knowing his friend well. everything jeonghan did had a purpose.
seungcheol sat back on his heels and slowly started to massage your shoulders over the fabric of the shirt.
"he asked if we can have gia tomorrow night, he has a work thing to go" you moaned lowly when seungcheol pressed on the not in your shoulder blade, "i said yes"
he laughed again. of course you had been quick to agree, it didn't surprise him. you had always loved kids and were always happily willing to have them for any amount of time needed. after you had gotten married it had gotten a little more frequent since most of your friends had decided to have kids at the same, and since jeonghan found out about his daughter it had gotten weekly. seungcheol never complained, he too loved kids and liked having them around, he especially loved the glint in your eyes whenever you looked at them running around the living room, breaking a thing or two.
"cheol" you said one day at the darkest hour of the night after rolling around in bed for hours, voice barely a whisper as you played with his hair "i... should we start trying?"
it was too late, his mind was barely working, almost drowning in sleep for him to understand what you were saying but in hindsight, he should have seen it coming.
"trying what?" he asked turning around and wrapping you in his arms, his leg nesting between yours.
"for a baby"
that was how the calendar ended up hanging on the closet wall. your ovulation period was marked in a bright red marker.
"do you think it's really work or, maybe, a date?" you asked.
slowly seungcheol moved his hand lower, to the small of your back, pressing a little more tenderly where he knew you struggled with pain. he moved your, his, shirt up, adding a little more pressure as your body fully relaxed under him.
"jeonghan wouldn't date now," he said "gia is still getting used to him and us, he wouldn't add someone else to the mix"
you turned around under him, eyes narrowed. when you raised your arm to rest it under your head your shirt lifted a little, exposing the skin right over the elastic of your underwear. it was pretty, yes, with lace details on the sides but that mattered very little. seungcheol was far more interested in what was hidden under it.
"you're telling me that jeonghan hasn't fucked anyone since we got gia? a whole seven months ago"
seungcheol placed his hands on your waist, your skin warm under his touch. the corner of your lips tugged up at the expression in your husband's eyes. he was struggling to keep focus on the conversation both of you were heaving. jeonghan and gia were the least of his worries.
"i care very little about who jeonghan fucks" he said, voice hoarse as he leaned forward at the same time he pushed your shirt further up "all i care about is putting a baby in my beautiful wife"
he pressed a kiss to your naked skin. he had imagined it many times, you pregnant with his kid, your belly around. it had been one of the many reasons why he had woken you up in the middle of the night and fucked you dumb. he had never said anything, choosing to let you decide when it was time. when you were ready to have a baby. seungcheol knew that it was going to change things for you a lot more than it would for him, it was also your body.
if it were up to him, you'd have a least two kids running around the house.
"you have some work to do then," you said, laughing.
almost like a reflex, you tangled your fingers in his hair. you sighed as seungcheol started his exploratory kisses. some were light, like the touch of a feather, loving, in a worship manner. others were the exact opposite, harsher as he pulled your skin in between his teeth just for a second, to later soothe the spot with the tip of his tongue. he loved to leave tiny marks in your body, where no one else would be able to see them but him. but you knew they were there, it was a constant reminder of the night before and a reminder of what was still to come.
you spread your legs to better accommodate seungcheol as he pushed your shirt to your neck. you felt a little electric tension run over your skin when you noticed his eyes on you, taking in your every expression. you smiled when he pressed his thumb over your hard nipple, pinching it.
seungcheol took your boob into his mouth, biting your nipple at the same time he pinched the other one. involuntarily your back arched, your grip on his hair tightening.
he loved the sounds you made, how it usually started so low and small but he always managed to work you up enough to get you begging under him, on top of him. either way, you'd end the night pleading for him, for his cock.
"do you think today is the day?" he asked, trailing his kisses again down your stomach to your panties "do you think i can pump you full enough to get you pregnant?"
you expected seungcheol to tug at the sides of your panties and pull them down but instead, he kissed you over them. he grinned when he saw the small wet spot in your underwear.
"i barely started and you're already wet, baby?" he teased.
he ran his finger over your cunt still covered by the thin panties. your hips twitched under his touch, needing more than just light touches. but you weren't ready to give in to him yet. he was going to have to work harder if he wanted to hear you begging for more.
"not a word? playing hard to get tonight, i see" he pushed your underwear to the side, lightly blowing your clit. he had to contain the laugh that erupted in his chest "let's see how long it lasts"
you raised your hips as seungcheol used his index fingers to pull your panties down. you laughed when you saw the small piece of cloth being thrown over his shoulder. your laughter died as soon as you felt his warm, wet, tongue on your clit. he sucked the small bundle of never into his mouth at the same time he pushed two fingers into you. he was relentless, his pace devastating, not giving you a second to breathe.
the sounds, of his mouth on you as well as the wetness of your pussy, were obscene but they turned you on even further. you wanted, needed, more.
and the thing is, seungcheol was the giving kind of partner. whatever you wanted was yours, but you had to say it, loud and clear. for him.
"come one baby, just ask" he blew your clit again, this time using the tip of his thumb to lightly brush it "use your pretty little mouth and beg for me"
a curse left your lips when his fingers stopped moving and he pulled away from you. your orgasm that was right there, around the corner, suddenly gone, leaving only your throbbing cunt and ragged breathing as a witness.
you tried to grab his hand and push his fingers back but the was being a little shit, holding it behind his back.
"fuck, seungcheol," you said, partially annoyed, and desperately turned on "just eat me out, fuck me with your fingers. whatever you do just make me cum"
"your wish, wife, is always my command"
seungcheol wasted no second. his lips were around your clit and a third finger was added into to slit. it only took a few pumps for you to come undone under him. a mess of moans and curses. unsure of when exactly you had let go, your hand gripped his hair again, forcing his head closer to you, grinding his face against you, desperate for everything he had.
seungcheol used the edge of the mattress to apply some pressure on his throbbing cock. he was so hard it was painful so whatever friction he could get was welcomed.
every single one of your moans were met a stroke of his tongue and a pump of his fingers. it was torture, the most delicious and vicious kind of torture.
seungcheol only leaned back when he felt the shake in your legs subside, crawling back you. he pressed his thumb in your mouth, smiling when you opened and sucked him in. you were the most beautiful thing in the world, with your cheeks painted in a bright shade of pink, and two tear stains on the sides of your eyes. god, he loved you.
you could taste your own release in his finger when you circled his finger with your tongue. you grazed his skin with your teeth looking into his eyes. seungcheol hissed, wishing that it was his cock in your mouth.
"i know you would love it if i sucked you," you said "but i really need you to fuck me, right now, please"
you were going to be the death of him.
you pulled your shirt over your head and turned around, sticking your ass up while your chest was pressed against the pillow.
for a second seungcheol felt like a teenager who just found out he was about to fuck the hottest girl he had ever laid eyes on. he was quick to push his sweats off. he hadn't bothered with boxers, knowing exactly where the night would lead the two of you.
"i'm going to fill you up so good baby" he squeezed your ass and second later slapped it "so so deep there's no way you won't get pregnant tonight"
he ran his tip over your pussy a few times, coating himself in you. he knew that he could slide in without doing it but he also liked torturing you. your moans got a little more desperate every time rubbed against your clit.
whenever he took you bare the sensation was entirely new and different. yes, there were a few instances when both of you were in too much of a hurry, or sometimes it just didn't matter enough, to care or remember to take a condom, but ultimately both of you had always been careful. you took your pills, he carried a condom and life moved on. but even after months of no condom, no barrier at all between the two of you, seungcheol still felt his head get a little dizzy.
your walls adjusted perfectly to him, clinging around him, pulling him, demanding every single inch of him. he slowly pushed in until all he was deep into you, to the hilt.
you moaned against the soft fabric of the sheets, loving the burning sensation of the stretch. you pushed your ass high in the hair, wiggling it from side to side begging him to just move. the stretch of his dick deliciously painful still.
"cheol, move" you begged.
"this what you want?" he asked
seungcheol pushed your head further into the mattress, his hand on the back of your head, thighing your hair around his fist. finally he started to move, he pulled his cock all the way out and pressed it back in, hitting that one spot that made your head spin and little stars shine behind your closed eyes, over and over again. you squirmed when seungcheol pressed his weight over your body, moaning as he somehow got even deeper.
you moved your hand down your body, slowly circling your with the tip of your nail.
"cheol, fuck" you bit the pillow "faster, please, just fuck me"
he loved the neediness in your voice, how you completely forfeit with your no-begging police. the smell of your sweet vanilla soap disappeared now that your skin was coated in a thin layer of sweat.
seungcheol didn't change his rhythm, knowing that it was enough to drive you crazy and over the edge.
"are you touching yourself, baby?" he pulled on your hair, giving you a taste of your medicine. his dick throbbed when he saw the smile on your face "fuck"
he reached forward, slapping your hand away from your cunt. you cursed at him but the nasty words were quickly replaced with a moan when he pinched your clit, tugging and pressing, driving you fucking crazy on his dick. even so, his pace was slow.
