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capslocked · 5 months

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HONNE, TATAMAE & THE OTHER ONE

male reader x shin yuna

9k words

Yuna shuffles into your office with the same sneaky smile, the same easy slouch, and she settles into one of the chairs across the table. There is, apparently, more to talk about.

It's a matter of image, of perception, is what she knows.

You know every good lie starts with the truth.

So you swallow. You pause. Some other part of you understands Yuna can't ignore who she really is, and you’re not sure you can either.

Look - Shin Yuna is the kind of woman that turns heads, even with the best of intentions. A long, lithe silhouette; an easy, rosy sort of youthfulness clinging to the swell of her cheekbones, the curve of her waist. Take a dress that's cut to show a little thigh, or a hairstyle pushed back on one side - earrings, or heels, or just the subtle swipe of red over her lip - it doesn't take much for men (or anyone else) to figure that out. A girl who, more times than not, really ought to have a boy's hand planted on her ass, in possession.

So the opportunity to capture such a form perfected - all toned and graceful and flush for curves, her legs never seeming to end, the slithering fit of the dresses - these were the things they wanted. Package it, put a logo on it - better yet, a ribbon or a bow - and ship it straight to the consumer.

Somebody everyone wants, somebody no one can ever have.

“So,” Yuna asks from the other side of your desk, lips slanting halfway coy. “Are you going to treat me like an adult?"

Her fingers play idly with the hem of her skirt, and she lets a long, slender leg slowly slide out from beneath her.

“In what way,” you answer, half paying attention.

"The photos." She doesn't have the slightest qualms about lifting it higher. The soft creak of leather, and a deepening smile. "Am I not allowed to be a little racy?"

"That's certainly... one way of looking at it."

You glance away from where her stockings wrap around the soft curve of her thighs to flip back through the photos in your lap, one after the other, each a little different from the last. The beach, the sun, a flimsy white slip of a bikini top that hides exactly nothing, her muscles wet and glistening and perfect. Beyond suggestive, it's considerably inappropriate.

But then to a lot of people, Yuna is a lot of things.

She’s more clever than anyone gives her credit for. And she’s fucking gorgeous, sure. That’s definitely not up for debate, but god is she young - she's barely twenty. And here’s some rather uninteresting food for thought: you couldn't even technically take her for a drink without faking an ID or breaking some law or another, like a real one. So go ahead, chew that down. Girls her age are typically studying, or working a retail job and getting wasted on the weekends. And they aren't typically making six, seven figures turning their head to the camera and asking how much more skin?

You have some thoughts.

Prudently, you’re her publicist, and it’s your job to make sure that the public gets a good look at her and sees exactly what you want them to see. It's unfair. She wields sex like a weapon. She's got the face, the body; it's an easy sell, commodified and commercialized down to the finest detail, the softest curve, the slightest arch of her brow. The idea's to not let anyone look too long, should they catch something you haven't approved yet, or the fact that she's quite possibly a real person with a real life and real feelings, which could easily fuck up her brand, so unfortunately, that's a bit of a no-go.

Sign of the times maybe, no ethical consumption under another something, yadda yadda - it's a shitty business, really, and the whole thing usually leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

(And just to be upfront, as an important disclosure: you are fucking her brains out on the side, which is a different kind of ethical dilemma, with a different kind of flavor to it.

You’re supposed to be something of a role model - and she’s gone and fucked up bad by falling for you. From her perspective, it probably makes sense. Girl gets boy, bespoke song, credits roll and it's fine. No sin to atone, no 'after'.

It was supposed to be a one time thing. It’s metastasizing into something you’re not even going to attempt to put into words. It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen, you know that. And you know the girl has daddy issues, but then you've never had a problem whatsoever playing into it. The possessiveness, the control - she gets off on it. You're pretty sure that she'd do just about anything if you asked her, and you'll admit that the thought alone makes your stomach stir, your mouth run dry.)

Yuna taps her knuckles on the wood of your desk. “What’s the verdict?”

"Well, professionally," you say, caveat in hand, and you give the photos one last flip through. "I'd say they're fine.”

"Oh?" Yuna cocks her head to the side. Her long, blonde hair curtains over her shoulder, and the smile that shadows in at the corner of her mouth is almost wicked. She leans forward, chin propped on a palm, and you see that her expression is bright, glittering with interest. "And unprofessionally?"

Sure. It's a fair question.

Though she's wearing her stage face, the one that looks all big eyes and doe lashes, a hint of a pout on her plush bottom lip, and she's staring at you expectantly, the way she might look at a man she's just asked for the time.

You've seen her look a million other ways. You've seen her with her knees spread, her cheeks flushed, on all fours, straddling your lap, face pressed into the sliding glass door of your shower, her eyes screwed shut as she chokes out your name. And god, doesn’t she look good in all of them.

Your fingers tap against the photos.

“Unprofessionally," you tell her, and the smile on your face is tight - unknowable. "I think they’re a little… gaudy."

Yuna frowns, and it's just a flash before her expression is carefully blank again, the stage face back in full swing. She's been doing this since she was a teenager, so the mask is impeccable, but you know her, and you know that she's thinking: about the photo shoot, the way the photographer was looking at her, and the way you had looked at her later, too.

She knows what you've seen. She's wondering if that's why.

"Really," she asks, a note of disappointment in her voice.

"Really," you confirm with a small sigh, though you're still smiling. It's a small, private sort of smile, like you're remembering a joke. You don't miss the way she glances down at your mouth either. "Let me be clear, you have a shot at real success. I mean, you have a chance at a career. A real, sustainable career.”

She's sitting there with her legs crossed, her foot tapping restlessly, and when she's silent for a moment too long, the way her eyes narrow just a smidge, her head tipped slightly, you realize how it sounds. Patronizing.

"Look," you amend. You're not the best at apologies, but you try. "I just mean - I think that you could be doing something that you actually enjoy."

"Who says I don't enjoy this," she says, and there's a bite in her tone, a challenge. She's leaning back in her seat now, arms crossed.

"What, taking your clothes off for the camera?" You laugh, a quick bark. Isn’t that a cruel question, and you can see it in the way her eyes flash. "You could do a lot more than that, I'm just saying."

"Right," she says, and she doesn't blink, doesn't even move. Her gaze is fixed, unwavering. "Because I'm not pretty enough."

You open your mouth. Close it.

It's not a question. It's a statement.

"That's not what I'm saying-"

"Do you know what makes me different from the IT-girl-of-the-month? The Jang Wonyoungs, the Bae Irenes, the Kim Jisoos of the world?" Yuna cuts in.

"Yuna, this isn't-"

"You should know. " She laughs. "It's your job, knowing things, isn't it?"

The silence stretches thin between you. She's not wrong. There’s the quintessential beauty, the timeless classic, the fantasy-wrapped-up-as-a-daydream - oh, it's all sexual, but the product there is palatable (read: marketable). An idea the general public wants to take home to their mother, not take to bed. A beauty so docile and innocent, you feel guilty harboring those untoward thoughts it makes you have.

Yuna is somewhere possibly, someway probably the opposite. You’ve sold her as such, as fantasy in sheep's clothing. She's neither afraid to put the images to words, nor speak her desires aloud. It's her own brand of sensuality, and it's what the public wants - has always truly wanted, since the dawn of man and of popstars fucking their publicists - what the public wants but turns itself in knots just to pretend they don't. The only way it’ll end up in anyones’ parents' home is under the guise that it will be smuggled upstairs and held down into the springs of a mattress. Hand over her mouth, or maybe around her throat, just so she'll shut up.

She's not a nice girl, or the girl-next-door, a bride-in-a-box, but you'd known that before. The line between fact and fiction is fine indeed.

"You're different," you tell her, finally.

"When I first came in here, you had no qualms, no issue to raise, and now all of a sudden, everything is too much," she says, and she's not smiling, her tone flat. "If it was a problem from the jump, you would've said so."

“I just think a little subtlety would be a nice change of pace. It could go a long way, I mean, I could show you the data- "

"So you're going soft on me, is that it?"

You blink, and the realization hits.

"Just where was this noble version of you when we first started out? You had no problem then, remember? Put a sixteen-year-old in front of a camera, in this industry, and all of a sudden-"

"Don't."

“And suddenly it's all 'oh no, that's a little too much, we need to dial it back'." She sighs, a single sharp burst. "Why is that? Is it because you think that now you own me? I fuck you, swallow your cum and call you daddy, and now these are your decisions? Is that it?"

She’s standing now, her chair shoved back so fast it nearly clatters to the floor. There's a storm on her face, almost a rage. This now become a familiar story. The one where the girl's too pretty for her own good. Too much, too soon.

"I'm not a child," she tells you, her tone measured, a sharp contrast to the fire in her eyes. "I know what I want. I know how to get it. You're not telling me anything I don't already know. I'm different. You're right."

She's different, but the girl's clever, too. And she's stubborn. It's a dangerous combination.

You breathe slow. "Then why don’t you act like it."

“If they’re going to call me a slut,” she hisses, and she's walking forward. Her palms land on your desk, hard, and you glance down at her clenched fists, at her neatly kept nails, "you know, after we leak them all those steamy photos online-"

Your mind clicks. You reach to slam the cover of the photo book shut. She's caught your hand, though, in hers, holding it firmly to the desk.

Yuna glances at the photos over again, at the tight fit of the swimwear, or how the ties slip in an invisible breeze. And she's biting her lip, trying not to smile, you can tell. "You know it might be worth it for once," she says, slipping a finger between the buttons of her shirt.

There's a long, tense moment, and before you can register it, Yuna has rounded your desk; she’s closing the distance, fast.

And she’s lowering her eyes. Putting her lips on yours.

It knocks the wind from your sail, for just the instant. You're speechless.

Because her fingers. Her mouth. Her hair. Yuna's everywhere, and she's warm. It's utterly selfish, you understand: you want her to be yours. You want her to be yours and no one else's.

She’s realizing she might be.

You feel her grabbing for more of you. Wanting. She tilts her head, her breath hot, and you kiss her back, her mouth slick against your own, and the kiss is a fast, deliberate kind of messy. Your teeth catch her bottom lip, and her tongue slips past yours, licking into your mouth, her hands clutching at the collar of your shirt. It's not like it is when you're fucking, which is slow and hot, and she's on her back, legs around your waist, her nails biting into your skin, or when she's bent over the arm of the sofa, her ass in the air and her back arched, her breathless moans a chorus of yes, yes, please. This kiss is more battle, more heat, less gentle and less finesse. It's the kind of kiss that's just short of an argument.

"You're an asshole," she breathes into your mouth, and it's not a compliment.

You smile against her.

"So are you," you murmur, and her lips are parted, her eyelids fluttering shut, her breath coming quick and hot.

"Then maybe you should just fuck me," she says. She's not asking. “Yeah.” You press your words right into her neck, her collarbone. “Maybe I should.”

Your hands are on her hips faster than you can realize what it is they’re doing, palms pressing into her, and then you're walking her backwards, shuffling a few steps until the small of her back collides with the edge of your desk, and you're lifting her up onto the surface, the photographs falling to the floor, scattering.

"I thought we weren't supposed to do this here," she murmurs, pulling away for just a moment, her mouth swollen and wet, her eyes dark. She knows exactly what it does to you: the goading, the taunting - the looks of faux-innocence later over a bare shoulder, her ass in the air. How it can get you to fuck her within an inch of her life. What it’ll get her, the return on investment.

"And I thought we agreed to longer skirts."

Her thighs are smooth, silky, and they part, the lace of her underwear stark against her skin. You slide a hand beneath the elastic band, sinking down, and down, until she inhales sharply.

"The fuck do you end up doing going up the stairs?" you add, and your fingers are tracing the swell of her hip, and you can feel the goosebumps on her skin.

She bites her lip. You sink down to press a kiss to her thigh, and then the other.

"Nothing," she tells you, and her eyes are wide. "I guess it all just hangs out."

She simply smirks right back into you, throws her arms over your shoulders. You’re snared, caught - she’ll always be able to fuck what she wants right out of you.

"Jesus, Yuna." Your hand curls around her wrist, thumb pressed to her pulse, and her shoulders roll back.

You push her down, and she's sprawled across the desk, legs stretching wide, her head tilted back and her chest heaving. “God, you’re so fucking wet, and I've barely touched you. That turns you on? Being a brat?"

She sucks air past her teeth, and you can measure each rise and fall of her chest. The lace under her hips is soaked, her pussy swollen and pink. Like if she doesn’t get your hot, open mouth on her clit this instant, you’re both going to have a problem.

You slip two fingers into her instead, and Yuna keens.

"I know it does," you say, and your voice comes out lower, drier than you expect. She's hot, so wet around you, her pussy fluttering. "It fucking turns me on, too."

"Please," and “god,” is what all you receive back in half whispers, while her legs are spread, her heels now really dug into the square of your back, and she's got a fistful of your hair like she owns it. Her voice is high, her eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t be such a fucking tease."

You're not going to make it easy. She's not going to make this quick.

"What, and you aren’t?"

You curl your fingers inside her, and the noise that leaves her is positively obscene. She's grinding against your palm, her hips bucking, and her lips are parted, her eyelashes dark and thick, fanning her cheeks. She's panting, her thighs trembling.

"No," she breathes. If she’s shaking her head, you can’t tell. "I'm exactly what you tell them I am."

Your hand stills, and it takes a moment for her to realize that the pressure inside her is gone. Her eyes snap open, her mouth twisted.

"Fuck you," she spits. "Put them back."

You're already sinking down to your knees, and you've got her skirt shoved up, the lace panties pulled aside, her hips canted, her pussy glistening. The stockings can stay, fuck, the heels, too. She's so fucking hot, her legs spread apart and her lips red. Her palm shoved into her brow, and her breath just barely more than a ragged huff of air. You can feel her body wound tight and ready, her eyes on the ceiling.