"cum for me, baby" he whispered.
"let me ride you" you begged "i want to look at you when you breed me"
your words had always been the ruin of him. he almost came right there. he turned you around and sat on the bed, grinning when you cried when his dick left your pussy.
"i know, baby, but you were the one that wanted to ride me"
a small fuck you left your lips as you crawled on top of him. seungcheol moaned when you gripped him, your hand sliding up and down his length while you grazed his tip with your nail lightly. you aligned him to you and sank down in one swift movement, making both of you moan.
seungcheol was wrong, being balls deep into you wasn't paradise. no. paradise was being balls deep in your cunt while you rode him, tits bouncing in in his face, while you moaned his name again and again like a prayer, taking what you wanted from him. he cupped your breasts in his hands. your hands covered his, forcing your nipples between his fingers and squeezing.
"fuck. cheol" you said, eyes on his as you circled your hips before thrusting down on him again "i'm gonna cum. i need to"
your walls squeezed around him. seungcheol moaned as he held you by the hips holding you in place, while the pounded into you, finally, finally fucking you as fast and as hard as you wanted. he fucked you roughly, watching as his cock disappeared in your cunt, each thrust deeper than the previous one. seungcheol felt the muscles of his thighs and stomach squeeze at the same time you clenched around him, milking him.
he pressed his thumb to your clit and the scream you let out was enough to drive both of you to the edge. you let your body fall forward, and you bit that spot between his shoulder and neck. seungcheol continued to pound into you, fucking his cum as deep as he could, pushing it further into you making sure not even a drop was wasted.
it took both of you a couple of minutes to settle down, evening out your breathing, and making sure your legs were no longer shaking.
"seungcheol" you cried, finally looking at his face, kissing him, letting him invade your mouth with his tongue "i'm so full. it's so deep"
he could never, ever, get enough of you.
“don’t move baby, let’s make sure this one sticks”
you kissed the side of his neck, feeling his hot cum inside you while his dick slowly got flaccid. you loved to have him in you, just there, with you, as close as humanly possible, with nothing between the two of you. his personal cock sleeve, he had called you a few times.
“you say it like fucking me is a terrible task someone assigned you”
you felt the vibrations of his laughter before you heard it. you just closed your eyes and pressed your head to his chest, the sound of his heartbeats calming like a lullaby.
“fucking you is the one task i’ll never ask someone else to do in my place”
taglist: @wonwooz1, @mirtaspace, @feat-sun, @belladaises, @immabecreepin, @miriamxsworld, @aaniag, @byunparklimchoi, @k-drama-adict, @@maiamorrrrrrrrrrrr, @roguesthetic, @sofix-hc7, @moonlightgrleric, @mixling-blog, @haowonbins, @valgracia, @slut4donghyuck, @manutuankim, @shuabby1994, @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan, @sukiscones, @plumings, @shuasdrafts, @sweetlemontart, @bouclesdefeu, @dreamsbloomout, @sea-moon-star, @writingbarnes, @strawberryroseee, @lovely-ficsfor-me, @lixisoul99, @jjeongddol, @whoa-jo
if you enjoyed reading, please reblog and leave a comment, it really does mean the world to me and i would love to know your thoughts. thank you! 💕
if you want to be tagged in my next fics, please fill out this form
#svthub#k-labels#svt smut#seventeen imagine#seventeen x reader#seventeen x you#svt x reader#svt imagine#svt x you#seungcheol x reader#choi seungcheol x reader#scoups x reader#seungcheol x you#scoups x you#scoups#seventeen smut#seungcheol imagines#scoups imagines#choi seungcheol#seungcheol#s.coups#scoups smut#seungcheol smut
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
{note: *sigh* once again, unedited, not proof read, all characters are aged up. minors DNI.}
warnings: somnophilia?, nipple sucking, abt titty obsessed men
i keep thinking of how he’s so obsessed with boobs. even non sexually, stressed out?, his hands creep up under your top, just holding them. squeezing them, feeling their warmth. even in his sleep, he likes holding one titty in his palm. small or big, perky or not, he loves it. and when he wakes up earlier than you, feeling a little hot and bothered, his cock semi hard, he slowly lifts up your tee, his index finger tracing circles around your nipple. his breath warm on your nipples, causing them to harden. “mmh” you stir lightly in sleep but are too tired to wake up and notice what’s going on. he looks at you, to see whether you’re awake. he notices you’re still asleep, so he cups your breasts gently. both his index fingers, circling around your nipples, his eyes are fixated on them. he lowers his head slowly, taking one of your nipple into his mouth. his warm mouth, enveloping your hardened nipple. swirling his tongue, flicking his tongue on it, his hips slightly grinding against your thigh. he slightly whimpers, your tits either calm him down or turn him on a lot. his teeth slightly grazed your nipple, “mmmh” you stir awake lightly, look down at him. his eyes look into yours as his pretty lips are still around your nipple. “love?…” you softly say, registering what’s going on. you still keeps sucking on it slowly, looking into your eyes, his cock fully hard, pressing against your thigh. he pull away from your nipple, as a string of salvia connecting his lips to your nipple. he moves to other nipple, your hand finds his hair, gripping it as he sucks on the nipple harder. “ahhh” you moan softly, he pulls away lightly, pressing soft kisses on rest of your breast. “g’morning love” his voice rumbles in his chest, hoarse in the morning. “mmh morning baby” you say playing with his hair, as he keeps pressing kisses all over chest. “so pretty” he mumbles to himself, burying his face in between your breasts, grinding his clad cock against your clad sex. “baby….mmh” he tugs and pinches one of your nipples with his thumb and index finger eliciting a sharp moan. his soft kisses travel up to your neck, kissing that one spot that makes you shiver. his right hand slides past the waist band of your panties. “can we?…”
~ Choso Kamo! , Iwaizumi Hajime, Miya Osamu, Adriah Thomas, Chikara Ennoshita, Noritoshi Kamo, Megumi?, Rukawa Kaede, Miyagi Ryota!
~honorable mentions: Toji Fushiguro, Geto Suguru, Oikawa Toru, Mitsui Hisashi.
#kay! writes ☆#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk x reader#jjk toji#toji x reader#jjk imagines#jujutsu kaisen toji#toji smut#haikyuu#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu smut#choso kamo#jjk choso#fushiguro megumi x reader#slam dunk#iwazumi smut#iwaizumi hajime#haikyuu msby#ennoshita chikara#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru smut#jjk headcanons#kamo noritoshi#jjk noritoshi#geto smut#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen headcanons
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
analyzing some images (for fun)
so i found this pair of promotion images for good omens season 1 on the good omens reference library server and it’s hooked me so so bad im having feelings about it. we’re analyzing them now. not really for meta purposes just fun to see the parallels and differences :)
everything under the cut !
unique traits
aziraphale:
1) his plank background. its older, its crisp, it smells like wood from the screen. mmmm
2) the pencil shavings at the bottom. he does a lot of writing honestly, so i like this. also adds a messy and cozy vibe he always seems to have in that shop…. i like that blessed shop fr
3) his SUSHI. little soy sauce drops near it too—just the right amount of deliberate mess. our first formal introduction to aziraphale in the present day and beginning the Tomfoolery just happens to have sushi... i watch that scene and i go “yeah, that sums up aziraphale i suppose” very nicely. (they dont have sushi Up There) (im literally never gonna forget that)
4) the ray of light shining on the scene. tiny thing, but a bit of the heaven is peeking through..it also sort of blurs the whole image but i think thats just me.
5) and we’ve saved the best for last: the big whopper. the nice and accurate prophecies of agnes nutter, witch. I LOVE THAT BOOK!!!!!!! i cant remember if that ring stain was there but if it isnt in the show on the actual book i’d assume thats to add that ‘thy cocoa doth grow cold’ thing. ALSO. you know what’s being used as a bookmark in the pages?? a check for the ritz. he bookmarked their one chance for living . with a ritz check . MMMMMM. my GOD. that means so much to me even if i cant convey it in words. he KEEPS THE CHECKS 😭😭😭😭😭😭
crowley:
1) let me get my favorite out of the way. crowley’s glasses have fire in their reflection. we’ll talk about the glasses themselves later but the REFLECTION IN THEM. fucking FIRE, BOOKSHOP fire, PAIN, SRIVING THROUGH THE M-25, HELL, I DONT KNOWIM HAVING FEELINGS!!! i do believe this is a bookshop fire reference though, the flames feel too Familiar. the lengths people will go to to attack others 🤧
2) the leather seat background!!!!!!! probably meant to look similar to the bentley’s seats but i cant recall their texture, exactly. maybe just meant to convey modernness—unsure. still, its there <3
3) the tiny little crisp plant </3 its trying his damned best to stay perfect. it might a specific plant that means something, but i cant tell at thsi angle, so i’ll assume its a mini version of the ficus he keeps in the flat. its so SMALL and sitting in ANOTHER POT i CANT
4) the snake slithering!! black and red (in this image it looks orange lol) bellied scales!!!! slithering there, chilling, being crowley, showing hints. love it
5) QUEEN RECORD!!!!! TRYING TO OVERRIDE IT WITH TCHAIKOVSKY!!!!!! the tape over it does a reminisence to crowley’s handwriting, but in a clean ‘this made made to be a font’ way. not exactly just yet. ive become a fan of tchaikovsky recently. amazing darling wonderful crowley, trying to push the rock up the hill for eternity 😞
6) HIS LITTLE DEMON KEY THING. HOLDING A TINY LITTLE BENTLEY CAR KEY OHHH. thats how he doesnt lose the tiny key despite probably not needing one of those. and he CHOSE that intentionally probably. little wings and red circle….URGHHHHHHH
similarities
mmmmm now here’s the good shit. similarities! i’ll bullet point most of them but ohhhhh. ohhhh these. i’ll go from top to bottom as best i can….
1) one of their shoes, obviously. crowley has them iconic snakeskin shoes while aziraphale has his old loafers like the old loafer he is /pos
2) chateauneuf de pape wine bottle labels! (crowley’s is under his glasses, aziraphale’s is next to his shoe). oh my fucking god theyre MATCHING. the labels are old, battered, of course labeling the drink’s age, but mmmmm its these tiny details that get me going….
3) their respective drinks in their mugs—crowley’s a black mug coffee (or what looks to be coffee) and aziraphale’s angel mug tea (or what looks to be tea). i think about that mug sometimes. where did he get that from?? mystery for the ages….
4) their glasses, of course. crowley’s iconic sunglasses and aziraphale’s reading spectacles. i cant really tell the reflections in this pair, but if its supposed to be fucking fire, im done with this. im giving up forever
5) their own watches! aziraphale’s is visibily older while crowley’s is visibly modern, but they function just the same. also, crowley’s is set to 2:56:59 (presumably PM), which is around the time we see when crowley starts checking his watch at warlock’s birthday party. its almost time for disaster to strike!! 😃
6) and finally….their ties!! they have their own ties!!! or more accurately, neck accessories, but i digress. i mesn i assume its crowley’s neck tie, because the fabric looks… different. either way, crowley’s neck thingie is very whispy and aziraphale has his funky little bowtie i love so much,,,
okay thats it. there’s no canonical implications, any fantheories, none of the sort. just saw a pair of images and my mind went GOD DAMN!!!!!! theyre very important to me. i need to look at more promo material 😔
914 notes
·
View notes
Text
Aftermath
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (Mob!Bucky AU)
Word Count: 2,318
Summary: Bucky has kept you safe for as long as he's had you but the first time you don't follow his orders is definitey going to be the last.
Author's Note: These new pics are giving lots of mob/mafia vibes and I love it! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰
Warnings: some angst in the beginning and illusions to violence, mentions of a gun, Bucky is soft and there are lots of fluffy moments but he's pissed you didn't listen and he needs you.
You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing heavily when Nat doesn’t pick up the phone. She only called you two minutes ago. Right after she sent you a text telling you she needed to talk. Under any other circumstances you would never leave your perch at the bar. Never leave the safety of Bucky’s club and go against his orders.
However, your best friend needs you. She just had a bad break up and things are still rocky so any time she calls you were sure to be there for her. So here you are, standing on the sidewalk outside Bucky’s nightclub, phone pressed to your ear and your foot tapping rapidly against the concrete.
Bucky told you about the heavy tension building between him and a rival boss trying to impede on his territory. He told you that your safety was his first priority. That’s why you were with him at his club right now. He didn’t want you out of his sight.
But you were only just right outside the door…
You’ll try Nat one more time then go back inside and wait for Bucky like he asked.
The phone starts ringing and you hold your breath, hoping she’ll answer. Just as you hear her voice on the other end a car pulls up at the curb and with one glance the occupants have you swiftly turning on your heel and heading back toward the doors of the club.
“Nat,” you say quietly. “Are you ok?”
“I’m having a rough night,” she sighs. “I need your opinion on something.”
“Of course.”
You’re walking at a brisk clip, realizing that during your musings you had wandered farther from the door than you intended to.
Nat is still talking but the sound of your blood rushing through your ears starts to drown out any other sounds.
Four men get out of the car, none of which you recognize. You need to get inside quickly. One of them, carrying a baseball bat, twirls it lazily in his hand as he saunters closer, looking you over appreciatively.
Apprehension shoots up your spine, intuition guaranteeing that they’re here to start trouble.
“Nat I have to go. Call Bucky.”
She starts to reply but you hang up before she can, hoping she heard the trepidation in your voice and does as you asked.
Before you can reach the entrance, two of them lunge in front of you and block your progress.
“Where are you goin’ so fast beautiful?” One of the men asks.
“Excuse me,” you say.
A third man circles up behind you.
“Let me by,” you tell them.
The man holding the baseball bat ignores you.
“You belong to Barnes don’t you?”
Your suspicions are right. These are bad men and they are definitely looking to cause some trouble for your husband. And you.
You shrink back on purpose, appealing to their inflated arrogance and hoping they will underestimate you.
“Please. Just let me go.”
The man with the bat laughs as he runs the coarse wood along your bare calf.
“Think your man will miss you?”
Before the bat reaches your thigh you smack it away. Even though the attempt is most likely useless you’re hoping to pass more time. One of the men behind you snakes a hand around your elbow and yanks you toward him.
“Get in the fucking car baby,” he sneers. “It’s for your own good.”
The fourth man, still in the car, pushes open the back door and lets out a whistle.
“Come on gorgeous. I’ll keep you warm for Barnes.”
You take a deep breath as they propel you toward the car and only put up a small amount of resistance. As soon as you sense they are under the false impression that you’re coming willingly, the hand on your elbow weakens and you act.
With sharp and quick movements you reach for the baseball bat now dangling loosely from the leader’s hands and grab it, swinging it in a large arc to buy yourself some room.
Two of the men jump back, having been caught off guard, but it connects with the leader’s rib cage and he let’s out a vile curse, falling to his knees.
You back up as the other two men approach. Unfortunately, it’s in the direction away from the doors.
“He should have locked this one up,” the man closest to you laughs. “She’s full of fire.”
“And I’m going to enjoy that,” he leader says as he stands, still holding his ribs.
You bring the bat down hard as he lunges for you, but he dodges the weapon and barrels himself closer until he can wrap a strong arm around your waist.
The bat is ripped from your hands and your back is plastered against the man’s chest, his hand creeping up between your breasts to wrap around your throat.
He squeezes hard, tight enough to cut of your air and reflectively your fingers claw and try to pry his hand away.
You try to focus, getting ready to go limp and convince him you’re out cold, so you can somehow disable him.
Just as you’re about to put your plan into action the front door of the club flies open, hitting the side of the brick building with enough force to crack the metal.
Through your dimming eyesight, you can make out several men, including Bucky, before his ferocious growl of denial echoes through the air around you.
It startles the man choking you enough that he eases up on the pressure, allowing you to suck in precious oxygen.
Guns are drawn just before your knees hit the concrete and your stomach twists with renewed fear.
“Bucky,” you whisper, getting to your feet and stepping closer to him.
His haunted gaze makes you swallow hard and you can see the emotional battle written all over his handsome features. With his long finger poised on the trigger, he clearly wants to end the man who had his hands on you.
Without a word he tears his attention away from you, indicting your captor with a nod of his head.
“Steve.”
Steve, his own gun held in a tight grasp, moves in front of Bucky and toward the other man.
“He doesn’t go anywhere,” Bucky seethes.
The other two men from the rival group, still outside of the car, lower their weapons, watching with no emotion as Steve wrestles their leader to the ground with the gun to his head.
Finally, they let out a string of curses and hop back into the car, leaving their ‘friend’ behind as they peel away from the curb.
Bucky motions to Clint and Sam. “Follow them. This ends tonight.”
As Clint and Sam rush off to follow Bucky’s order he slowly saunters forward, the open collar of his shirt blowing wider in the light breeze.
He picks up the bat with a nonchalance that contradicts the tightness of his body and swings it deftly in his metal hand. When his fingers close around the handle you hear the wood crack under the pressure.
Bucky comes to a stop directly over the left-behind leader, and his gaze meets yours for a brief, heavy second, before he raises the bat high and brings it down with enough force to make you gasp.
Your heart races out of control, breathing shallow in your ears. The bat connects with the sidewalk next to the man’s head, sending shards of wood in every direction.
Your relief is short lived.
Bucky crouches down and looks the cowering man straight in his eyes.
“You. Are a dead man.”
Slowly and purposefully he rises to his feet and holds his hand out for you. You swallow the hard lump in your throat and place your fingers in his. In a split second you’re swept into his arms and tugged against his hard chest.
He drags you toward his car and tucks you into the passenger seat, buckling your belt and then slamming the door shut.
Through the closed window you can still hear him shout to Steve. “You know where to take him. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
The silence stretches long and thin through the car and you can almost feel Bucky’s rage. You open your mouth to speak but promptly shut it when you hear his huff of warning.