You put your tongue against her, flat and slow. Inaccurate, indiscriminate, licking up her wet cunt. And her whole body arches off the desk, a cry leaving her mouth with her head thrown back. Her thighs are shaking, and her heel presses into your shoulder, and god, she tastes incredible.

"Please." It comes like music, really, a song of desperation. You can hear it. She's singing it for you now. "Oh god, please, fuck-"

So you do her one better. You put your whole mouth over her, and she fucking shivers. You don’t even try to ease into it - you're devouring, ravishing her, working your lips and tongue all over her pussy, lapping the length of her in broad, hot strokes, and she's almost shrieking, her body going taut. You suck on her lips, pressing your tongue into her clit, and when you pull off her, your hand takes over the place where your tongue can't quite reach, her wetness slick around your fingers. Yuna's close - you can see that she is, you can hear that she is, and it's her gasp that lets you know.

"I'm -" she says, her voice reaching higher, her nails digging into the flesh of your shoulders, the wood of your desk. The sound she makes is wretched and beautiful. "God, I'm cumming, I'm cumming - fuck!"

The licking, the lapping, the fucking fingering. You can feel her slicked cunt pulse and throb in a satisfied, anticipatory kind of way. Even if she wasn’t audibly wet around your knuckles, you’d read Yuna like a map.

Your thumb taps across her clit, once - twice, thrice, and it’s just that.

She arches off your desk, thighs trembling as your tongue works her over, This hard, hungry kiss, and she tastes as sweet as she looks - as filthy as she acts, too. Her pussy is slick, her hips rolling, her body trembling, and she's making soft, little ah, ah, ah, sounds into the wet seal of your mouth. She's trying to keep it quiet, because she knows as well as you, everyone in the damn office does, probably - it's one thing to play at being a slut. A complete other to really fuck like one.

Your finger slips in and out of her pussy, and then another. They fill her up. The knuckles bending and pushing deeper. Yuna's fucking ruined - your desk is ruined.

But then there you are, complicit, and perhaps a little evil: licking and licking and licking right into her, making her grip twist in your hair and her thighs clench around your face. You can feel it in how her breathing is coming fast, faster, her whole body growing taut, and it was never going to take long, you figure, the way her hips were rolling the moment you got your hands on her. You can tell. She's close, and she's so pretty, all flushed and writhing, her skirt hiked up, her ass perched on the edge of your desk, and when her mouth falls open and her breath catches in her throat, you pull yourself up to watch her, the heel of your hand pressed against her clit, and she's shaking.

"Look at me,” you tell her, a kiss trailing unsatisfyingly into the crease of her thigh, your voice running coarse.

She does, her gaze glassy, and the sound that leaves her mouth is a sob. That’s all it really takes.

“Show me. What face you make when you cum on my fingers sweetheart, show me what a slut you actually are-"

You can watch it all in real time, the panting, the heaving. The sculpted lines of her pretty face screw up, real tight, and she lets out another moan, breathier this time, her mouth hanging open. She does it again when you press down. And Yuna fucking shakes, her hands balled, white-knuckling, and the desk rattling beneath her.

It's all a matter of slight degradation, you’ve learned, the barest humiliation. Like the paradoxical freedom she knows she can find in a hand clenched tight around her throat or her hair pulled and twisted into a fist or the sharp sting of a smack across her ass. Her pretty face. She likes a little something that burns. Something sinewy, visceral, raw: you call her a whore, a filthy fucking cumslut and it makes her body curl like she has hot metal pressing into her skin. Makes her breathless, like she wants you to own her.

Sometimes it's better than being fucked.

(Sometimes.)

Because just look at her: she’s in the middle of coming apart, mouth fallen slack, brow furrowed - and she gets real quiet when she cums, the absolute opposite of the journey she’d taken to get there, all those loud little, uh-uh-ah, fucking please god, her moans, her whimpers - her orgasm ripping right through the middle of her, the hourglass of her entire body stiffening on borrowed time as it washes across her features.

You let out a loud sigh, something she can moor herself to that isn’t your fingers, the desk, or your hair at the roots. Yuna can be every bit as uncomplicated as she can be complex, but god, you love her most like this: an unrehearsed, beautiful mess.

"Baby," you tell her, because it's easier to just call her that, and because you don't know how else to end the statement, because you know if you ask, she'll let you - hell, she'll beg for more, and that’s got your brain feeling rather mushily incoherent at present.

"Daddy," she responds - because of course she fucking does; she’s gasping, and her cheeks are still so pink, her body sated, and your heart leaps into your throat.

It's a problem; you've been trying to work it out for a good few months now, and by this, you mean the little moment you have right after you're done, where your eyes meet, and you smile at her. A problem, too, her lips. A problem, because she kisses you, soft, and slow, and easy. A problem, because her heart's probably already yours.

If anyone were to ask, you would have said there's no greater pleasure than knowing a girl that's almost died to take your cock, but maybe that's the point: it's just supposed to feel a bit better if you're a little head over heels, a little stupid about it too.

"I'm going to use this perfect pussy now," you warn her - just simple formality - because you're already rolling her down onto her back, your cock hard and aching against your trousers.

You've got your hands on her stockings, tugging them down to her ankles, the lace of her panties around her thighs, the neat garter of her garter belt wrapped around her hips, her cunt bare beneath it. You unzip, too slow. You tug yourself out.

“I’ll be good,” she says to you, a promise.

“Yeah,” you return to her, “I know.”

And you slip your cock into her cunt, just barely - maybe an inch, maybe more - and you hear a little noise leave her throat, low. Broken.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, and god, you just can't help it, it's easy; you sink deeper, nice, slow, everything smooth inside her, until another broken sort of gasp spills off her lips.

And then another: "oh my fucking god."

You snap your hips back in, bottoming out this time in the wet heat of her perfect cunt, and she just fucking collapses. Yuna looks like an absolute dream in this state of half-dress, half-distress: black suede around the ankles, stilettos, with just the perfect heel. There are worse things, you can imagine, and she looks perfect sprawled out against your notes and portfolios, all this hot, aching want. As gorgeous as she is fucked. You tear into her stockings, a little. You’ll tear more.

You already know you're going to hell. Or at least that’s where you should already be, but you hips crash into hers again, fucking her legs wider apart, spreading her open across your desk for you, getting her slick all over the photos, her career - it’s all so perfectly unfair.

"You have no idea, the things I want to do to you right now," you breathe, your tone hushed, and you're talking again, like you often do. There goes your mouth - but your hips drag back, and then again, her pussy clenching, vice tight and impossibly wet.

It's a long, torturous, lazy sort of a pull, that draws these pretty thin moans from the very center of her.

And the way that feels, your cock buried deep in her cunt: better than good - heaven, if you care enough about labels for it, or the names of things. You haven’t any real way to tell; the gates haven't opened or anything, so all you're working from here is an educated guess. From the fact that Yuna’s eyes have slid closed, her lips parted, and her whole body starting now to tremble gently with it.

"Jesus, this perfect, tight pussy grips me so good, god - such a good girl, always so fucking wet for me," and your mouth is pressed to the arch of her ear, whispering every last thing you know will make her cum again, like a dream.

And she is, she does.

She's twisting up to grip at your hips, her head falling to one side. When you drag your cock through her cunt, slowly, you watch her lips purse and the way the flush moves all the way down the column of her neck, past her collarbone, her shirt half undone and her tits heaving against the white, sheer fabric. You fuck her for a little, and then you roll your hips slow, so slow.

Until your pace is fucking punishing, deep, and so hard. You can’t help it.

Because it's unbelievable - she's so perfect, so tight around you. Fit snug like a glove, like she was made to take your cock, to whimper and mewl at your mercy. Her lips part further and she keens, her brows twisting in similar disbelief as you pound your length into her. The heat pooled in your belly, the way she looks under your desk: fuck, she's so beautiful like this, properly fucked.

You'd let her ruin you for life - it's that simple.

"Yuna, you - fuck," you barely say, and you sound more than slightly stunned, so she’s filling in the gaps, elaborating in the spaces you cannot - that she loves it, that you’re so good for her, and so is that, and that, and that - the way it hits, right there, keep fucking her just like that, because right there, right there, right there, right there - the way she props herself up on her elbows to tell you, "you're fucking me so deep, oh my god - yes, oh my god, fuck."

By the time Yuna shudders through another orgasm, a silent ghost of a wail leaving her pretty frozen mouth, her lashes are batting against her cheeks, and she's biting her lip, so hard you're certain she's going to break the skin, her back strung like a bow. It's the look on her face, that soft sort of reverence, and how her lips are swollen and spit-slick, the pretty hollow of her throat. Your thrusts become faster, shorter - your own moan thick in your throat, your jaw hanging slack.

“Here,” you say, and she’s just putty between your fingers, on your cock.

You’re flipping her around, onto a different angle. You know she likes it, the way her tits are pressed against your desk, and it's hot the way her ass tilts right into your hips, arched. Proffering. "Be good for me, and spread yourself open."

She's already so meek when she complies. "Anything, sir. Stretch me out; I want you to make me yours."

God, she's practically purring when she talks like this. She knows exactly what that fucking does to you. Knows that when her eyes draw back, big and watery and full, you're a goner - if your cock wasn't deep in her pussy, fucking her open and raw, the view would nearly be enough. And all of this, the pretense, the pantomime, she knows how to bend the line of your body to her own, because when she turns, and presses her red mouth to the crest of her shoulder, you are hers.

You could probably cum, right now, deep down into the molten hot of her cunt: if your hips keep up their ruthless pace, if her ass was sticking up the slightest bit more - the sound that would come from her.

"Take that perfect cock - and fuck my pussy up," Yuna mewls, her voice saccharine and slurring, a touch whiny. She rolls her hips. Your cock grinds, still, though it stutters now - shallow and quick.

"All this pussy, for daddy's cock," and you're sure that the entire office can hear her now, the moans that escape from her mouth - but you can't even find it in you to care. You're caught, all of her a net you've willingly been ensnared by, and here you figure that's the slightest bit appropriate; you're so fucked, and it's funny, too. Funny enough to laugh about, later. "Nobody fucks this tight little pussy the way you do, sir."

It's a smile she hears in your voice when you say, "is that right? Go on then, let’s hear all the things you'd have me do to your slutty little cunt."

The line's crossed again, in some indecipherable direction. Where, again, exactly, does it matter? There are lines and lines, and none of them quite mark the beginning, the end, the periphery. This time you don't pull back; you dig deep, and it makes Yuna cry out like you’re killing her. Which, in a way - you already have.

So your hips stutter forward again, once more, and you lean into the slant, so fucking deep it's practically impaled. There’s nothing quite like holding this girl’s hips and pounding her from behind. Her pussy alone is fucking incredible. And the sound her ass makes against the flat of your stomach, the crease of your thighs - it's unimaginable, the way Yuna makes these little squeaks of a noise, like half-broken moans, when you fuck deep, deep, deeper into her. The way her arms splay wide and search frantic across your desk. And as you grab her slim, dainty wrist, pin it back and pull her tight - fixing her upright until you have her head lolling back against your chest - you simply fucking pound away.

Fucking all these little curses and sounds of appreciation out of her throat. Your cock forcing out each syllable, "yes," and "fuck," and "god, oh my fucking god - I cannot believe," now on repeat, how her tone grows tighter. How she moans - a lot, like something's being worked loose.

"Uh-uh," and you're holding her steady now, with one broad, strong hand at the back of her neck. "Keep telling me, and maybe I'll let you cum."

Your free hand finds purchase in her hair. Yuna's groan coming out pathetic and wanting, her mouth half open. You wrap her silky golden locks around your fist, her hair thread neatly through your fingers, and then give the slightest of yanks.

Christ, her pussy just fucking soaks onto you. Greedy. Needy.

"Shit," and Yuna gasps when she can, where she's allowed to.

"Oh, is my little girl into getting her hair pulled?" and you can see the signs of affirmation: the muscles inside her flexing, grasping you as you roll in, a small, soft nod, and the way she sighs your name, like a prayer on her lips.

Listen, she can barely speak, the way you're fucking her apart. Yuna's body is wound like a bow, like string and taught wire. Bent into the side of the desk and open for you, her pussy pulsing tight around you with every stroke.

"Sir, I'll do - whatever you need, just - just - let me have your cum, please -" and there, she's begging now, and her voice is tinny, breaking, breathless and airless.

Then it’s her fucking hair. You pull so much on it harder this time, with another measured thrust inside her, your body flush against her ass. Fingerprints searing down onto where her hips flare and taper, impossibly narrow.

You’re probably hurting her. You’re probably ruining her for anyone else - nothing will ever satiate her more than the way she sobs as your fingers twist tighter through her hair. Around her fucking miracle of a waist. It's an obscene sound that echoes down to your cock, as deep, hot and fucking filthy as her cries when she cums for the third, fourth?

"Just," Yuna barely makes, her eyelids heavy, her gaze flitting somewhere behind her. "Just look at you, fucking me so hard, filling up my tight little pussy, making me take everything your cock has to give. God, you love wrecking my perfect little hole, don't you?"

No, or yes, or probably. You’ll figure out the details later.

"God, I love it when you get real messy, when I get you like this-" your words run seamlessly into the searing heat between your bodies, like punctuation, like the end of days -

"Use me." She doesn't just say it. "Take me, and cum in me, wherever you want. Daddy, you can have my mouth, or, or, you can - you can finish inside me."

And god, you could, you really could: just the timbre of her voice does things to you, the way that it curls around the words daddy, and sir, and you're fucking me so goddamn good. She's saying them now, her whimpers breaking into outright moans and all: shit, please, please - you're gonna make me cum - oh - oh fuck! And when she's wound that tight, a quivering, sopping mess of a girl, you put your fingers against her clit, circling and pressing in tempo to the thrust of your cock.

The cruel metronome that makes. Hell, it fucking sends her.

She’s begging you to finish inside her. It's fucked up - and she knows it. She wraps her heels around the square of your back, and the tension rises, and rises, the coiled spring tight and waiting - just a push away, so you slam into her once, then twice more, the push of a hand splayed between her tits and your fingers digging into the muscle of her thigh. She wants you to cum in her pussy, fill her right up; she tells you that, again, that she wants it, and her voice is raspy, high. That she wants you now, as if she didn't before, and how does this compare, because she needs it now.

You hold out for just a little. You’re holding your breath. Just a little, just until Yuna’s eyelashes flutter open over her shoulder and she says your name, so sweetly, and says, "please, just, inside."

You shouldn't.

You can't.

So here, barely able to think at all, you end up doing the unthinkable - thinking all the while of pumping her right to the finish and draining your balls straight into the deepest reach of her cunt, how fucking tempting it may be - you muster an ounce of good judgment still adrift in a sea of lust. Your throbbing cock draws out of that wet, inviting heat and into your fist, and watch how that makes her begin to unspool: the way she tries to press her knees shut. She's sobbing for it, pleading, her lashes dark with tears. "No, no, fuck me, please, I'm begging you. Please, I'm going to be so good - god, please -"

You tug her back, look her in the eye, and let out a loud, shaky exhale. "Knees, princess."

She's too wracked with need to do anything other than comply. Her jaw drops. “But-”

"Mouth," you cut in, sharp enough that her gaze lifts, and you're right there - on the precipice, so close, watching her tongue dart out of her mouth to run across the swell of her bottom lip.

Watching her knees fold into the carpet, her stockings down loose around her thighs, her underwear hanging off an ankle. The rise and fall of her chest like rolling waves, and you can see her hands fisting on her knees, and her face: you watch the emotion flash over, like water on glass, and a moment is all it takes. She leans her face forward to your hand, as you wind her hair into your fist, her lips parted and her gaze lowered. She's obedient, taking the weight of your cock with her pretty pink mouth like the fucked-up-little-fantasy that she is, opening so nice and wide.

Her eyes flit up to yours, her mascara-ringed lashes fanned against the pink of her cheeks.

"My face," she tells you, or something close to it, "fuck my face. Go ahead, use it - cum all over me."

Your cock slides halfway home, her cheeks hollowing, and when it presses to the back of her throat, she gags. You curse and tip your head back, the wood of your desk digging into the flesh of your palm.

"What did you say," you half groan out. "Baby," you add, just for good measure, just to play along, "c'mon."

The tip of Yuna's tongue sweeps and swirls just beneath your cockhead, and she moans her answer around your length, lapping at a leak of precum. "I said," she's repeating now, her cheek brushing across your shaft, and you shudder. "Fuck, what I said was I want you to cum all over my face.

Jesus.

You bury your cock into her mouth once, twice. Let it sit there. Let her really struggle for it, the angle just a tad awkward from above. Let her lips stretch wide, and her shoulders shake a little - tears start to gather, pricking her eyes, her lipstick a mess, the way your cock fits, plugging up her throat so full. You hold her like that for just a second, a little less - until Yuna's moaning, the vibration low in her mouth, and her eyes flutter open, closed.

"Fuck," you spit out, and "perfect," and your voice is shot, your whole face warm, and you're going to cum on her - everywhere on her. Yuna, who’s been staring up at you in wide-eyed submission, gives you a little nod, like she means it.

Like she’s earned it.

And maybe she has: it only takes one last look to seal it - her hand curled around your cock, her cheek matted with her own spit and lipstick, the bright smudge of her own cum from the point of her chin to the cleft of her cupid's bow, and her eyes are locked on yours, eager and hot. Maybe she hasn't - and maybe you should make her beg, fuck her mouth some more - it's almost cruel, how she looks. A perfectly pretty picture, poised and pliant and waiting, and she's right there, beneath you, and fuck - this is so wrong, and you'll ruin her, you'll mark her up like this. She'll be painted like a work of art.

Your pulse thickens. Stands right up in your veins.

Then, your control, snapping: her pretty lashes flutter, her mouth gone slack, her jaw still tilted up like she expects a gift, an offering, her palm wrapped so nice and snug around the base of your cock, her expression dazed, and so easy, and perfect, so eager. You tilt your hips just a fraction further, and she fucking swallows, her tongue tracing the underside where you throb harder, heavier - her body lilting up as you press in so deep.

“God,” you breathe in, out. It hits hard. It hits fast. “Yuna-”

A tensing of your stomach coils up through like smoke, and your grip tightens on the edge of your desk, the other in her hair, a helpless, desperate thrusting, and there - it's a wonderful, brilliant sort of explosion, like light, the white-hot burn of a fever breaking. You cum all over her face and into her hair, spilling out streaks of hot, filthy white onto her sculpted features and the sweet line of her throat, and god, there's so much, she's taking it so easily, all her breathing hot and heavy and loud.

Her skin alabaster and porcelain; cotton and canvas; she lets you fucking paint her, all messy and ruined.

In fact she’s even smiling like she’s holding in a laugh, all gooey-soft with satisfaction, and you're jerking your cock slow through her slender fingers, even after there's nothing else left to give and every inch of her face is marked - the way she wears your cum like new skin. You feel the shockwave tear your nerves open, and then the calm, right on its heels, spreading out from your core to your fingertips, out through the roots of your hair.

"Ah," you exhale, a tight gasp. Yuna takes the entirety of you into her mouth, sucking down your length - harder - as she swallows back a final, sticky load, her own hair sweat-slick to her face.

Just look at the damage: that’s a story not even you’d be able to spin. There's cum on her nose, dribbling past her cheek. On her jaw and on her cheek. Filthy white streaked all over her parted lips, her neck. Down her shoulder blades, and soiling her hair, and leaking down past her collarbones.

(Christ, was this better or worse? You can't even tell. Every version of her that's been served on a plate for you has seen fit to make you sweat.)

When the dust begins to settle, you’re left panting and spent. Yuna, the collateral on this fine, whiny, disaster of a deal. A collection of photos, and some thoughts and ideas, that now sit disheveled on the ground. There's a scathing voice inside your head that's demanding to be heard, reminding you all-too-casually that this is not any way to manage a client. She could snap her fingers, call out to that sycophant at the top floor, and your career would be over - she could do anything she should ever desire.

You know, on a baser level, this, and worse: the duality of the thought. Her tight cunt on your desk, you on your knees; the sharp gasp you can steal from the top of her throat, perhaps when she feels the gentle pressure of teeth around one rosy nipple. The pinch of your thumb and index finger around the other. Her nails down your back in ten angry lines, and the throb in her throat, while you slide the whole width of a hand, rough, over the flesh of her ass.

Maybe the desk, like everything else, can just join the pile on the floor.

"Yuna," you say, the vowels pitching like a sigh.

Her palms find the sharp crease in your pants and slide upward. She's gazing up at you, bright, her face sticky with you.

"You can't send me out like this," she tells you, matter-of-factly, letting a smile cross the lines of her lips - or a smirk. A wordless extension of the previous sentence - of a few.

You pull out and away from her: a white and gray dotted tie hanging loose, unknotted; a button still fastened somewhere mid-center, your trousers pulled off and loose down just below your knees, the fly gaping open. She's in a similar state, the cups of her bra slipping loose, her mouth flushed, lips swollen and red, the outline of how she’d let you use her in a smeary, runny stain across her cheek.

"Maybe let your manager know," you tell her, pulling your belt in place, and you think you catch her eye rolling. "That you're going to be late."

Yuna doesn't hesitate.

"Tell her yourself," she responds, "I'm sure she'll be relieved to hear I'm not actually dead - just having gotten fucked stupid on my PR person's cock."

"I might forget to include a couple details."

"You shouldn’t." Her eyebrows jump. And she's chewing, lazily, on the full curve of her lower lip, her teeth glinting like razors. "Here, before you throw all this to the sharks -"

So, so very dramatic, and with this: her thumbnail pressed beneath your chin. It draws your gaze up - up, and down: from the splay of her legs and the gleam of wetness between them, a brief rest along the arcs of her chest - the room's a total fucking wreck. Your necktie, her skirt, her blouse, her pantyhose. The papers and books all spread, bent, broken, the stack knocked clean onto its side. The skirt's probably still pulled too far up her hips for decency, her breasts shoved up to her neck and the collarbone, and then there's her face - her chin streaked with cum. Yuna smiles then, the corner of her mouth pulled upward.

She might kiss her if you'd let her.

Cum on her lips be damned, she's beautiful like that, like she isn't even trying. And in fact, she never really had to - this girl, she'd do it alone. The idea that someone could be as universally loved as she, is enough, a marvel even, but here she is in front of you, every atom and curve a siren, a study in perfection and composition. Like she’s not just all your mistakes laid out to bear.

"Take a second to take a proper look, hm? Get all the memories in, while they're fresh."

"Because?"

"You can remember I'm only the person you say I am, for you."

"You can remember I'm only who you say I am, for you."

"Oh, of course," and the laugh that leaves your throat sounds dry, cracked open. The band of her skirt stretches, snaps back, so neatly that it leaves a pale line on her flesh. And now there are your hands, fitting around her hipbones, a sigh: a short, sudden motion, tugging her up. Yuna gasps: something surprised, delighted. She's all grins and teeth, all clean, bright incisors.

"Mine," you're breathing, the flat of her stomach underneath the fingers you've placed upon it. "This is mine - you. Yours - you're all mine."

It’s possessive, but, you’re not all incorrect.

"Yeah," she more than agrees.

There's a ribbon-taut quality in the way it leaves her mouth, the tension in her body coiled up through to the bones. She makes it sound like the beginning of a promise, the beginning of something much larger.

And by the way." She’s still buttoning her shirt. Putting herself together. You’ve seen the triage, the damage control. This is the Yuna you get.

So, she needs the second - a respite to lick a stray stripe of slick and cum off her wrist - blotting her cheeks with a ball of wet tissue, until all that's left is the smeared lipstick, her stockings splayed around the floor. The pattern you've worn, where your fingerprints would've shown, gets covered up under her skirt and her coat, wrapped up in a scarf.

The smug satisfaction in her tone pulls your focus, just in time, her hair's falling in waves down her shoulders - perfect, but not flawless: there's a creased line, a hint of her throat, just beneath the collar. There's a slight wisp out of place. The buttons aren't arranged all the way from her collar to her sternum.

"I'm going to go with that photoset, with the white top, in the sand - gonna post 'em online and generate some buzz. You even said it yourself: they're fine. " She pauses, pushing away a strand of hair. "Professionally, of course."

"Professionalism." You smile. "Of course."

She walks out carrying the stilettos: pumps in either hand.

"Always. Catch you soon," she promises, and you do catch a last flash of her expression, lips parted, the lower curving into a satisfied smile, right as she flicks the lock on the door open and your office goes back to quiet.

For a split second, it's unbearable: the silence.

And you think again.

She can have anything, get any boy, girl, whoever, any designer, photographer, make-up artist in the world; there's something so unmistakably intoxicating about the fact that the thing she's decided she wants, is you.

#yuna smut #itzy smut #itzy yuna smut #male reader smut #kpop fanfic

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theowritesstuff · 1 year

Text

Everything

Kaz Brekker x gn!healer!reader

Requests: “Don’t make me say it. I can’t say the words.” & “You are everything. Everything.” Although I did change it to “You are everything to me. Everything.”

Warnings: bruises, knives, guns, stabbing, blood, murder (feral Kaz)

A/N: Yeah, this is pretty dark guys. If you’ve watched the show/read the books you’ll be fine, but the crows plotlines are usually dark. I actually really like this one though! Italics are Kaz’s thoughts.

Request a prompt with one of my characters!

Kaz Brekker was methodical. He planned everything he could down to the very minute. It was how he was able to become the leader of the Dregs, the Bastard of the Barrel. No one dared cross Kaz, in fear of losing their life.

His crew were nearly as untouchable as he was. Jesper, the sharpshooter. Inej, the wraith. Wylan, the demolitions expert. Nina, the heartrender. And Matthias, the druskelle. They, along with their leader, made up one of the most prominent gangs in Ketterdam.

Then there was you. You were the crow that Kaz kept tucked away from the rest of Ketterdam.

Nina had brought you to Kaz after finding you help a small child with a nasty scrape on his knee. She watched as you guided your hand over the scrape, and the cuts disappeared. She hadn’t seen another Corporalnik in Ketterdam before, and knew that having a healer would help immensely when it came to heists.

Kaz was reluctant to take you in, only agreeing once he’d seen you heal a black eye Jesper had been sporting for a few days. He gave you a room at the Slat, gave you a few kruge, and introduced you to the other crows.

They were all easy to get along with. Nina helped you ease into this new life, often times joining you for meals, or taking walks through the markets with you. You had an obvious initial distaste for Mathias, often times choosing to stay away from the druskelle, but seeing him with Nina quickly put you at ease. Inej was incredibly kind to you, and graciously thanked you whenever you healed her. Wylan and Jesper were easy to get along with, often times too absorbed in each other to be aware of other things going on around them.

Then there was Kaz. It was more difficult to have a working relationship with Kaz, anyone could tell you he usually kept to himself unless he was giving orders or collecting kruge. You tried not to take his indifference to you personally.