He hates the feeling of fear so instead he welcomes the anger, focusing on it, wishing it’s enough to block out the image of you being choked, your feet scraping at the ground and hands clawing at your neck.
If he dwells on it too long his whole word will collapse and he has to get you home. To safety.
At the reminder of what he saw as he walked out of the club, his grip tightens on the leather steering wheel, almost making the car swerve.
When he pulls up in front of your house he checks his surroundings before driving in through the gated driveway. He looks to you, a silent demand to wait, before he gets out of the car and does another sweep of the area.
Once he deems it safe he opens your door and helps you out of the car.
When you’re safely inside the house he leaves you standing just inside the door, inside the large and opulent foyer, as he flies around the nearby rooms and checks every window and lock.
Your gaze follows him the entire time, trying desperately to draw him in and away from the rage. He staunchly defies it and after he feels satisfied the house is safe he takes you by the arm and leads you toward your shared master bedroom.
He walks to the nightstand and opens the drawer, reaching deep into the back to retrieve a gun.
“Bucky, please. Will you just talk to me?”
He can feel you standing close.
“You will stay in this room, with the door locked, until I come back. Anyone tries to get in that isn’t me, you shoot them. Understand?”
When your silence becomes too much he turns to you, keeping his eyes steady as he pleads.
“Tell me you’ll listen. That you understand.”
You take a deep inhale but still don’t speak.
“I’m waiting for my answer doll.”
You move closer and everything inside him tenses up.
“Don’t,” you whisper.
You lay a hand on his chest, immediately making him tremble from head to toe. His eyes close defensively as your hand moves higher and sneaks under the open buttons of his shirt then to his neck and finally into his hair.
Your lips press to his neck.
“Please Bucky. Don’t leave me. Stay.”
He shakes his head, unable to speak and it only makes you drag your lips higher, along his jaw until they hover just above his mouth.
A groan leaves his parted lips before he can stop it.
“I’m scared. I need you.”
Your lips brush over his, once, twice. The hand in his hair runs smoothly along the back of his neck and then coasts over his broad shoulder and down his chest.
“I have to go doll.”
His words are gritted and tortured before his name leaves your lips in a soft whisper.
“Where are you going?” you ask.
“You know where I’m goin.’ Don’t make me say it.”
When he notices the glossiness of your eyes it strips him bare and he falls back a step, ready to fall to his knees for you.
“Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?”
He’s shouting now.
“If I hadn’t gotten to you in time? One minute later, baby. One fucking minute!”
Your fingers tremble as you reach for him.
“I know, I…”
“You would have been gone. How can you expect me to survive that.”
He breaks off, not able to put the horrifying thought into more words.
“Fuck. I’m so mad at you doll. So mad. But all I can think about is how I need to be inside you. Need to feel you wrapped around me. Feel you everywhere.”
You tightly grasp the lapel of his jacket and drag him closer. He comes easily. Willingly.
“Bucky,” you whisper. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just thought I’d be outside for a second. Nat needed me…I never thought…”
Every word you speak continues to topple the reinforced barrier of anger he’s built. The only thing keeping it standing is that there’s still some physical space between you both.
But then you take a step closer and curl your fingers in the hem of your dress to draw it up over your head, the whole time letting your knuckles and hands brush along his heaving chest and every ounce of his self-control vanishes.
His heated gaze rakes over you and his hands fist at his sides.
You press yourself against him and deliberately untuck his shirt, slipping your hands underneath the lush fabric and running your fingernails up his rigid stomach. His muscles contract beneath your fingers.
“I need you baby doll. So badly.”
You unhook your bra and drop it to the floor, tingles racing over your skin as his jaw grinds with his devouring stare. You lower your hand to palm and squeeze his straining arousal.
“You can have me now Bucky. Now and always.”
His expression softens long enough for you to catch the brightness in his eyes and then his mouth is on yours, his hands frenzied as they grasp and smooth over every inch of your bare skin. He never breaks the kiss as he walks you backward toward the bed, letting you gently fall to the soft mattress before he settles himself between your spread legs.
“I can’t touch all of you at once and it drives me crazy,” he whispers against your lips as his hand slides down between your legs. “I need everything, always.”
@hiddles-rose @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife @lizette50 @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @kmc1989
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x you#mob!bucky#mob!bucky x reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes x female reader#mob!bucky barnes#bucky x reader#mob au#sebastian stan#sebastian stan x reader
894 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fae! Adjacent Danny, adjacent bc I’m really tired and can’t remember all of the rules.
Even before he died, there was something off an out Danny. It’s why his bullies existed, and why his friends were so loyal.
Danny was fae. Kind of. Different, to say the least. Those who fit in instinctually felt a sense of weirdness, of a just barely there shiver. Those who were outcasts loved it.
It stands to reason that when Danny moved to Gotham, everyone and their goddamn cousins loved him. Gotham was made of misfits, and Danny was one of their own.
A boy who could have been his own brother walked into his store. Danny glanced up at the slight ting of the doorbell. A head full of fluffy black hair, eyes bluer than the skies, and a camera hanging its heavy weight against the boy’s neck.
The boy glanced down at the circle- the very obvious circle- Danny made of polished stones and gems that was placed on the side of the counter.
The boy looked at him, nerves apparent in his posture, and stepped into the circle. Danny straightened. Ah, a customer.
“I came here to make a deal.”
“I see. And what is it that you desire?”
The boy puffed up and handed Danny a written contract.
“The full and complete revival of one Jason Peter Todd, buried at Gotham Memorial on lot #537.”
Danny glanced through the contract. It was as foolproof as possible.
“Very clever. But you’ve forgotten something.”
“What?”
Danny smiled a small eldritch thing at the boy. “There is always a price, little sparrow.”
“I’ll pay it.” The boy said.
“And what if what I want…” Danny placed a thumb under the boy’s eyes. He must learn not to be going around and making deals with beings like Danny. “Are your eyes?”
The boy trembled.
“You can have them in exchange for the contents… the contents of that paper being completed.”
“And what if what I want is… your full name?”
A terrible price. Once you gave people like him your name, you could never come back.
The boy closed his eyes. “Okay. Okay. You can-” the boy opened those eyes again and looked at Danny with determination. “But only after you complete the tasks.l
Danny wasn’t fae. He was almost one, yes, but he was always a little more human than the rest of his kind. It made him gentle. To them, it made him weak. The fae are rarely ever kind, and Danny was made of kindness.
“This price, I will not take it from you.” Danny raised a palm when the boy made to protest. “Instead, it will be taken from your… brother himself, for that will be the nature of his revival.”
“Are you sure you don’t want my name? Or- or something?”
Danny smiled.
“Not while you are within my circle, little sparrow.”
“Why do you call me that?”
Danny smirked. “One day, I might even tell you. For now, we will complete your contract. The price…”
The boy tensed up.
Danny pointed at the camera. “The price will be that camera. You may keep the pictures.”
“Deal.” The boy’s face lit up. Danny grinned with a bit with too much teeth.
“We have a deal.” And Danny released the boy with his- no, with Danny’s- camera from the circle. When he stumbled out of it, Danny gestured to the door, and flicked the switch that connected to the sign, turning it from Open to Closed.
“Lead the way, little Sparrow.”
The boy stared at him… then stuck his hand out.
“I’m Tim.”
Danny laughed. “I’m Danny. Don’t go making deals with people like me if you can help it, kid.”
#do not take advice from me that involves the fae#I have the memory of a goldfish#and once I saw a perfectly circular ring of mushrooms on campus#and went wow what a perfectly round ring of mushrooms#and then went what if there was a body buried underneath there?#and then went what if I walked into it? and then I walked into it#if the fae were real#I’d die first#dcxdp#danny phantom#batman#Tim Drake
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Cruel Summer
Fandom: Bridgerton
Summary: Following your romp with Benedict Bridgerton in his art studio, he asked your brother for your hand! Now you're on your honeymoon, and you're getting a little bored, posing for him. A lady must find ways to amuse herself!
Length: 2.1k
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader
Content Warnings: Oral sex (male receiving), Penetrative vaginal sex, unprotected sex, light bondage, food play.
a/n: This is an anonymous request for a continuation of 'Guilty as Sin'.
Bridgerton master list
(tag list)
Benedict Bridgerton escorting you to view his artwork, at his private studio, was just the beginning of your story. After sneaking around behind your family’s backs for a small while, Benedict gathered enough courage to ask your eldest brother’s permission for your hand.
This seemed strange to the y/l/n family, not one of them had ever seen the two of you together, which showed how much attention was paid to the middle child. Benedict made sure to ask you in the Bridgerton drawing room, just before family tea, for everyone to see. He made such a big to-do, confessing his love to you, before every member of the Bridgerton family in attendance. It felt particularly safe there, amongst people who took interest in who you were as a person.
It was bittersweet to have siblings who offered their time, their attentions, and their hobbies freely. You learned so many new things from each of them, from pall-mall, to sewing, even horse riding. In six months, you were married and moved into the Bridgerton house for the meantime, until after your honeymoon. You would never outright tell Benedict you did not want to move out, but he felt it, he knew.