You do remember the day things changed between you and Kaz though. The group had all come back from a heist exhausted, some injured, some just tired, but you could see Kaz out of the corner of your eye walking to his room quicker than he usually does. You followed him upstairs, and softly knocked on the door.

“Come in.” He grunted.

You’d never been in Kaz’s room before, you don’t think anyone other than Kaz actually has. It’s dark, and honestly exactly what you’d expected. A bed in the corner, a desk against the wall cluttered with paper, and a wardrobe that he was currently riffing through.

“Is there a reason you’ve decided to grace me with your presence Y/n?” He asks, his tone sharp.

“How did you know it was me?” You shuffle forward, and close his door behind you.

“Everyone else knows not to bother me after a job.” He turned his head towards you slightly, allowing you to catch a glimpse of red on his cheek.

“You’re hurt.” You take a step towards him. He steps back from you instantaneously.

“I’m fine.” He turns back to his wardrobe.

“Saints, why must you be so stubborn?” You sigh. He doesn’t answer you. “I thought you hired me to heal you, so let me do my job.”

It’s his turn to sigh this time. It would be nice to stop the stinging sensation on his face. He glances at you, then gestures you towards him. “Fine.” He sits down in the chair at his desk, and watches you slowly step towards him.

You slowly move towards him, aware of the way his shoulder tense with every step you take. You don’t know exactly what’s happened to him, but you can easily tell he’s got some sort of touch aversion after watching him for a while. The black gloves that never come off his hands are used as another layer to keep others away.

Once you’re standing in front of him you take a look at the thin cut across his cheek. “I didn’t know the bastard of the barrel could bleed.” You murmur.

You don’t fail to miss the slight upward quirk of his lips at your comment. He holds his breath as your fingertips hover over him. He expected to feel the waters rise up in his chest, drowning him, instead he’s surprised to feel warmth from your hand. You’re careful not to actually touch him, pulling away once he’s been healed.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” You ask, stepping away from him.

That was the moment you became more than just the Dregs’ healer. Whenever you went out anywhere Kaz would send Inej with you for protection. He knew how valuable a grisha was in Ketterdam, and he was not going to let someone else take you away. He called you into his office in the Crow Club or his room in the Slat more often. Sometimes he’d need you to heal a paper cut, other times he’d just want your company while he planned out heists. On nights where he came back banged up more than usual he’d bare more skin to you, allowing you to heal him and provide him the comfort a part of him so desperately needed.

He’d never let it be known he was growing some kind of attachment to you. You were a weakness to him, and Kaz Brekker didn’t have any weaknesses.

It didn’t take long for the other crows to figure out something was different between the two of you. Kaz was a cold, corrupt gang leader, but they could see a shift in him when you were near.

He’d give you his coat if you felt cold on the walk from the club back to the Slat. He kept your favorite drink in stock at the Crow Club. He’d look to you for your opinion on plans for heists. He whispered comments to you while he thought the others weren’t paying attention, a smug grin growing on his face as you laughed at what he’d said. Soft isn’t the right word for what Kaz had become when you were near. He was gentle with you.

Jesper caught you sneaking out of Kaz’s room early one morning still in the clothes you’d worn the previous day. He smirked at Kaz as he ate his breakfast for the day.

“Have a pleasant night boss?” He asked over his cup of coffee.

Kaz raises a brow at him, silently asking what he meant.

Jesper simply looks over at you, who is currently in conversation with Nina and Mathias on the other side of the room. His eyes travel back to Kaz, gleaming with mischief.

Kaz looks like he’s about to hit Jesper over the head with the crow’s head of his cane. He gets a stern talking to in Kaz’s office later that day, and is informed that if anyone finds out about his meetings with you, his precious revolvers might end up on someone’s table in the market.

No one mentions any changes they’ve seen in Kaz after that. Everything goes smoothly from then on, until one particular heist.

It was a lot like any other heist, sneak into a place, steal something that costs an exorbitant amount of money, then sell it for twice the price. The problem was Kaz needed someone to sneak into a crowded party, and at that point most of the barrel could pick out any of the crows in a crowd. They needed someone that could be inconspicuous.

It was the perfect job for you. You’d always wanted to go on the crazy adventures your friend went on so often, and this was finally something you could swing.

When you volunteered to step in, Kaz immediately refused. There was a reason he kept you locked away in the Slat during jobs.

No amount of kruge is worth putting your life on the line.

He gives excuse after excuse as to why you can’t be used. You haven’t done this before. You don’t know your way around the building. They need their healer ready to treat them afterwards.

I can’t bear the thought of losing you.

“You don’t even know how to use a weapon.” Kaz sighed, barely looking up at you from the blueprints on his desk.

“Inej can teach me, right?” You turn to the wraith with pleading eyes.

Inej stutters as she looks between you, and the icy stare coming from Kaz.

“Besides, you said that you wanted me to learn how to fight.”

No, I said you should learn to use a weapon. I figured Jesper would let you shoot a few bottles behind the Slat.

“We need them boss. Y/n is our best bet.” Jesper shrugs as he becomes the receiving end of Kaz’s glare.

Kaz looks back down at his blueprints. He knows it’s going to be a busy event, and the others will be spotted on sight. He briefly wonders if he can hire someone else to do the job, but then he looks back up at you. He trusts you, more than he’s trusted anyone in a long time. He knows this is something you’re perfectly capable of, but is it something he’s willing to risk?

“Fine.” He grunts. “But Jesper and Inej will teach you to use their weapons first.”

Your hearts swells up with pride. If you didn’t know any better you would’ve thrown yourself over his desk to hug him. “Thank you Kaz. I promise you won’t regret this.”

If only you knew how wrong you had been.

You did train with Inej and Jesper prior to the heist. You even practiced fighting with Mathias a little bit, who was significantly holding back his punches in fear of actually hurting you.

Kaz had made sure to drill his instructions into everyone’s heads, until they could repeat their schedules without thinking about it. Everything had gone to according to plan on the night of, until things took a drastic turn.

He kept an eye on you for as long as he could, until he was needed somewhere else, leaving you in the crowd of the large hall completely isolated from the rest of the group.

You were doing well on your own, slowly becoming more confident as you strolled around and made conversation. You managed to distract all of the merchants with conversation long enough for the crew to get what they needed. It was nearing the time Kaz told you to meet him outside when you were spotted by someone. You vaguely recognized the face, it was a man you’d seen in the Crow Club a few times.

He must’ve known about your affiliation with the crows, because next thing you know you’re being escorted the opposite direction you need to go. You try to stay calm, and remember what Jesper and Inej taught you about fighting, but you know with them holding onto your arms it’ll be near impossible to reach for the knife you have hidden away.

You end up in a courtyard behind the building when they start to question you. Simple things like “why are you here?” and “where are your friends?”. They quickly become aggravated with your innocent act, and become more incessant.

All it took was for one of the men holding you to loosen his grip for you to swing your arm away, and hit him on the side of his face with your elbow. Chaos ensued immediately. You were able to grab your knife, and used it as best you could against the three men fighting you. You had taken a few hits, but were able to stand your ground fairly well, until you felt a sharp pain in your side.

You froze, partially from shock, but mostly from the searing pain you felt. You looked down to see a dagger lodged in your side, being held onto by one of the men. He had a wicked grin on his face as he twisted the knife inside of you. You wailed out as he pulled the knife from your body, and watched as you collapsed to the ground.

“Brekker won’t be able to save you from that, little bird.” He snikered, then ran back inside with the others.

You could feel the blood pooling at your side. You tried to press a hand to the now sticky fabric of your shirt, and put pressure on the wound. You were far too hurt to be able to concentrate your powers to one spot. Your vision started to get spotty when you heard voices above you. A girl’s voice, clearly in distress, and a boy’s voice, sharp and stern.

More hands pressed to your side, then something was wrapped tightly around your waist.

You couldn’t hear what they were actually saying before you felt yourself being picked up, and held in someone’s arms. You looked up to see the figure that was holding you. A bigger build, wide shoulders, blonde hair? Mathias. Had you been conscious enough to speak you would’ve made a joke. Something about a druskelle carrying a grisha to safety. He’d laugh, but retort, telling you about how many times he’s had to save Nina.

You let yourself fall into the darkness after a while, your head lolling against Mathias’ chest. It’s okay, you thought, you knew you weren’t going to make it as soon as he pulled that knife out of you. You just wish you were able to see your friends one last time, to see Kaz one last time.

Kaz could feel his heart thundering in his chest. He tried to keep a calm composure, but anyone of the crows could see the anxiety building up in him. He was barking orders as soon as he saw you laying on the ground, a puddle of your own blood surrounding you. The waves start to build in his chest. He wants to reach out and touch you, to give you any semblance of comfort, because you’re not dead, there’s no way he’s letting you die. He’ll destroy all of Kerch before he lets that happen.

He notices when your head lolls. “Quickly.” He urges the group, speeding his own pace back to the Slat.

Once everyones regrouped they all gather in your room, where Mathias has lain you down on your bed.

Kaz tosses a pouch of coins to Jesper. “Go get some medicine. I don’t care how much it costs. Get the best you can find.”

Inej kneels down next to you, whispering prayers to her saints. Mathias leaves to gather supplies to help you. Nina keeps your heartbeat steady, her hands hovering above your chest.

The waters have reached his lungs now, pulling him down deeper into the ocean. Your blood coats the scarf Inej tied around you earlier, staining the blue material a dark, deep red.

“Saints! Kaz, your heartbeat is obscenely loud! Could you please go anywhere else?” Nina snaps at him.

Kaz doesn’t move for a moment, then quickly leaves your room to go to his own. He attempts to slow his breathing, to calm himself down, but anytime he closes his eyes he sees you again. You and Jordie.

It’s days before he talks to anyone. He only ever leaves his room to step into yours. Nina occupies a chair near your bed, dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep.

“Still alive.” Is all she says to him. He nods, then retreats back to his room.

He scours any and all information he has about the party, until he finds what might give him some relief. He leaves the Slat early one morning, and doesn’t return until late that evening. The gold crow’s head of his cane is now a bright crimson color. Blood is splattered on his neck, and one can assume his clothes as well, though the black hides it well from anyone giving him a second glance.

Jesper is surprised to see Kaz in such a state, knowing that he liked to keep up appearances.

“Hey boss, you’ve got a little…” he trails off, gesturing to his neck.

“It’s not mine.” He rushes passed Jesper, back to his room to start scrubbing the blood away.

You wake up about a week after the heist. Your throat is dry, and you feel incredibly hungry. Your limbs feel weak when move to sit up.

Nina sits next to you on a chair. She’s slouched over, soft snores falling from her lips. You softly nudge her, and let out a hoarse “Nina.”

She grumbles to herself as she wakes up. “Kaz, they’re fine.” She slowly opens her eyes to see you staring back at her, and she gasps. “Saints! You’re awake!”

You point to the cup that sits next to her, and gulp down the water when she hands it to you.

She stands up and looks towards the door to your room. “I’m going to go get Kaz.”

You grab her wrist before she can leave you. “Please don’t. I don’t think I can deal with incessant “I told you so”s right now.”

Nina scoffs. “Oh please, he’s been worried sick about you. I had to kick him out of here because his heartbeat was distracting me from yours.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He even paid for some pretty pricey medicine for you. Speaking of which, here, take these.” She holds out a few pills. “Now, I’m going to go get Kaz, and maybe after this near-death experience you two will finally just tell each other that you love one another.”

“What? I don’t-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shake your head.

“It’s okay, he’s not very good at hiding it either.” She smirks at you before she leaves.

She’s only gone a few minutes before your door swings open with Kaz in your doorway.

“You’re awake.” He says.

You shift so that you’re sitting up on your bed. Kaz closes your door behind him, then sits down in the chair Nina had been using, his eyes trained on the floor ahead.

“I’m sorry about the heist Kaz. But I promise I didn’t tell them anything-”

“I know.”

You furrow your brows. “You know?”

He looks up at you. When he does this, you realize just how close you are to him. You can see every detail in his face. The way his blue eyes sparkled in the dim candlelight of your room. You could brush your leg against his if you shifted. You start to move away from him, afraid of touching him, but stop when what sounds like a plea escapes him.

“Stay.”

You let out the breath you’d been holding, and relax beside him.

“Nina said you were worried about me.” You say softly.

He laughs a little, shaking his head. It’s a sight he’s reserved for just you. “Of course she did.”

“Were you?”

He looks into your eyes as if he’s searching for something. “I was.” He takes a breath, then turns his body so he’s facing you. “You scared me Y/n. I thought you had died, or were close to it. And I…” His admission is quiet. “Don’t make me say it. I can’t say the words.” He hangs his head in shame. The bastard of the barrel can’t admit how he feels.

“I understand.” You nod. “I feel so much love for you Kaz, you consume my every thought. You don’t need to say anything. I understand.”

He looks up at you, surprised. Surprised that someone as pure as you, someone who was literally made to heal, could ever love someone who’s caused so much pain as he has. He slowly removes his right glove, and drops the leather to the ground. He lifts his hand to your face, hovering near your cheek.

“You don’t have to.” You whisper, body frozen.

“I want to.” He takes a deep breath in an attempt to push the waves down, and slowly caresses your cheek. His throat tightens up, and for a moment it feels like he’s drowning again. But he focuses on your warmth, and his breathing slows down again. “You are everything to me. Everything.”

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #shadow and bone #shadow and bone x reader #six of crows #six of crows x reader

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geesenoises · 3 months

Text

DnD: dungeons and draco

for @quail-in-red. this is just further proof that if anybody shows even the slightest interest in one of my dumb jokes, i crumble and perform like a silly jester at once. based on this post i made last year and rediscovered today about hp wizards playing DnD.

Dean didn’t give a lot of details when he invited Harry to his weekly dungeons and dragons game, but the last person Harry expected to see at the table was Draco Malfoy.

“We started a game together when we were, er,” Dean trailed off.

“When we were prisoners in Draco's house!” Luna finished for him brightly.

Malfoy didn’t say anything, just met Harry’s eyes stolidly and then went to fuss with the small pile of papers and cards in front of him.

Harry shared a look with Ron, who was already sitting between Dean and Hermione, and then sighed inwardly and took the last remaining seat between Seamus and Luna. He pulled out the premade character sheet Dean had owled him last week. It was wrinkled from having nearly been lost in a pile of post and then hastily shoved in Harry’s pocket before flooing to Dean’s flat.

Harry looked around the table. Malfoy’s stack of papers was bigger than anyone else’s, even Hermione’s. And why did he have so many cards? There was a little wooden tray in front of him too. The dice in the tray looked iridescent, catching and reflecting the light. Trust Malfoy to have expensive poncy accessories. Why was he even here? Did he even like DnD? He’d grown up around magic his whole life; what did he need to pretend for?

“And so let’s go around and introduce our characters,” Dean finished. Harry had missed his whole introduction. “Since Draco and Luna have played before, we’ll start with them.”

Malfoy straightened up a little, carefully picking up his character sheet even though it seemed like he was so familiar with it, he didn’t need to reference it. “I’m Mike, a level three call center operator. I’m twenty-three years old, originally from Essex and just moved to London. I played football in uni, but am feeling less fit now that I have a job where I sit all day.”

Luna went next and spoke in a surprisingly deep voice. “My name is Archie, and I’m a level six IT consultant. I’m forty-six years old, originally from Norwich, but I moved to London for uni and never left. I’ve been married to my wife, Evelyn, for twenty years and we have two children and a cocker spaniel named Rosa.”

Harry stared down at the character sheet in front of him. He hadn’t looked at it before grabbing it in his rush to get here on time. It told him he was meant to be playing Grace, a 29 year old paramedic who’d grown up in London and recently broken up with her fiance after finding out he had cheated on her. She had a cat named Pomegranate. Harry didn’t know much about tabletop games, but there had been a group of kids that Dudley’s gang would sometimes target instead of Harry who had played. And what he’d overhead from their games didn’t sound anything like this.

“Hang on, these are just normal people; we’re all humans with muggle jobs. I thought we were playing dungeons and dragons, you know, with magic involved.”

Malfoy glared at him. “Weren’t you paying attention, Potter? Dean just explained the premise of our campaign.”

Harry didn’t want to admit to Malfoy he’d been too busy wondering what his dice were made of. He looked away from Malfoy to Dean. “Er, sorry. I was… distracted.”

Dean sighed but looked more resigned than irritated at having to explain again. “When I started the game with Draco and Luna, they got confused by the magic system because actual magic doesn’t work the way it does in DnD, so I made up a slightly different game we could play. We’re a group of Londoners in a recreational dodgeball league.”

“And honestly, Harry, it doesn’t feel right pretending to be of magical creature heritage for a game,” Hermione added. “Think of what kind of hurtful stereotypes we could fall into.”

“Okay…” Harry said slowly. It still felt strange, but now that he thought about it, he supposed he didn’t need to spend his Thursday evenings pretending to be part of a group camping out and hunting evil. Once per lifetime was enough without having to do it recreationally in the realm of imagination.

Harry smoothed out his character sheet again and introduced the group to Grace.

not sure if there will be more, but we're all shipping mike/grace right?

#drarry #drarry fic #my writing #probably at some point one of them rolls a nat 20 and they kiss out of excitement

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thisblogisaboutabook · 27 days

Text

Bad Idea Right? - Part 9

Eris x Reader/Azriel’s Daughter

What are friends for if not for meddling? A certain daughter of spring and her heir apparent lover scheme to bring a stubborn Shadowsinger and her Autumn High Lord mate back together.

A/n: remember when I said this would be the final part? I was wrong. Sorry! Don’t hate me. There will be at least one more chapter and an epilogue.

Part 8 Series Masterlist Part 10

Warnings: language, sexual innuendos, alcohol

In hindsight, perhaps I was a bit dramatic. But in my defense, what the fuck??

The High Lord of the Autumn Court is my mate?

And he’s known since the moment he met me?

I am a fool, truly. There’s no other explanation. Perhaps I may not be as perceptive as my father or nosey little sister but I’m pretty damned adept in reading a room.

Yet I’d been fucking my mate for two years with zero clue. No wonder my damned shadows enjoy playing with him so much. But to be fair, who wouldn’t? I mean look at him. The muscles, graceful stature, those auburn locks of hair, that arrogant smirk that I want nothing more than to kiss right off his stupid, gorgeous face.

And in the face of the truth, I fled. Like a coward.

“Sissy?” Azalea’s concerned voice interrupts my spiral of self-loathing.

Her little hand squeezes mine. “Ice cream makes me feel better when I’m sad.”

“That sounds wonderful, Azzie.”

With that, my mother gave a soft smile and strode to the kitchen to retrieve my favorite strawberry flavor from the ice box.

I looked down to my sister to find her brows drawn together and lips pursed, wings sagging just a bit. “What’s going on, Azalea?”

“I told Eris that what he did was bad but sissy, I don’t think he’s bad. But you were so sad.”

Oh.

“Oh Azalea, I’m sorry. I appreciate you and your loyalty. I’m lucky to have such a kind little sister and you know what? I bet Eris would prefer for you to stick up for me instead of ignoring my feelings. Because you’re right, he is not bad. He’s not a bad male at all.”

“Then why are you so sad?” question shone in her eyes as she waited for a response.

“I’m upset because I believed that he liked me for me - but now that I know he knew I was his mate from the moment we met, it makes me feel like he only likes me because of a bond that neither of us have control over.”

The winged little girl pondered before replying, “He can still love you for who you are even with a bond. I didn’t have control over being your sister, but I like you a lot. I wouldn’t want anyone else to be my sister.”

Her words stopped me in my tracks. Since when was my little sister so wise beyond her years? Yet still - it stings. It stings for there to have been so many secrets and perhaps he had good reason to hide it. Hell, maybe he didn’t even want me beyond the most base level of a mating bond. The sex was incredible. Yet, he was the one who took me on a date tonight. Still came around despite my father’s ominous presence. An ugly voice inside of me whispered that it was all to gain a political foothold, yet the more rational side of me could feel that it wasn’t truth.

A bang on the door interrupted my thoughts.

Azzie’s wings rustle, little legs bounding across the room in search of the unexpected intrusion, her hazel eyes peering out the foyer window. My heart fluttered briefly - could it be him? What would I say?

The racing sensation in my chest faltered as my shadows briefed me of the visitor’s identity.

“Azzie, can you go ask mom to scoop an extra bowl of ice cream?”

She didn’t miss a beat as her little feet took off into the kitchen where she animatedly informed our mother of the visitor at our doorstep.

Another knock and a shout of “Open up the door, bitch! I know you’re in there.” had me letting out a flustered breath and scurrying to allow the nuisance entry into my home, greeting her with “How do you even know where I live?”

“Well,” Layla let out an exasperated sigh, taking a step into the fae-light illuminated foyer. “For one, it’s nice to see you again too. Second, Daemati boyfriend, remember?” Pointing a finger to her head with an incredulous expression, she continued. “Third, you didn’t see me fleeing when my tits were out in front of your entire family. THANKS for that.”

Shame flooded my features but she cut off any attempt at an apology for leaving her in the uncomfortable predicament with Nyx. “Eh, I like to think of myself as a bit of an exhibitionist. I just never imagined my first foray into such endeavors would involve the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. ANYWAY-“ the blonde gave me a pointed look, summoning two bottles of wine from a pocket realm. “I brought vino for our troubles.”

Twenty minutes later and we’d all soothed our wounds with ice cream and Azalea peppering Layla with questions about anything and everything she could think of.

I could have fallen through the floor when she gleefully informed Layla that she did indeed try to stop us before barging in upon her and Nyx’s more private affairs. Layla only laughed and flashed me a vulgar gesture when Azalea wasn’t looking.

Azalea eventually dozed off somewhere between Layla and I’s second and third bottle of wine when she jumped up with a shriek. “Oh my gods! What’s the name of that bar you lot love so much? Rose’s?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Rita’s?”

“Yes! That’s the one. Let’s go! Girls night out.”

“Layla, why don’t we go somewhere the Inner Circle doesn’t frequent? Somewhere a bit more youthful?”

With a dismissive wave she shush’d me. “No way. Let’s be tourists. Wouldn’t anyone visiting want to go to THE spot that the Court’s upper echelon frequent? Let’s go dazzle the citizens of Velaris with our sexy moves. I’ll let you grind against me if you’re good.”

I laughed at my friend’s peculiar method of cheering me up but honestly, a night out to let loose before facing the rocky road ahead sounded like just what I needed.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

———

Rita’s was more packed than usual as an attendant led Layla and I back to the Inner Circle’s standard table, we snaked through the crowded floor, brushing shoulders with the ocasional dancing patron when I overheard a voice muttering about the “sexy High Lord” she’d bumped into at the bar.

I reached to grab Layla’s attention but it was too late as I looked up to find her cozied up to Nyx with my uncles, my father, and my- “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Looking past my friend with her shit-eating grin, I see the gorgeous face of my mate.

————————

Eris

He stood dejected in the basement of the gallery, trying to process what had just gone down.

Never did he imagine this was how the night would turn out. Under normal circumstances, he would be traveling back to his court to look into the father of the Day Court female who’d tried holding him hostage but Helion would look further into it and send word. He was not in a place to fairly handle such a situation given that the thought of them laying a hand on his mate made him burn with rage.

So he stood there, taking steadying breaths about to leave when a low whistle rang out behind him and a large hand clapped his back. “Ouch. Not the ideal way to reveal a mating bond.”

Eris scoffed, readying an unbecoming retort when Cassian continued, “Been there. It’s not easy but you two will work it out. Beer helps. Care to grab a drink at Rita’s while Nyx and Rhys work their shit out? Probably not the best for you and Azriel to be alone together at the moment anyway.”

To his credit- Azriel only let out a semi-annoyed huff and rolled his eyes.

What the fuck was this evening becoming? Mating bond unveiled and now getting drinks with a male who had every right to loathe him.

But Eris didn’t have it in him to deny the offer. So with that, he found himself at Rita’s with the Night Court general.

“I’m just saying that these Archerons, they’re lovely and great but… they’re headstrong.” He put two palms up in the air. “Now before you jump to conclusions, it’s not a BAD thing. The gods know Nesta has handed my ass to me when I’ve needed it many times over the years but sometimes…. Sometimes you’ve just got to give them time to come around.”

Eris could have reminded Cassian that most females would need time to come around to such a reveal but… the male was making an effort and Eris had nobody else to talk to about such a situation.

He supposed he could have tracked down Lucien but the matter felt a bit too sensitive to address at the moment given the rejected bond between he and Elain and the very obvious fact that Eris’ mate was the result of that rejected bond.

“Hey- I’m here making an effort. At least try to appear like you’re not tuning me out.” Cassian waved a hand before him.

“Apologies.” Eris smirked, refusing to let the male see him too down and out. “Just processing everything.”

“Well, finish the rest of this beer and we can order some of that autumnal shit you all prefer in your court for the next round. Unless you’re too prissy and have some fancy shit you High Lord’s prefer.”

Eris recognized the bait for what it was, given that he knew Cassian would be the first to indulge in Rhysand’s top shelf liquors.

Eris lifted the foaming mug to his mouth and downed the entire beer before placing it back down on the counter. “Another Illyrian draft is just fine.”

The large male beside him let out a hum that almost seemed like approval. “Maybe you’re not such a cunt after all, High Lord.”

“Yeah, well keep that between us.”

Cassian held up two fingers as the bar keep gave him a nod and Cassian pointed to a table in the corner.

No sooner than they’d seated themselves did Rhysand and Nyx enter the establishment, a hesitant Azriel behind them.

“Sorry.” Cassian shrugged. “Rhys sent word a couple minutes ago. Figured we could all use a round after this evening.”

Rhys looking a bit disheveled in comparison to that usual air of arrogance he exuded, giving a cocky grin as eyes within the establishment fell upon him. His son on the other hand still appeared a bit out of sorts given the inconvenient revelation of he and the daughter of Spring to his entire family.

The Shadowsinger only gave a curt nod in greeting, expression remaining stony.

Through a boisterous laugh the general teased, “Welcome to the shit show.”

The tension at the table was palpable, Azriel glaring daggers through Eris, Nyx very clearly communicating mind to mind with someone, Rhys slowly losing his resolve in maintaining his collected facade. Cassian, ever the instigator, broke the silence. “So, mates, huh?”

Azriel’s cold gaze averted from the Autumn High Lord to the General, promising violence. “Hey-“ Cassian raised his palms again. “It’s not so bad. She could have been mated to Tamlin.”

Had it not been for the mating bond chafing his ass, Eris could have laughed but he only bristled at the thought of his mate with any other male.

“Ouch!” Cassian yelped as the violet-eyed High Lord kicked him under the table.

“Oh come on! None of us handled our mating bonds perfectly, and I know damn well that any of you would be enjoying this mess if roles were reversed. You’re just pissy, I remember very clearly the shit you gave me when this fucker,”pointing a calloused finger to Eris with a cheeky grin, “proposed to Nesta!”

Eris really wanted to fall through the floor at this point. “But she was my mate, and look at us now? Remember those days at the dining table, Az?”

Shadows whirled violently around the Spymaster. “You’re not obligated to speak every little thought that pops into your mind.”

Though it was clear the Shadowsinger was deathly serious, Cassian only waived him off and Nyx burst out laughing, egging his Uncle on.