“My love” Benedict whispered, shaking your shoulders gently. Honeymooning in Paris was something the two of you had instantly agreed upon. So far, two weeks of sleeping late, making love, and eating copious amounts of divine food was your only concern. Of course, there were a lot of other lovely things Benedict had planned for your honeymoon – river boat rides and romantic dinners, every moment between locations filled with fine bread, wine, and cheese.
“Yes, my love?” You grumbled, rolling away from him, clearly having not had enough sleep.
“You must wake up, it is midafternoon!” Benedict exclaimed with a chesty laugh, rolling you back into him and tickling your sides. You howled with laughter, pushing him away playfully, leaning up to distract him as only you knew how. His lips were warm and wet against your own, seductive, and luscious.
“You must come downstairs! The housekeeper has left us a feast and I wish to paint my gorgeous wife” Benedict slid his hands around your naked body, lifting you out of bed as you groaned.
“Again?!” “My darling, I’ll be painting you until death takes me” Benedict chuffed, sliding sideways between doorways and down the stairs to the sitting room.
“What if death takes me first?” You smirked back, figuring you had him cornered here.
“I have made God promise I am to go first. And even so, I’ll have every detail committed to memory and these paintings and sketches of you now to keep me company” Benedict squeezed you in his arms, he didn’t like to joke about parting ways, in any sense. It was his truest nightmare, his deepest fear.
Benedict set you down in the sitting room and gestured to what he and the house keeping staff had readied. Paint, canvas, a staging area - littered around the room were bowls of fresh fruit, bottles of wine, candles surrounded by plates of cheese, oil, and bread. You relaxed back against his chest, his arms wrapping around you, cupping your breasts sweetly. You giggle a little, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. He nodded to your position for the rest of the day, a chair with the back faced to a very high window, casting a streak of sunlight down upon the spot.
There you sat, for hardly an hour before your mind began to wander, circling Benedict in your mind like a shark in open water. You had learned to become comfortable being nude for long periods of time these days, however Benedict had learned nothing of your persuasion or power when your attentions were dashed. Your movements started slowly, daintily taking your hands to your knees, and spreading your legs wide upon the chair. Resting a little, relaxing your back and cupping your own breasts. Your fingers gently grazing your nipples. But nothing, no attention from your husband. He sat close to his canvas, squinting into the detail of his work, his realm of perception clearly inhibited. With a huff and a light moan, you continued to palm at your own breasts, fingers trapping your nipples in a pulling motion- you decided to pretend Benedict wasn’t here. Suddenly, taking notice, you watched as his brush left the canvas, his mouth hung open a little and he removed his glasses, almost tossing them to the floor.
“What are you doing, darling?” He mumbled, swallowing hard. Your hands ran down your mid-section, over your belly and down your thighs sensually, soft mewls slipped from between your lips. Benedict loved the sounds you made.
“I’m just amusing myself, continue on with your painting my dear” Your replying comment was nonchalant in the best way. Benedict almost looked offended that you would suggest he could go back to painting.
“How do you suppose I paint, while my wife ravages her own body before me?” He blinked at the audacity of you.
“Well, dear one, this is what you have chosen for this afternoon’s activities… Now, you must endure” You smiled, sliding your hand between your legs, dipping your finger in the wet warmth there. Benedict shuddered, wishing any part of him were exchanged with your finger.
If there was anything you had learned about Benedict in the last six or seven months, it was that his desire for you was consistent and all encompassing. Benedict watched on as your fingers circled your clitoris, you moaned and exhaled gently - his paint brush never did return to the canvas. Beads of sweat formed on his brow line, the hot, French summer finally taking its toll in the late afternoon. You reached to the small stool next to you, extracting the tiniest jar of honey. You looked into Benedict’s eyes, holding the jar above your body, dangling your head back and pouring a steady stream of honey over your chest. The sun glistened, reflecting little pools of light off your sticky, sweet skin.
Taking your finger, you swept up your belly from your navel, placing your finger on your tongue in clear view of him, and that was his very last straw. Benedict threw his paintbrush to the ground, thrusting himself up and out of his chair, to march across the room to you.
“What do you think you are doing, wife?” Benedict’s voice rasped, his eyes were so dark, the colour had all but gone.
“Playing, my love” You replied cheekily, sucking another nip of honey off your finger. He all but growled watching your finger slip between your lips, his breath quickening in sheer lust for you.
“Are you punishing me for getting you out of bed?” Benedict’s face was so close now, his nose tip to tip with yours. There was such tension in his jaw, his teeth clenched hard in his fierce need of you. You fluttered your lashes back at him, refusing to answer with your words.
“Do you have even a semblance of an understanding of what you are doing to me? This is unbelievably cruel,” He breathed heavily down on you, desperation flooding his body and adrenaline surging behind, “You can’t begin to imagine the things I want to do to you right now” His stubble gliding across your ear and cheek, making you shudder.
“Show me then,” You challenged, “You are my husband after all”.
Benedict’s hands slowly moved to his shirt, shedding it, and throwing it somewhere behind him. He acted with a sureness and a strength you hadn’t yet experienced, but it was drawing you in. Undoing his pants, Benedict took his hard member into his hands, stroking himself against your chest, lathering it in honey. His other hand wove into your hair, tangling the perfect hold, bringing you forward.
“Oh. Goodness. Seems I’ve made quite a mess of myself… Wife, help me clean it up” He smiled smugly down at you.
Something feral, untamed, was unleashed inside you, your eyes darkening, “Certainly, my lord”.
As your tongue reached out to meet his tip, his head lulled back in pleasure, his hand still wrapped around the base of him. Your lips parted slowly, encasing his first inch, and swirling your tongue around to suck the honey from him. Benedict exhaled headily, his breaths deep, but quick with the slightest grunt mixed in. The way he sounded, even now, made you wetter and wetter.
There was something maliciously keen in Benedict’s eyes as he watched from on high, your pretty mouth sucking all the honey off him and then some. His body gently rocked forward, his hand heaving your head forward, onto him in a more perverse manner. His head hung back in greedy caution, grasping to the very last straws of his gentlemanly nature as you sunk to the base of him, your tongue wriggling slyly underneath.
His fingers grew taut in your hair, reefing you backwards. His laugh was low, both impressed and challenged by your ministrations. In the next moment, Benedict had hauled you up and over his shoulder, he was charging up the stairs, mad with temerity.
Entering the bedroom, he threw you down on the bed, scrambling for any piece of material in reach, he began ripping. Four pieces of silk fabrics in his hands, he loomed over you in profound ownership. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, Benedict taking each wrist and ankle, tying them to each to their respective corner post of the bed.
“There” He stood, hands on his hips, proud of his work, “There’ll be no more of that”. Clearly touching yourself had had a dire effect on Benedict’s work ethic.
Kneeling between your thighs, his naked body unjustly out of reach, Benedict’s supercilious smile sick with goofy dominance. He thumbs over your folds, his finger descending, extorting whines of pleasure you never knew existed within you. Broad strokes of the most painful, unapologetically evil gratification. Benedict’s tongue flicked over his lips hungrily.
“I need you” The words escaped you violently, the thrill of his touch, his charming smile becoming all too much for you. He ignored you and continued another moment or two, reducing you to a begging mess beneath him.
“Shall I oblige you, my marvellous bride?” His grin was jubilant and all knowing, his hands came down on your wrists, pressing them into the bed. Benedict’s brutal, familiar kiss sown into your lips permanently, as he pushed inside of you with surprise.
“Y/n” He groaned, growled with unrepentant lust. Your eyes cast wide, the length of him stretching you mercilessly while he thrust in and out. His villainous face claiming your entire consciousness as he used your body to his pleasure, decadent facial expressions, and damnable sounds he was delivering straight to your right ear.
“You feel unimaginably perfect” Benedict groaned, your moans joining in alongside his.
Hands grasping for silk to hold onto, you longed for your own release, grinding your hips back against Benedict’s. His movements became more ferocious, keeping up with the sounds you were making. Frenetic energy began to move through your body, your ravenous thirst for him finally quenched. Every muscle in your body engaged in vivid contortion, Benedict pressing into you as deeply as he possibly could before his own body found its own powerful release.
Covered in sweat and honey, you laid tangled together for a moment before Benedict recalled your wrists and ankles were tied. He chuckled with giddiness, sitting up to admire his knots.
“You look fantastic like this, perhaps we should do this more often” He suggested sweetly. His thumb caressed the side of your face, your panting, tired body unable to give a response. Benedict littered your face and neck with loving pecks.
“We could be one person and I still would never be close enough to you. No amount of time with you will ever satisfy me. You are the centre of my world” Benedict whispered gently. Every day you were reminded of the intoxicants his poetic mind dabbled into every sweet thing he said to you.
In another instant, Benedict had sprung from the bed, running downstairs. You laughed, thinking he must be returning with some of the food the housekeeper had left strewn about his romantically planned afternoon.
Instead, Benedict returned with a new canvas and his implements. Your mouth fell open all on its own, blinking furiously in his direction as he set himself up off the side of the bed.