“Mating bonds aren’t everything.” Azriel growled out, “You’re not entitled to her. She’s her own person and can choose what her heart wants.”

Eris raised an eyebrow at the implication. He was well aware that he played the bastard role well but he would never-

“Are you implying, Shadowsinger, that I would not let your precious daughter choose? And believe me, I’m well aware of the atrocities and the merits that can come from a rejected mating bind. I remember the physical and emotional pain inflicted upon my brother when his own bond was rejected, the uncontrollable waves of grief that still sometimes roll through him.” Azriel sat, stone faced at the reminder that his wife was not his mate. Eris didn’t give him time to react, continuing.

“But I’m also well aware that if not for that pain and that rejected bond, I would be without my beloved nephew, or my curious new friend who thinks of even the smallest of denizens of your court matter - who treats me like I’m just a person and not the arrogant prick the rest of the world views me as.”

Eris placed a broad palm to his own chest, clutching as if in physical pain as the next words left his lips. “And do you not think, Shadowsinger, that I don’t recognize the fucking treasure that came from that rejected bond? The irony that my brother’s rejected bond resulted in the greatest gift of my life? And while I’d love to covet that treasure, care for her, let her shine for all of those to see - to know that she’s mine - it’s not my choice. It’s hers. If she wants to shine with someone else? Gods, it will hurt like hel, but I’ll remember her with nothing but love in my heart. She wants to stay on her own, making her own way in the world? I’ll stand back and cheer for her. I think you’re well aware that NOBODY chooses for your daughter but her.”

Azriel remained stone faced, a hand resting to the handle of the foaming mug of mead before him. Cassian let out a huff. Nyx smirked and Rhysand only looked at Eris with something that almost appeared to be respect.

Azriel finally shook his head, raising the mug in Eris’ direction. “Then that’s all I can ask for.”

All eyes at the table darted to him in shock. The famed, merciless spymaster standing down.

Eris only lifted his own mug in return and that was that.

The next hour went by as smoothly as possible, the table ordering several rounds of drinks. Eris nearly pissed himself when the shock of a caress against his mental shields caught his attention, Nyxs’ amused voice only stating, “You can thank me later.”

Eris’ brows drew together, puzzled by what on earth he’d have to thank the heir for, as a blonde female fell into the seat beside the male. A familiar scent wafting into his nostrils.

His mate.

Gods, she looked fucking fantastic and Eris knew right away he’d have to glamour the involuntary scent of arousal wafting from him at the sight of her ethereal face, those fucking hips that he wanted to hug as tightly as that little dress did - his inhibited state not helping the situation whatsoever. She only glared at him, as she stood beside the table, sweet voice dripping with irritation,

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

She crossed her arms across her chest. Gods, she was trying to kill him. Her arms pushing up her immaculate breasts. Was he salivating? This had to be a dream. Or a nightmare if her father caught wind of just how the sight of her was affecting him.

But most of all, he only felt love and adoration as he stared at the prickly female glaring daggers through him. Truth-Teller would certainly feel less violent against his skin than the sharp gaze piercing into his heart.

“I didn’t know, I swear.” Eris pleaded.

“Right. I’m leaving.” She huffed.

“Oh no you fucking don’t” the blonde female interjected. “You’re not just going to ice him out. It’ll hurt you worse than any words ever could. You two need to TALK.”

Nyx looked to the female with pride.

“I’m not finished with YOU.” Y/N hissed with rage to her friend.

“Oh I have no doubt.” The female - Layla - fired back. “But first you’re going to work things out with your mate.”

With an irritated look to her friend, she grabbed Eris by the wrist with a reluctant “Come on, we’re LEAVING.”

Eris threw a grateful look to Nyx and Layla, standing with no resistance to the grasp his mate had on his wrist. Azriel grunted and began to stand, but Rhys threw an arm out, keeping him seated. And to Eris’ surprise, the Shadowsinger remained.

Cool air and the aroma of spices from the surrounding establishments greeted the pair, an otherwise perfect evening to drape his arm over her shoulder and whisper sweet nothings into her pointed ear as they passed the shops, but she only tapped her foot with impatience. “Well?? Winnow me to your apartment and let’s get this over with.”

Eris stepped forward, caressing her wrist in a lovers grasp, sensuous smirk forming on his lips. Fire in his blood or no, chill bumps rose up her olive skin, nipples pebbling beneath her dress.

“As you wish.” And winnowed her straight to the foot of his bed. He’d let her lead from there but if there was one thing he knew about his mate, she firmly believed all was fair in fucking and fighting. It was all in her hands how the night would go.

————————————————

A/n: Thank you everyone for your patience with this chapter! Life has been hectic (seasonal illnesses, end of the fiscal quarter, traveling sports, mental health struggles, etc) and my brain was just not cooperating with this chapter. After writing a few one shots I was able to get back into the proper headspace but found I was still struggling to transfer this chapter from my brain into print. I eventually realized I wasn’t ready for the story to end quite yet so with that being said this is NOT the final chapter. I hope you all don’t hate me for saying it was before changing my mind but it’s important to give the story the satisfying ending that it deserves. 🥰

ACOTAR general: @lilah-asteria

Eris general: @angiedsv

Series tags: @b0xerdancer @myheartfollower @ang-taylorsversion @acotarobsessed @uniquecolorwizard @justasillylittlegoofyguy @thelov3lybookworm @starryhiraeth @5moremin @azrielsmate3 @coolepowersthings @isa1b2h3 @inloveallthetime @julesofvolterra @deeshag @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @courtofbatboydreams @yourmumsdumptruck @nebarious @glitterypirateduck @mybestfriendmademe @acourtof-wingspan @paleidiot @anae-naea-zacheria @fandomarchiveilyd @bloodicka @12358

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readychilledwine · 3 months

Text

Cuckold

✨️Kink Education with Elizabeth✨️

Quick authors note- It feels a little ironic to be using Rhys and Feyre for this kink since one of my favorite Eris lines comes from when he's chasing Feyre and Lucien.

“Right. Rumor has it you two have run off together, cuckolding Tamlin.” His grin widened. “I didn’t think you had it in you, little brother.”

Anyways! Traditionally, a cuckold is a husband or boyfriend of a person who has sex with other people (be it cheating, sex work, separated). In modern kink terms, cuckold, or a cuck for short, is when a man gets sexual arousal through watching his partner have sex with someone else. There is a female equivalent, cuckquean, but I made the choice to focus on poor Rhysie being left out.

This type of play falls into the voyeurism and exhibitionist category but has become a type of play that is having an increase in popularity (and hurt feelings from insecure partners). Part of the appeal of cucking is mental degradation and humiliation, another is competitive drive.

This type of play requires security on both ends and understanding from the third party involved. This typically isn't a type of play you'd want to engage in with a stranger you do not trust, nor someone who is too close to the couple. While all parties are consenting, the first time around this kink can be interesting and cause some potentially bad results if not handled with tack. Open communication and safe words are a must in this type of play regardless of if restraints or anything else gets brought in. The last thing anyone would ever want is a relationship ending over something that was supposed to be fun 💜

💕Peep the Valentines Day List Here💕

💙 Peep Bound by Fate if you haven't since Kaylee makes a brief appearance 💙

As always, NSFW below the cut

Feysand x Helion

Warnings - voyeurism, dirty talk, unprotected sex, surprise third party, Helion's thighs mentioned, post pregnancy body insecurities, restraints

A/N - There's a brief Kaylee appearance. Nesta would have been too jealous, Elain would have gotten shy, Kaylee is just confused on why she's getting to see Helion's thighs on a random Tuesday.

“I would have never taken you for this kind of male, Rhysand.” Helion glanced out the window, overlooking the beautiful snow capped valley Rhysand had hidden for years.

Rhys sighed. “She needs it and I am not against it. She has not felt as confident as she once was in her body, and having not one but two high lords worshiping her may be the answer.”

A single perfect brow went up as Helion shot Rhysand a questioning look. “Did the little heir?”

“Stretch mark scarring, she's a little less toned. I think she looks twice as delicious as before, but she does not believe me.”

Helion nodded, eyes sympathetic and soft. “Motherhood is hard. She's exhausted, she's losing her sense of self, her hands probably do not even feel like her own anymore. It is understandable she feels less appealing to you lately.”

A soft knock on the door had Rhys standing, moving to it with a smile. “Hi, honeybee.”

“Rhysie!” Kaylee paused, eyes locked on Helion. “What are Helion and his thighs doing here?” Helion snorted, looking to the youngest sister with a smirk as she crossed the room.

“Mother above, Kaylee.” Azriel entered behind her. Kaylee had already gone to the bassinet, picking up her cooing nephew. “How long are we taking him for?”

Rhys and Helion shrugged, causing Azriel to pause before grabbing Kaylee. “What's wrong, shadowsinger? Don't want her to get ideas?”

“From you? Absolutely not. Let's go, baby.” Azriel took her and Nyx away before Kaylee could question the impromptu date night and the appearance of the Day Lord. “She's still adorably innocent,” Helion looked to Rhys. “You must convince her to play next.”

Rhys shook his head, eyes wide in fear. “Not Kaylee you'd have to convince.”

Surprising Feyre had been easy. She arrived home to Helion sitting in Rhysand's spot at the table. “Hello beautiful.”

The smile that graced her face was capable of moving mountains. “Helion! What are you doing here?”

He motioned towards the table. “Your mate got a little tied up, asked me to come have dinner with you.”

“Let me go grab Nyx-”

“No need to do that, Feyre. He's with that sweet little sister and her brooding mate.”

Feyre paused, “What is Rhys tied up with then?”

“Currently?” Helion set down his glass of wine, shifting in his seat and uncrossing his legs. “Spidersilk based ropes. We can change that if you would like, though.” It was then that soft tug came, calming her and letting her know that everything was okay. “He's quite pretty when he's bound up. Would you like to see?”

The answer she gave was breathless, eyes fluttered shut. “Yes.”

He stood, taking her hand in his and leading her to her own bedroom. Rhysand glared at Helion from the chair he was tied down to before smirking at his wife. “Hello, Feyre Darling.” He tried to pull at the ropes again before rolling his eyes. “When you told me to ask Azriel to tie me down, I had imagined other places, Helion.”

The lord of day shrugged, hands lingering on Feyre's upper arms as he stood behind her. “You said you watched to watch me fuck your wife,” those hands slid down bringing one of her own to his lips. “You also said you did not know if you could handle it. Restraints seemed to be the perfect solution.”

Rhys leaned his head back, smiling towards the ceiling. “Go ahead then,” he motioned between them the best he could. “Fuck her if she'll have you.”

Soft lips came to Feyre's ear as she stared at Rhys with a questioning look. “You have control, beautiful. If you want me to leave, I will leave. If you want me in your bed, I will be in your bed.”

Feyre released a breath, all thoughts leaving her mind. “My body-”

“Is wonderful, magic, and stunning,” Helion kissed the tip of her pointed ear, relishing in the way she shivered. “You created life, selflessly for the male sitting in that chair.”

Rhysand's eyes had darkened, the scent of his arousal already filling the air as he watched Helion's hands move to the bed of Feyre's dress and soft kisses continued on her ear. “I know you want to, darling.”

“My body-” Helion looked to Rhys and put a hand to Feyre's mouth silencing her before forcing her to walk to the mirror in their room.

“Look at you. Look at every beautiful blessed inch of you.” The command went straight through her, settling in her core as it did. His hands found the ties of her dress. He searched her face for any sign of true resistance and hesitation before pulling and watching the fabric fall. “You are sensational, Feyre. Your new curves fit so beautifully.” Her eyes fluttered shut, body leaning against his for the heat. “Let me show you, exactly how beautiful I find you?”

She nodded, turning in his arms. The first kiss was testing, slow and gentle to see if there'd be more than a soft groan coming from her mate. She pulled apart in time for Helion to lift her, carrying her to the bed and laying her down so her head would hang over the edge, staring directly at Rhysand as he squirmed against the restraints.

He wasted no time, kissing down her neck, smirking at the soft noises he so easily was pulling from her. “So sensitive,” he nipped gently at her pulse point, eyes looking to where Rhys was already struggling. “I'd love to worship you, Feyre, but your mate is already struggling from how badly he'd like to join.”

“Fuck him,” she whispered softly.

Helion couldn't help the feline like smirk gracing his face as Rhys glared. “We will. Later.” He flipped her below him, fingers going to the waist of her panties before bringing them down her muscled legs.

His skilled fingers found her core, running up and down before pushing in. Feyre whined loudly, eyes rolling before snuggling into the bed and pushing her hips back. Helion set a rhythm, pumping those digits into her to open her up , curling them as he needed to and saw fit to turn her into a mess.

He heard Rhys whimper, eyes rolling as his head went back and he knew. He knew Feyre was sending every drop of pleasure she felt down the bond, ensuring Rhysand felt it to. Her own moans began to increase as her hips met every movement of his fingers. “Look at your mate,” Helion commanded. “Look at your mate as you cum on my fingers.”

She fell apart easily, body and mind so ready and wanting for attention. She screamed his name, whimpering softly as she rode a wave of bliss. He worked her through the high through every second of her walls clenching around those fingers. When he finally pulled them out, he brought them to her lips, cock twitching as he got the smallest preview of what the High Lady could do.

Rhysand hadn't taken his eyes off of them. His cock was aching and leaking as he watched Helion remove his pleaded clothing before forcing Feyre onto her hands and knees. She sent him every single second of pleasure as Helion's cock pushed into her, stretching her wider than his did. “Fuck,” Rhys muttered under his breath, pulling and moving to try to free himself and at least work his cock.