“If you could just stay there, like that, that’d be great!” Benedict’s grin, excruciatingly exquisite, and concocting. He held himself with such pride in his agendum, cockiness seemed to fill the room in a potent manner.
“BENEDICT!?” You squealed, tugging frantically on his bindings, your laughter filled with rich resolve.
--------------------
tagging: @cringycat24 // @blckbarbiedoll // @freyagallileaevans // @junkie05 // @rosabeetroot // @flamewriterr //
If you'd like to be added to this tag list, please let me know!
#fanfiction#bridgerton#bridgerton fandom#bridgerton fanfiction#bridgerton season 3#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x fem!reader#benedict bridgerton x reader#bridgerton oneshot#bridgerton imagine#bridgerton netflix#bridgerton x reader#x reader#benedict bridgerton fanfiction#benedict bridgerton imagine#benedict bridgerton smut#bridgerton smut#x y/n smut#bridgerton x y/n#fanfic#benedict bridgerton honeymoon#anon#request
915 notes
·
View notes
Note
Jade I’ve been WAITING and HOPING for you to ask about spider verse and/or Miguel requests. He is the epitome of grumpy love interest falls for sunshine reader, would you maybe write something where he’s like in the midst of being scary and intimidating and then when reader walks in he is trying to maintain that image in front of whoever else is there but she just like totally ignores it and basically exposes how soft he is?
Obviously feel free to take or leave whatever parts of that you like I just love grumpy x sunshine
SPOILERS FOR SPIDER-MAN: ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE BELOW
thank you for your request! for you my love, grumpy (lovesick) miguel x sunshine spidergirl!reader, 1.5k
Miguel spends a lot of time arguing with Peter B. Parker, or as you've so fondly nicknamed him, Sweatpants-Man. Well, Miguel spends a lot of time yelling at him. It stopped for a while; Peter B. Parker took some time away from the Spider Society, but eventually he returned with a brand new spider. A baby girl.
You linger at the door, startled to find him in company, but pleased when he isn't yelling as loudly as he could be. He looks desperately as though he wants to shout, and is holding back through sheer force of will, his eyes widened and his hair falling in unruly waves over his forehead, strands of it curled into his eyes.
Miguel is a worrier. It isn't his fault. He's a great man with responsibilities beyond his control, and he may not always react how he should, but he tries his best. You don't agree with everything he does, but you like him. You adore him. For all of his goodness, his bravery, and the smile he gives you when you're alone.
He's clearly troubled by something.
"I don't really see the harm, I won't tell him a thing," Peter B. Parker says.
"Why do you refuse to listen to me? No. End of discussion."
"I think we should reopen the discussion," Peter B. Parker says.
He and Miguel are friends, you think. They would have been best buddies by now if Peter could abide by Miguel's rules. Then again, you ignore the rules often and indiscriminately, and Miguel likes you.
He's scraping his hair out of his eyes now, a fierce glare fixed on Peter's face, and you have the urge to go in there and try to persuade him to give Peter whatever it is he's asking for. You're almost certain you could do it.
Not through your sheer mastery of the persuasive arts, though you have mastered them, but because Miguel O'Hara has a soft spot for you. He tries to hide it and you refuse to let him. You haven't tried to kiss him or anything (you secretly aren't that brave) but you run circles around him for fun, only letting him boss you around every now and then to keep things loose. You could be much meaner about the whole thing: what is so humiliating as falling for your lackadaisical subordinate? But you don't hold it against him, because he likely isn't finished falling yet, and because you really do like him.
You pull your mask off of your face and then your gloves, shoving them into a concealed pocket on your thigh.
"Miguel," you murmur, knowing he'll hear you no matter the volume, "what's wrong?"
Miguel doesn't glance your way.
Peter B. Parker's shoulders sag in relief at your appearance. "Thank god you're here," he says.
You hadn't realised Peter knew who you were. "I'm here," you repeat mildly.
"Tell Miguel that the risk involved with visiting Earth-1610 is super, duper small."
"Well, it is negligible," you murmur, though Peter's quest isn't your prerogative.
Miguel groans loud and unapologetically.
You stand near Miguel and look up at him. He's ridiculously tall. You’d have to crane your neck if you stood at his feet. You maintain some distance and look him over from a gentler incline, cataloguing the dark circles under his eyes for the hundredth time. They don't look too bad today, but you wish he'd get more rest.
He has a very fierce face, but you know how it softens when he laughs. It's hard to find his glaring intimidating when you've witnessed the white flash of sharp teeth as he smiles, the way his eyes light up and his eyebrows relax from their stern set when you bring him something to eat on late nights. It's almost always smothered as soon as it happens, but it does happen.
"The risk involved is not super small," he says, still not looking at you, "the risk involved is actually incredibly big, and it isn't worth it."
Peter puts his arms out just as Mayday drops from the rafters above. You huff a laugh at his coordination and Mayday starts to laugh, her knitted beanie drooping into her eyes.
"Hi, baby," you say softly, reaching out to hold her hand. She squeezes your fingers.
"It's worth the risk. Absolutely, it's worth the risk, and I would argue that me visiting would actually strengthen the state of the multiverse–"
"In what scenario–"
"–and, like, make your job easier." Peter stops Mayday from climbing up your shoulder.
"If there's one thing you've never done, Peter, it's make my job easier. I can't believe you're asking me again," Miguel says, taking a big breath, like he's going to pop.
You step away from Peter to catch Miguel's attention. When his eyes lock onto yours, you smile as fondly as you're able, the kind of smile you know he likes. Your eyes widen just a touch and your eyebrows rise, the corners of your mouth not quite dimpling. It's a smile that says all the same stuff you love to say aloud. Hi, handsome. What's got you so stressed today?
"Don't be like that, Miguel," Peter says.
You tilt your head to one side. "You don't look very well," you say.
"I'm fine." There's a thread of gentleness there, almost indistinguishable from his serious tone. "Or I would be, if Peter would listen to me for once."
"I'm listening, man, I just think you should see sense."
Miguel's face flickers like he wants to correct him, but he keeps getting caught on you. Nothing specific, just that his gaze lands on your face or your shoulder or your arm before he looks at Peter, and all the steam rushes out of him. He’s trying not to smile at you.
"I see sense," Miguel insists. It's like he wants to be angrier than he has, gritting his teeth weakly. "It's not feasible right now."
You smile at that. Right now. You're not sure he's ever said something that could lead to a compromise. You are sure that he hadn't meant to. Peter is understandably thrilled, hiding his own smile as he puts Mayday back into her carrier.
"Alright. Well, I've gotta take her home. But I'll see you both again soon," Peter threatens, wiggling his eyebrows. "Thank you," he adds, nodding at you.
You laugh as he leaves. Miguel is nowhere near as pleased.
"You did that on purpose," Miguel says.
"I did what on purpose?"
"Coming in here."
"Yeah, of course. I come to see you all the time on purpose. Did you think I was drifting in here on the breeze? That would be difficult, considering." You gesture to the entrance of his office, which is far from easily accessible.
Miguel looks at you, unimpressed, with his hands on his hips. You wonder what it would take to make him put his hands on yours.
"Don't even think about it," he says.
"About what, handsome?"
"You think I don't know what that look means?" He sounds fond rather than angry. It's a win.
"I bet you know, but I'm in the dark, so if you'd… illuminate it for me, that would be greatly appreciated."
He checks that no one's about to enter his office. You feel your heart jerk in your chest, and if his super senses are anything like the other Spider People, he can hear it.
"You really can't come in here when I'm trying to set people straight," he says.
"Why?" you ask. You could pout at him, but you think that might be too much.
"You know why." Somewhere between words he drifts closer, soundless, his face inching down toward yours with a surprising swiftness. "You know why," he repeats.
You lift your chin as much as you dare, which isn't much, but enough that your giggly confirmation fans over his lips, "Yes, I do."
He nudges you away, and it isn't without affection. His warm, big hand lingers on your shoulder, even as he says, "Go, go do something."
"Miguel, I came to see you."
"I know, and I have a meeting with Jess in a minute, so you can't be here. It'll undermine my authority."
"What will?" you ask, smiling, because you already know. His fondness for you.
"Go away. Come and see me later," he says.
You sigh and spin away from him. "I will, but not because you told me to!" you call, leaving the office with an awful sense of victory.
Miguel scrubs his face with his hands as you go. He's really not sure what he's going to do with you. His plan to hold you at arm’s length isn’t working anymore, and honestly? He doesn’t think he could stand it a minute longer. Thank whoever’s watching over him that you actually do as he asks for once and leave.
Miguel was one sweet smile away from kissing you up against the wall.