She looked so pretty, mouth hung open as she moaned loudly, eyes squeezed shut in bliss. Helion's eyes met his and Rhys nodded, hoping the desperation of needing to watch Feyre be fucked and cum for another male wasn't etched into his beautiful features.

Helion gave her a teasing thrust, cock twitching at the whine that came back from it. “How do you want it?”

“Hard.” The need in her tone made his hands grip the plush skin of her hips tighter.

“As the High lady commands.”

Lightning shot through Feyre and Rhys as soon as Helion began that punishing pace. He was hitting every single one of her nerves, heavy cock stretching her wider than she'd ever been. She looked down, lost in enjoying her pleasure only to have him tangle a large hand into her hair, pulling her head back up. “Look at him. Look at how much power you have over him, at how damn desperate he is.”

Rhys was moving constantly in the chair now, growling occasionally with Feyre's moans of Helion's name. He longed to be under her, licking and sucking her clit as Helion rode her, fucking her into a mindless state of bliss.

As if sensing what Rhysand wanted, Heliha's free hand moved to her core, circling her bundle of nerves with gentle fingers. “Oh gods, yes!” Feyre was so close already all three of them could taste it. Her orgasm was humming in the air, crackling like electricity and fire. “Fuck! Keep going, please!”

Helion looked to Rhys again, seeing the male squirm, back arching off the chair as his jaw arched. A damp spot stained his dark slacks, growing by the second as he watched, as he felt. He began pounding into Feyre harder, feeling her walls begin twitching more and more.

It was as if time slowed when they both came. Mountains shaking, the sky switching from a sunset to full blown night. She was screaming his name while Rhys roared hers.

Helion fell over the ledge seconds later, pulling Feyre close to him as he did so Rhys had to watch as he made a mess of her. He allowed Feyre to lower down to the bed as his high closed.

He allowed her a few moments to breathe before pulling both arms behind her back and forcing her up. He walked her to Rhys before putting her on her knees. “Take his pants off and clean your mate. It's time we cash in on that threesome he said we could have.”

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@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho

@mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr

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Rhys taglist:

@tothestarsandwhateverend @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @avajustreads

Feysand:

@avajustreads

#acotar #rhys acotar #rhysand acotar #feysand #feyre acotar #high lord helion #helion spell cleaver #feysand x helion #poly!acotar

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deluluwrites · 10 months

Text

Florist!Barbie x Ken

✨Part 2

🌸💖🌷🌺💐🌸💖🌷🌺💐🌸💖🌷🌺💐

Once upon a time in the colorful world of BarbieLand, there was a lovely Barbie named Florist Barbie. She had her own little flower shop, “Blooms and Petals," filled with beautiful blossoms of all colors and varieties.

Every day, the doll inhabitants of BarbieLand would come to her shop to buy flowers for their loved ones, and Florist Barbie would take pride in arranging the most enchanting bouquets for them.

Unlike the other Barbie dolls, Florist Barbie had a unique passion for flowers, and her shop was known for its enchanting arrangements and delightful fragrances.

However, there was something that set her apart from the rest of the Barbies in town - there was a hint of sadness in her eyes because, unlike many other Barbies, she didn't have a Ken of her own.

Every day, like clockwork, Stereo Ken strolled into "Blooms and Petals" to buy a bouquet for Stereo Barbie, the girl of his dreams.

Florist Barbie couldn't help but feel a pang of longing whenever she saw them together, as she secretly harbored feelings for Stereo Ken.

Stereo Ken was dashing, with his perfectly coiffed hair and chiseled features. He came to “Blooms and Petals” every morning to buy flowers for Stereo Barbie.

Every morning as Stereo Ken walked into her shop. She'd watch him carefully as he perused the blooms, helping him choose the most meaningful flowers that he believed would win Stereo Barbie's heart.

Florist Barbie's stomach would flutter uncontrollably as she admired Ken from afar, secretly pining for his affection. She knew she could never reveal her feelings, for she feared it would ruin their friendship and Ken's admiration for her floral expertise.

Despite her own longing for him, Florist Barbie couldn't resist helping him. She knew she was trapped in a bittersweet situation where she had to be the silent supporter of his romantic pursuit.

One day, Stereo Ken entered the shop, looking a bit troubled. "Hey, Barbie," he greeted her with a hint of sadness in his voice.

"Hey, Ken, What brings you in today?" she replied with a warm smile. “I need your help," Ken admitted, glancing around the shop nervously. "I want to get the perfect flowers for Barbie today. I've been trying so hard to win her heart, but I just feel like I'm not good enough for her."

Florist Barbie's heart sank, "Ken, you are an amazing person," she said sincerely, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You are kind, thoughtful, and caring. Anyone would be lucky to have you."

Ken sighed, "I don't know. Barbie is so perfect, and I feel like I can never measure up to her expectations." Florist Barbie felt a mix of sympathy and frustration.

She wanted to tell him that he deserved someone who appreciated him for who he was, but she couldn't reveal her true feelings. Instead, she focused on helping him find the perfect flowers for Barbie.

"Let's pick out some flowers with special meanings," she suggested, leading him through the shop. "How about these roses? They represent love and admiration, which perfectly captures your feelings for Barbie."

Ken nodded, his face brightening a little. "That sounds good. What else?" Florist Barbie went to another display, “Oooh! Lilies, represent purity and devotion, which can be perfect if you want to show your sincerity.”

She went to another display and picked some more flowers, “Or these Orchids could signify beauty and admiration, which is an ideal choice to convey your admiration for her grace. And then, there are the sunflowers, symbolizing warmth and happiness, a great way to express the joy she brings into your life."

Ken listened intently to her words, nodding slowly. "Those are all wonderful choices, Barbie. But you know what I just realized? Aren't all these your favorite too?"

Florist Barbie blushed, unable to hide her secret any longer. "Well, yes, they are," she admitted, her voice a soft whisper. "I find beauty and meaning in all of them. But enough about me, let's focus on helping you choose the perfect bouquet for Barbie."

They continued their search, and Florist Barbie carefully selected a bouquet that conveyed love, admiration, sincerity, warmth, and happiness, hoping that Stereo Barbie would see the depth of Ken's affection.

As Ken hurriedly gathered the bouquet, he turned to Florist Barbie with a grateful smile. "Thanks for all your help, Barbie. I don't know what I would have done without you. You're such a good friend."

Florist Barbie's heart sank as she forced a weak smile in return. "You're welcome, Ken. I'm glad I could assist you. I hope Barbie loves the flowers."

Ken nodded enthusiastically, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil within Florist Barbie's heart. "I'm sure she will. They're perfect, just like you always say."

With that, he dashed out of the flower shop, leaving Florist Barbie standing there, feeling the weight of heartbreak and unrequited love.

She watched him go, struggling to keep her composure, "That's what I do, Barbie," she sighs whispering to herself, forcing a smile. "I help others find happiness even if it's not with me."

🌸💖🌷🌺💐🌸💖🌷🌺💐🌸💖🌷🌺💐

The next day, BarbieLand was buzzing with excitement as Stereo Barbie announced she was hosting a Big Blowout Party.

Florist Barbie was attending the event, feeling a mix of excitement and sadness. She chatted with her friend Allan, who could see the longing in her eyes whenever Ken was mentioned.

Ken approached them, looking anxious. "Hey, Barbie. Allan. Can I talk to you for a moment?" Allan looked at Florist Barbie curiously. "Sure, Ken. What's on your mind?" Florist Barbie tried to appear composed, even though her heart was racing as she replied almost instantly.

"I'm thinking of asking Barbie(Stereo) to dance tonight. Do you think she'd say yes?" he asked, nervously running his hand through his perfectly coiffed hair and scratching his neck nervously.

“Well I think-“ Allan begins wanting to give his buddy advice but Florist Barbie musters smile and interrupts. "Absolutely, Ken. You should go for it! I'm sure she'd love to dance with you."

Ken thanks them giving Florist Barbie his wine goblet joining the dance floor leaving Florist Barbie feeling a mixture of happiness for him and deep sorrow within herself.

Allan, seeing her distress, took her aside. "Barbie, you can't keep this to yourself any longer. You need to tell Ken how you feel."

She sighs throwing the goblet behind her, "I can't, Allan. It's too painful. I'll only end up losing his friendship too."

Allan placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You deserve to be happy too, Barbie. You never know how Ken might feel about you if you don't confess. Take a chance, or you'll always wonder what could have been."

Despite Allan's words, Florist Barbie left the party heartbroken. She found solace near a shimmering pink water fountain. Sitting alone, she felt a deep pain in her heart as she stared at her reflection in the plastic water.

Suddenly, to her shock, a human-like tear trickled down her porcelain cheek. "What is happening to me?" she wondered in astonishment. Shocked, she touched her face, wondering how such a thing was possible. Little did she know that her genuine emotions and the depth of her feelings had brought her to life in a way she had never experienced before.

Part 2….?

#ryan gosling #barbie movie #ken x reader #im just ken #ryan gosling ken #barbie 2023 #just ken #ken barbie #barbie #ryan gosling x reader #ken x you #ken x y/n #barbie and ken #and ken #kenergy #you are kenough #i am kenough #he is kenough

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cntloup · 4 months

Text

SUGAR

Mafia!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Rival's Daughter!Reader angst, toxic relationship

Simon was never a man for fancy ball events but as the right hand man of John Price, had to be by his side at all times especially at times like these, meeting with the rival. As they arrive at their destination and get the formalities of greetings and introductions out of the way, he goes to settle by the bar where he can have his eyes on the whole room, just in case. He orders his usual Kentucky Bourbon. As he stands there, drink in hand, his eyes searching the room for any kind of threat, that’s when he sets his eyes on her... and he should have taken her for what she really is... a threat; he should have ran right then and there but he never did. He had heard about her, the daughter of their rival, but never seen her beauty and grace up close. She looks elegant with a charming smile... and that’s when he knows he’s fucked. She feels a set of eyes on her and looks for them in the crowd and finally faces him. She's heard about him too. She starts walking towards him to greet him properly and that’s when it all started.

“This can’t happen.” he mutters in between kisses as they hide in the hallway “Why not? Cause we’re rivals? Who the fuck cares? If anything I’d be happy to fuck him over.” “who?” “My dad of course. Who else? I hate his fucking guts.” he’s surprised to hear that then replies with a chuckle “Why? Not the lifestyle for you?” “Fuck no! I feel like I’m in a cage. His puppet that he gets to play with and show off whenever he pleases.” he thinks that he can understand her struggles as he has his own trauma too.

And you play a twisted little game, But I know in a way, You need to complicate it, Believe that though we never eat, We still know how to feed, We still know how to bleed, oh

At that time he thought that she’s too sweet and innocent for this life, but that’s where he was wrong. The arguments, the push and pull, the manipulations started not too long after they first felt something for each other which he thought of as pure. He felt used and abused, he started to feel paranoid even more than before, never trusting anyone, even doubting his peers, sometimes even Price. His head full of thoughts like ‘Is she just using me for information?’ ‘Am I just a guard dog to him?’. But there was another side to her; so loving, patient and understanding of his pain and torment... also she was an enchanting seductress. Fuck, she was intoxicating. She had him completely wrapped around her finger.

My arms keep you in the room, Barely let you move, Show me what you do, oh, Tonight, we're second-guessed again, Let me wrap the chains, Addicted to the pain

As he pulls her into his room, never taking his lips off of her, nibbling and kissing any part of skin he can reach, he kicks the door close and corners her against the wall, not letting her move an inch. “What the fuck are you doing to me? My mind is in shambles cause of ya! Do you hate me or love me? One day you stay by my side through everything even when I’m at my worst but the next day you act like I don’t even exist as you come to the meeting with another guy on your arm!” he grunts as he puts one hand around her throat squeezing just enough to make her dizzy, just how she likes it. She smiles devilishly with no reply and pushes her lips against his and he can’t stop her, he never can. He’s addicted, fucking addicted to the pain she puts him through, addicted to her taste, everything about her. If she wants to see how far he can go, if she wants to test him, he’s more than willing to play this game with her.

Do you wanna see how far it goes?, Do you wanna test me now, my love?, You must be crazy if you think, that I will give in so easily, Things we buried low, Coming to the surface now, my love, You must be crazy if you think that I will give up the game, Oh, whoa

Sugar, I've got a taste for you now, Sugar, I've developed a taste for you now

comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated ♥

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justlemmeadoreyou · 3 months

Text

Hopelessly Devoted to You-Part 2

Summary: Y/n agrees to Harry's offer; a flashback from the camp.

Words: 1.9k

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, a LOT of cute shit in the end (harry with kids :(((( (my weakness))

(previous part here) | (series masterlist) | (main masterlist)

Harry wasn’t this much of a hopeless romantic he is now, over Y/n. Sure, he had had his fair share of heartbreaks in the past, but that didn’t stop him from loving unconditionally.

So, when he found out about Y/n, it made his heart ache. He didn’t know if she wanted her as her lawyer, or just wanted to talk to him about it as a friend

Either way, he was happy to help.

There was a call from his secretary, Anna, when he was going through a document.

“Yes?”

“Mrs. Clark is here to see you” she said through the phone.

“Mrs. Clark? Oh, Y/n? Yeah, send her in”

He would never get used to her carrying the name of her douchebag husband.

She knocked the door softly, even though he had already allowed her to come in.

“Come in”

She unlocked the door, a smile on her face as she let herself in, closing it behind her.

“Hi” she greeted him, coming and sitting on the chair in front of his desk.

“Hi, how have you been?” he asked.

“I’m alright. I-I thought about–the offer you gave me the other day”

“Oh yeah? What did you decide?”

“I’ll–I’ll take it, yeah. I just want this all to be over as soon as possible”

His smile faded away. Did something bad happen? Because if it did, God forbid he would go to her house right now and beat him up.