#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara x y/n#miguel o’hara x fem!reader#miguel o’hara#miguel o’hara fanfiction#miguel o’hara fanfic#miguel o’hara fic#miguel o’hara drabble#miguel o’hara scenario#miguel o’hara blurb#miguel o’hara oneshot#spider-man: across the spider-verse#spider-man: across the spider-verse spoilers#spider-man: across the spider-verse fanfiction#across the spider-verse spoilers#across the spider verse spoilers#across the spiderverse spoilers#spiderman across the spider-verse spoilers#miguel ohara x reader#miguel ohara x you#miguel ohara x y/n#miguel ohara x fem!reader#miguel ohara#miguel ohara fanfiction#miguel ohara fanfic#miguel ohara fic#miguel ohara drabble#miguel ohara blurb#miguel and spidergirl reader
3K notes
·
View notes
Note
OMG OMG I HAVE ANOTHER IDEA !!
So like what if the reader is one of the ghosts that lived in the hotel and they take an interest in matt(im convinced that all of the ghosts there were matt girls) and the ghost liked how he talks and they show themselves to him and like y'kkow y'knownsmut and thid and that
so like reader reveals ehat she looks like to him and they get all freaky
GHOST (part one)
read part two here
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: soft dom!matt x reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: matt runs into a girl at the driskill hotel. he can’t explain it, but he feels immediately attracted to her somehow.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, making out, p in v
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 943
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i changed it up a smidge!
for @skadltmf :)
the long-awaited sam and colby x sturniolo triplets collab is in full swing at the driskill hotel in austin, texas.
the five of them were in the vault for a while and then walked around, but now they’re on a break from filming for an hour or two because they wanted to get something to eat.
“shit, i’m so sorry!” you apologize when you run into a boy who’s throwing something out.
he smiles down at you, shaking his head. “it’s all good.”
matt furrows his eyebrows when he sees you. he can’t explain it, but it feels like he’s being pushed toward you somehow. like a gravitational pull, despite never seeing you before.
“what’re you doing at the haunted driskill hotel?” you ask, wanting to spark up a conversation. you must admit, he’s a cutie, and you love the way he talks.
he crosses his arms. “i should ask you the same thing.”
you sigh. “touché. i’ve heard a lot about this place and wanted to see it with my own eyes. research, if you will.”
“ah.” he nods, still smiling. “i’m a youtuber. doing a collab right now.” he points behind him where the others are.
matt’s still freaked out. he’s just so attracted to you. there’s something about your presence that has him not wanting to leave your side.
he feels sympathetic to you. he feels like he wants to keep you safe at all times. he’s never one to start talking to a stranger, but for some reason, he has no problem mingling with you.
“what’s your name?”
“y/n l/n.” you bite your lip, caressing his shoulder flirtatiously. “you’re handsome, you know that?”
bold. he thinks.
“i-i’m matt.” he stammers, cheeks flushing at each movement you make.
your hand trails up to his hair right above his ear, and you play with it while looking deep into his eyes. he leans into your hand. “there’s a janitor’s closet over there.” you tilt your head. “will i see you in there?”
you wink, walking off in the opposite direction. he glances at you and then the group, taking out his phone to text chris.
i forgot something in the room, i’ll be back in a few.
waiting patiently in the small closet, the door opens minutes later. you smile widely, admiring the boy in front of you.
“for some reason, i need to kiss you.” he says abruptly out of breath. “can i kiss you?”
you exhale, snaking your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss that soon turns into a make-out.
his hands roam your body, lastly going to your pants before he pulls away. “um… is this okay?”
“more than okay,” you say, pulling him in so his lips are on yours again.
matt pulls down your pants, lips still intact as he lifts you.
he removes his pants as well, pushing your panties to the side. you both know there’s not much time, so you guys must be quick.
pecking your shoulder, you moan when he slowly fills you.
his thrusts start soft, but he notices your discomfort. he can’t tell if it’s because you’re trying to adjust or if you’re not enjoying it. “you okay?”
your face turns red from embarrassment. “i haven’t done this in a really long time, and um… it’s hard for me to feel pleasurable unless you rub my… y’know.”
“you mean like this?” he smirks, thrusting faster and deeper while his thumb rubs circles on your clit.
you throw your head back and nod. “mhm! fuck.”
whenever he thrusts in, he applies more pressure with his finger and it sends you into a state of bliss. “you f-feel so good, matt.” you whine, squirming in his grip.
it makes it hard for him to move by how tight you’re squeezing around him, but you’re close.
he grunts, closing his eyes to take it all in. in his opinion, this is the best he’s ever had. he wants to keep in mind that he doesn’t even know you, but you’re so much different.
“i’m gonna cum.” you whisper, jolting slightly when he rubs your clit harder.
“cum all over me, baby,” he replies, making sure you cum first.
your release oozes around his dick, and that’s his queue to pull out to finish on your stomach.
the two of you stay there, engulfing each other to catch your breath. “how come i feel so connected to you somehow?” he says lowly, resting his forehead on yours.
you shrug. “you’ll find out soon.”
he’s a little confused by what you mean but doesn’t ask about it. instead, he holds you close until his cellphone ringing disrupts you.
sam, colby, and the triplets walk down a hallway, passing some portraits of the ghosts along the way. you had to take your separate ways when nick called matt complaining that he was taking too long.
“isn’t that the freaky one?” colby asks smugly, pointing to a specific picture.
“that is the freaky one!” sam exclaims, the triplets giggling along with them.
“who’s the freaky one?” chris asks, squinting to get a better look.
“she was nineteen when she died.” colby starts. “she was known to seduce men with her ‘looks of manipulation’, some might say.”
matt scoots in front of the group to have a look, and he could’ve sworn his blood ran cold. a girl is pictured sitting on a stool with a gorgeous smile and old victorian clothes.
the girl in question is you, and he has to blink multiple times to make sure he’s seeing right.
the gold plaque underneath confirms who he’s looking at:
y/n l/n.
𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!
@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @r4iyaa @sturniolotriplettoplover @mattybswife @freshsturns @loverrsposts @saturncanyon @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut
#matt sturniolo#chris sturniolo#nick sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo imagine#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo smut#✎ ⤾ haleigh’s requests!
912 notes
·
View notes
Text
🍋 - teach me
reader x matt
based on this request
summary: you're inexperienced, so you turn to your best friend, matt, to teach you a thing or two.
warnings: smut, oral m!receiving
word count: 1,791
author's note: sorry that this took so long to put out. my idea of writing a lot and scheduling posts didn't work out the way i wanted to. also, thank you to the person who sent this (my very first) request in!! i hope you like it :) keep sending more requests, i love getting them!!
------------------------୨୧------------------------
matt wraps his arm around your shoulders as you two settle down to watch a movie in your bedroom. you had invited him over for a sleepover, but it wasn't just to hang out. you had something to ask him that you had been thinking about for a while.
as he gets under the blankets with you, he senses your nervousness and glances over at you, a soft look in his eyes. “are you okay? you've been way quieter than usual,” he asks in a gentle tone. “yeah, i'm fine.” you pause before deciding to ask him the question that's been on your mind, thinking there may not be a better time. “there's just something i've been wanting to ask you.. sort of like a favour. you can say no if you're uncomfortable with it.. it's kind of a lot to ask. i just don't want things to get weird,” you nervously ramble on.
matt gives you a look of curiosity, clearly intrigued by what you're so nervous about. he takes your hand, his thumb softly tracing circles on the back of it. “it's okay, you can ask me anything.” “if you don't want to do this, just forget i asked, okay?” he nods and you take a deep breath before starting.
“you know how i've never really been with a guy, right?” he slowly nods, wondering where you could be going with this. you decide to just be upfront and say exactly what you want. “i want you to teach me how to give a guy head.” his eyes widen in surprise but he quickly recovers the soft smile that was on his face before. “oh yeah, i can definitely teach you. it's not a big deal. so, you just want me to explain it to you right?”
you hesitate for a moment. “no, matt.. i mean i want to practice on you. tell me what I'm supposed to do and i'll do it.” the slow circles matt was tracing on the back of your hand stop suddenly and he leans against the headboard, carefully considering what you said. he glances down at your lips, almost as if he's imagining how they would feel wrapped around his cock.
after what seems like forever, he finally speaks, “are you sure? i don't want you to do anything you're uncomfortable with.” you nod. “i'm sure. i always wanted my first time doing something like this to be with someone i care about and trust. it almost makes sense that it's you, i trust you more than anyone.” he smiles softly at your words, his heart warming at the fact that you're trusting him to be your first with an experience like this. he leans in close and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “alright, we'll take it slow and make sure you're comfortable. we can stop at any point if you need to.” “okay. thanks for agreeing to this. honestly, i didn't think you would.”
you move a little bit closer to matt. “what do i do first?” he clears his throat slightly. “first, you need to get me hard. we can do that by making out.” his hands hover over your hips. “can i?” you nod and he grabs your hips, moving you so you're straddling his lap. your breath hitches in your throat as you look down at him from this new position.
you slowly lean in, capturing his lips in a sweet, slow, gentle kiss to start off. matt's hands move up your back and into your hair, tangling in the strands as he deepens the kiss. he takes the lead and expertly slips his tongue into your mouth. you follow what he's doing, slipping your tongue into his mouth. when he pulls on your hair, it causes you to squirm a little and you accidentally grind down into his lap. a small groan escapes his lips. you repeat the action, knowing it feels good for him. his hips jerk up, pressing his hardening cock against you through your clothes. he groans into the kiss again, his hands sliding down, giving your ass a firm squeeze. “fuck,” he mumbles.
you stifle a gasp against his lips. you pull away from each other breathlessly and look into each other's eyes, almost as if you're realizing what you're really doing. without a moment's hesitation, you kiss him again, more passionately this time. you slowly roll your hips against his, getting him even harder. matt pushes you down while simultaneously bucking his hips up. he deepens the kiss while you grind against each other. you gain a little confidence and start kissing his jawline and neck, your hip movements not slowing down in the slightest. you eventually pull away, looking into his eyes as you move to grind against him one last time. “now what?” you whisper.
matt's breathing is ragged as he looks into your eyes. he swallows hard, trying to regain any composure and figure out what to say. “uhhh.. you can take off my pants if you're ready.” you nod and get off his lap, sitting on your knees next to him. you unbutton and unzip his jeans. he lifts your hips to help you out as you tug them down just enough so you have access to his boxers. you're still a little nervous so you don't pull them down quite yet, instead, gently touching the fabric covered bulge. his breath hitches as his hard cock throbs against the fabric at your touch. he watches as your hand explores him and he gives you an encouraging nod, signaling to you to continue whenever you're ready.
you slowly pull his boxers down until his cock springs free against his stomach. you part your lips as if you're about to say something but no words come out. it's bigger than you had expected. matt notices the look on your face and gives you a reassuring smile. “take your time, sweetheart. when you're ready, just spit on the tip. then wrap your hand around it and move it up and dow-”
you immediately do what he says, spitting on the tip and watching it trickle down the shaft for a second while his hips jerk at the warm sensation, a soft groan escaping his lips. you wrap your hand around him where the spit fell and you start slowly pumping it up and down, spreading your saliva around. he moans as he unintentionally thrusts up into your hand. “that's it, baby.. you're doing great.” you look into his eyes as you keep going. “what do i do now?”
matt bites his bottom lip, trying to focus on your question through the pleasure you're giving him. “now, you can try taking the tip in your mouth,” he pants out softly. you keep your hand wrapped around the base of his shaft while giving the tip a shy, little lick while looking into his eyes. he gives you a small nod of approval, so you continue teasing him with licks as you get used to the taste of him. once you gain some confidence, you swirl your tongue around the tip and start sucking on it a little as well. his breath catches in his throat and his hips jerk up involuntarily. “fuck yes, just like that,” he groans, “you're doing so good.”
you stop sucking on his tip after about a minute. you pause and look up at him. “do i just keep doing the same thing but further down?” matt nods, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure. “yeah.. just keep going like that. but when you can't take any more in your mouth, start stroking it with your hand like you were doing before.” you nod as you listen to him speak before doing exactly what he says. you take a few inches into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down his length slowly while working the rest of him with your hand.
he groans out in pleasure while his fingers tangle in your hair, holding it back in a makeshift ponytail. “fuck- you're so good at this already,” he mumbles as his hips jerk up again, forcing you to take him deeper in your mouth. you gag on his cock a bit as he unintentionally pushes your head down, pulling back a little. “sorry, didn't mean to do that,” he whispers while stroking your hair softly. you keep going, his moans encouraging you and telling you that you're making him feel good.
you soon realize that the more of matt's cock you have in your mouth, the better it feels for him so you try to take him as deep as you can every time you move your head down. you can feel the tip hitting the back of your throat and the sensation makes your eyes water. the tears mix with the mascara on your bottom lashes as they spill down your cheeks.
matt pants heavily, his eyes closing tightly as he feels his impending orgasm. “shit.. baby, i'm close,” he murmurs, tugging on your hair. when he tells you this, you take his cock as deep down your throat as you can. you feel it twitch in your mouth and you know he's going to cum any second now. his hips jerk up almost violently, pushing his cock deep into your throat as he cums. his hands tighten in your hair, holding you in place while he fills your mouth, shooting his load down your throat with a loud moan. you pull back, keeping your lips wrapped around the tip as you swallow the cum filling your mouth.
you pull away once you've swallowed every last drop that he can give you, his cock leaving your mouth with a soft, wet pop. you wipe the side of your mouth while looking up at him. “did i do good?” matt tries to catch his breath, his eyes remaining locked on yours. “fuck.. yeah, you did amazing,” he whispers, still a bit dazed from the experience.
you sit next to him, resting your head on his shoulder as you wipe away any remaining tears on your cheeks. “thank you for teaching me. that was even better than i thought it would be.” matt tucks his now flaccid dick into his boxers and zips his jeans back up. he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. “no problem. you can practice on me any time you want.” he presses a kiss to the top of your head. you pull the blanket up over your legs and you start the movie you were going to watch earlier. you cuddle up next to him while you watch the movie and you eventually fall asleep in each other's arms.
------------------------୨୧------------------------
part 2
#matt x reader#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo#matt sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo fluff#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo smut#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo x you#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#sturniolo imagine#sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo oneshot
730 notes
·
View notes
Note
@blbrrymilk in your inbox again TvT
which of the hsr men do you think are into boobjob/ paizuri?? or mostly likely to stare at/grope your chest often. i wanted to know your thoughts on this... (also reader who has a flat chest too please. i wondered who would tease you the most about your size... my mind is saying aventurine and sampo 😭)
sorry, it took me so many days to answer!! this is very enlightening and I have been thinking about how the men in HSR would react😩😚😽💖
-cw: dub-con, yandere tendencies, nipple clamps, boobjob
They love it so much: Jing Yuan, Aventurine, Argenti, Sampo
Like but not particularly keen on: Blade, Dan Heng, Dan Feng
He claims not to know what it is while stimulating you to orgasm: Luocha, Sunday
Consider this silly stuff: Dr. Ratio
-
They love it so much:
Jing Yuan:
General likes your boobs and tits. No matter what size that is <3 If you have busty/medium boobs, be prepared to be rubbed by boobs for a long time. If you have flat/small boobs, expect to have your boobs licked so that they glisten with water. He looks forward to the day when your buds swell and your milk leaks… (I have written a more detailed version before)
Aventurine:
Exactly. If you have small breasts, he will definitely laugh at you first. Staring at your flat breasts with a mean look. Use his thumb to circle the areola and squeeze. But the look that turned into affection gave him away. He kisses your nipples. If you have large/medium boobs there is a milking machine for you and try boobjobs.
No matter what your breast size is, he has some custom nipple clamps in colors and patterns for you. Aventurine is not cruel, the nipple clamps are very loose and only slightly painful when clamped on your breasts. You whimpered and bounced on top of him, the nipple clamps on your breasts swaying. What a beautiful scenery.
Argenti:
There is no doubt that this knight adores your breasts, no matter the size. He looks at your breasts carefully and plays with them, and invariably ends with a boobjob. Because who can resist worshiping such beauty as you? Lots of compliments and squirting sounds. Cock inserted when you're shy.
Sampo:
Take off your clothes. You pumped your fist as Sampo laughed at your small size. He quickly blocked your punch and claimed that he just liked it so much… No matter what your size, he would give you a customized gift, a cute bra!
He is very patient, and the hair lying on your chest is itching and shaking for a long time. Orgasm after orgasm was pulled out of you, and when your mind was blurred by the orgasm, he held you tightly and penetrated you firmly, rubbing your breasts.
Like but not particularly keen on:
Blade:
Your bra was mostly destroyed into his hands. When he pulls your bra, it rips. It's really too much!! Blade usually prefers to penetrate you roughly rather than rub your nipples, but sometimes he might do that.
Dan Heng, Dan Feng:
These two dragons don't like these fancy things. They just squeeze your breasts without wanting a boobsjob. Why do they do this? You should be doing this to nurse the baby dragons.
He claims not to know what it is while stimulating you to orgasm:
Luocha:
The foreign trader considered and read the explanation. Luocha claimed he didn't know this as he cupped your breasts and rubbed and squeezed them mercilessly, keeping an innocent look on his face as you gasped and climaxed.
Sunday:
"What is that?"
Sunday's lips raised. The halo behind him became softer, and the feathers behind his ears were swaying. He requires you and serves Him. This is a type of dedication. You have to push your breasts and rub his cock...and at the critical moment, he'll dig his fingers into your wet walls and pound away.
Consider this silly stuff:
Dr. Ratio:
Ratio pinches, pokes and rubs your breasts while explaining the principles of orgasm and breast stimulation. It was a rational, calm tone. He scoffs and sighs as you twitch uncontrollably.
#yandere honkai star rail x reader#hsr x reader#jing yuan x reader#sunday x reader#blade x reader#aventurine x reader#dr ratio x reader#argenti x reader#sampo x reader#dan heng x reader#dan feng x reader#luocha x reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
lukecastellanshandholder
The official defender of Luke Castellan
monolithfarmer
It’s Easier With Time
yukothesilly123
《~\▪☆ yuko the silly ☆▪\~》
hizarry-blog
أنا أعشقك
alwaysfailing707
Country Till Death