“Did-did something happen, Y/n? You know you can tell me, right? I’m here for you”

She smiled again, shaking her head in no, “No–nothing bad happened–it’s just–he kind of got suspicious that day–after I went home, he kept asking me where I had gone and what I do”

“Oh–what did you tell him?”

“I told him it was lunch with a friend. He asked me who it was, and I told him it was Grace–she is a friend of mine. He called her and she said that I was with her the whole afternoon, she’s super sweet, and saved me.”

He sighed in relief, thankful that he hadn’t hurt her.

“He’s such a bastard–it’s like he feels that he owns you or something” he huffed.

“I know! That’s why–I want you to be my lawyer”

He grinned wide, a victory for his heart as he shook her hand.

“I’m so happy, Y/n. And I want you to know that you don’t have to worry about the money, alright? You don’t have to pay me at all”

Her eyes widened. Why was he doing this for free? She knew this was going to be a long trial, because he won’t let go that easily. Plus, she would have to fight for Ellie’s custody too.

“But–Mr.Styles–I can’t take it. It’s a super generous offer, but I really can’t.”

Of course she won’t. He’ll just have to make her take it, then.

“Y/n–okay, tell me, how will you pay me, then?”

Her shoulders slumped, mouth quirking in a pout, that he wanted to kiss. But he pushed that thought to the back of his mind, where numerous others were locked in.

“I have my savings–since the abuse started, I started to save money for myself, and Ellie’s education-in case I ever needed to leave him, or he left me for someone else”

If anyone leaves her, her, for someone else, he has to be the biggest moron on the planet.

“Y/n, you know I won’t let you do that. You are leaving Elliot, and you’ll need it after you move out of his house”

“But–but–”

“No but’s. Please. I insist”

She sighed, licking her lips as she reluctantly agreed. She began to think, lost in thought as he began to scribble something on the notepad nearby.

“Oh-what if I get a job till then? Then you’ll let me pay you, right? Because then money would be coming in and savings won’t be an issue–”

“We’ll see about that”

He dismissed. He wasn’t going to let her pay him even a penny.

. . .

“So, you’re a lawyer?”

Y/n asked him.

They were sat by the bonfire. After a long, long day of kids screaming, playing around, crying for their parents, lots of first aid kits because they kept falling off the trampoline–all of them had a moment of rest.

A bonfire was lit, after the kids were put to sleep. Everyone had found someone they could talk to–just like Y/n and Harry found each other.

They were sat side by side on the mat, a cup of tea in their hands as they talked and laughed with no care in the world.

“Yeah. Family lawyer. If you ever need help, you can come to me, I’ll help you–no money in exchange”

She had giggled softly back then, but that offer was her lifeline today.

“Alright. Noted” she smiled, taking a sip off her cup.”

“What about you? Your husband–he works in accounts?”

Her smile slipped away at the mention of him, and Harry took a mental note to not bring him up again. She was hoping he would do that too.

“Yeah, he’s an accountant”

“That’s good.

They fell into silence after that, the sounds in the background only being the sounds of crackling fire and then suddenly, there was a cheer. They looked up to see someone had gotten a guitar, and began to play a song. It was difficult to identify which one it was from just the guitar tune, but Harry knew.

"Horse with No Name," Harry said, a nostalgic smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Y/n's eyes widened in surprise. "You play guitar?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

Harry nodded, a hint of bashfulness in his expression. "Yeah, I used to play quite a bit back in college. It's been a while, though."

Encouraged by his confession, Y/n urged him, "Well, why don't you play something for us now? I'd love to hear."

Harry hesitated for a moment, but the warm glow of the fire and Y/n's encouraging smile emboldened him. With a nod, he took the guitar from the musician and began to strum a gentle melody.

As the soothing notes filled the air, Y/n felt herself relax, the tension of the day melting away. Harry's fingers danced across the strings with practiced ease, and soon, the melody took on a life of its own.

Lost in the music, Y/n closed her eyes and let herself be carried away by the melody. For a brief moment, there was nothing else in the world except the sound of Harry's guitar and the crackling of the fire.

When the song came to an end, there was a moment of silence before applause erupted from the small crowd gathered around the bonfire. Y/n opened her eyes to see Harry smiling at her, a twinkle of satisfaction in his eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered, her heart full with the beauty of the moment.

Harry returned her smile, his own heart lightened by the connection they had shared. "Anytime," he replied, his voice soft with sincerity.

“So, when did you decide to become a lawyer?” she asked, wanting to talk to him more. The camp was only a week, and that was a small amount of time for her to get to know this gentleman who found her interesting.

"Well, ever since I was a child, I've had this innate sense of justice. I couldn't stand seeing people treated unfairly, and I knew I wanted to make a difference." Harry replied.

Y/n nodded, impressed. "That's admirable. Not everyone has the courage to pursue their passions."

She knew she was talking about herself.

Harry smiled gratefully. "Thank you. It hasn't always been easy, but knowing that I can help people in their time of need makes it all worthwhile.”

He noted how she had said “not everyone” and he suspected she was talking about herself.

“And–I don’t mean to intrude, but I think when you said, “not everyone”, you meant yourself?” he asked.

She shrugged her shoulders, gulping down as she replied, “Yeah, I–I wanted to be a teacher. I’ve always loved children, and it was my dream to get a job at a primary school and teach and take care of little children.

Harry smiled. She was so innocent, so pure. But she had seen more than he ever did.

“So, why did you quit?”

Her smile faded away again, “It was mostly me, but I got married young, you know–I fell in love with him in high school, and I was just a young, naive, innocent girl who did not know better”

He nodded, listening intendedly as she talked about it.

“So–I got married, and then pregnant, and all of that faded away. Like, I completed school and my degree–that was when I got pregnant so I never really had a chance to complete my masters degree or look for a job. And then Ellie was a premature baby, so Elliot suggested that I stay at home.”

It was so easy to talk to him. Even though they had met today, the way he was able to get her to talk so much–open up about her past, and talk about stuff she never had with anyone–was magic.

“So, would you work if you got the chance to?” he asked. If she was his wife, he would never have gotten her pregnant if she didn’t want to, and he would’ve made her complete her masters, and get a Phd, even, because she was just that smart.

“I mean–yeah sure, I would. But I would need a masters degree to work in a decent school, and the opportunities are already so low. So, it’s a lost cause”

Harry immediately protested, “Hey, don’t say that. No, it’s not a lost cause. If you want to, you can still get your degree, and then work. You’re young too”

She blushed at that. It had been a while since she had heard that.

. . .

The next morning, Y/n took Ellie to meet Harry.

“Honey, this is Harry–he’s mommy’s new friend”

She introduced him, and he smiled so big, his dimples and bunny teeth were on display.

“Oh god, who is this pretty little girl?” he exclaimed, and she giggled, already looking up at him with adoration.

“Hi Harry, I’m Ellie. But my mom calls me cupcake”

He giggled again, crouching down on his knees, taking her tiny hands in his.

“So, what can I call you, Miss.Cupcake?”

She giggled again, and seeing the way Harry was with kids, made Y/n’s heart swell.

“You can call me cupcake too” she replied, and he reached into his pockets, pulling out a candy, “Here, take this” he gave it to her, and she smiled.

“Next time, I’ll have a cupcake for you”

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

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dreamfyrie · 2 years

Text

Aegon Makes The Throne His

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen II x Reader

The first time he called you into the throne room, you were terrified, to say the least. "I've been waiting. Everyone out, and don't let anyone in."

The guards ushered the few people in the room towards the doors, with members of the Small Council objecting. "Your Grace we still have matters to discuss on-."

"Later," Aegon commanded. Being the king looked good on him. He had gained confidence and had a new power in his voice that made people listen to him for the first time in his life.

"Of course. Apologies, Your Grace." You were given pointed looks as they exited. Aegon spending his time with you had never been an issue before, but now that he was king and didn't care about making your relationship obvious, it was becoming a problem.

You had been Aegon’s lover long before he was king. You wondered if the day finally came when he realized he needed heirs and that being with the daughter of a lord from a lesser house wouldn’t be a suitable match. The queen mother was aware of your relationship and was relieved Aegon had found someone he cared about enough to be loyal to and was no longer leaving the Red Keep to whore around in brothels.

She made it very clear to you both that when the day came and Aegon was finally married, your relationship would end. The Queen didn’t expect Viserys to die so soon, though, and thought she’d have enough time to marry Aegon off before he became king.

Now that he was king, Aegon no longer had to listen to his mother, and he had no plans on marrying someone else and ending your relationship. You knew he loved you, but you were still worried, knowing that his mother held enough power to say a few kind words and make him crumble. His need for her approval and his desire for you were always at odds.

Aegon had been acting strange these past couple of days, and his ordering the guards to find and bring you to the throne room scared you.

"Come here, we need to talk." You obeyed him and approached the throne. You thought he was so ashamed of your relationship that he wanted you close so he could tell you as quietly as possible to leave. He didn't want to stain the famous throne room's walls by saying the words aloud.

Aegon was obsessed with you, and the thought of sending you away was something that would have never even crossed his mind. He stood up to face you, slightly tilting his head down to look at you. "Sit," he said, in a voice filled with more authority than you had ever heard come out of him.

You didn’t understand what he meant. Where were you supposed to sit—on the floor? He could see the confusion in your eyes and pointed to the throne. The Iron Throne.

Before you could even process what he had commanded, he had pushed you until you were sitting on it. It was widely known that the throne was uncomfortable to sit on and even cut people. There must be two identical thrones, because this didn’t feel that horrible.

Aegon knew exactly what you were thinking. "Better than you expected?"

You slowly nodded your head, still not sure what was going on or why he called you here in the middle of the day. Whenever you two were together, it was never when it was still light outside. Everyone knew about you, but no one ever said anything, at least not in front of you or Aegon.

Aegon examined the throne and looked down, smirking at you with a playful glint in his eye. "I've had the blacksmith sanding down the throne these past couple of days. The tips of the swords on the throne are dull now, they will no longer cut anyone. I wanted to surprise you. Is it to your liking?"

It truly wasn't as bad as you expected, but why did it matter if you liked it? You weren't ever going to be sitting on it. "Yes, it feels nice. I'm glad you won't be in pain."

"The blacksmith has done well then. He'll be paid generously for making my queen happy."

"You know I hate it when you say that."

"You shouldn't, only the gods know what the future holds," he tries to say innocently.

"Since when do you believe in the gods?"

"They whisper to me sometimes."

"And what do they say?" You replied.

"They tell me if I don't taste you soon, we'll all be damned to the seven hells. It's my duty as king to protect the realm."

Aegon got on his knees in front of you and began pulling your dress up. He took off his crown and laid it on your head. You tried to protest, but he told you to keep it safe for him. He put one of your legs on the armrest and the other over his shoulder, no matter how much he loved them, he needed your legs and his crown out of the way so he could have easier access to you.

It still wasn’t the most comfortable seat to be on, but once you felt the first glide of his tongue and lips covering your most sensitive area, all thoughts of discomfort left your mind. He hooked one arm around your thigh to stop you from squirming while using his free hand to slowly sink a finger inside of you.

"Gods, Aegon. More, I need more."

He added another finger, lazily moving them in and out while looking up at you to watch your face. "Good girl, let me hear you. I ordered everyone out for a reason, you know."

"That feels so—you feel so—I'm."

Aegon maneuvered his experienced hand in such a way that he could pump his fingers into you while using his thumb to rub your clit. You couldn't help the moans and praise leaving your lips, he always knew exactly what you needed. When you began reflexively moving your hips up to meet his fingers, he knew you were ready.

You didn’t even have time to blink before he was tearing your dress off and had you straddling his hips while he sat on the throne.

He smirked at you with his glossy, swollen lips, "That crown looks much better on you than it does on me, perhaps you should keep it."

"It's not really my color. I think I'm more of a gold girl, maybe that blacksmith of yours can make me something."

Aegon let out a chuckle. "Anything you want, say it, and it's yours." He didn’t complain when you removed the crown from your head and placed it back on him. He knew you got turned on seeing him wear it, that was the only reason he hadn’t fed it to Sunfyre.

His hands were roaming your body while you kissed and tasted yourself on his tongue. He loved it when you tasted yourself, even more so when he’d take his fingers straight out of you and make you suck them clean.

You fumbled with the laces of his pants, trying to free his cock. He was already hard and leaking, almost begging to be in you.

"Fuck." The moan that escaped his lips when you started grounding your hips into his was heavenly. He grabbed his cock and lined it up with your entrance. This was always his favorite part of sex, watching himself slowly disappear inside of you and feeling how hot and wet you always were. You and him becoming one. The feeling of you wrapped around him, contracting to fit his size, was something he’d never get used to or be willing to give up. It took everything in him to wait for you to get adjusted, but he’d never think about starting before you were ready.

You felt his hands spread over your thighs, massaging you as they slowly made their way to your ass, opening you up. "That's it, relax. You're taking me so well." The mixture of his firm and gentle touches made you melt into him, and the both of you could feel that you were ready.

His hands gripped your thighs and carefully raised you off his cock before bringing you back down. He left you in control of how fast you wanted to start out. You began rolling your hips into him, setting a steady pace. "You look so pretty when you ride me." Aegon sat there like a true king, watching you use him to pleasure yourself. He let you ride him for a couple minutes before he took over and lost himself in you.

You braced yourself, holding onto his shoulders, while he thrust his cock into you.

"Aegon," you breathed. You weren't capable of forming a coherent sentence. His name was the only thing you could think of, and he had no problem with that.

You were a moaning mess trying to match his pace, but no amount of strength would be enough to help you keep up with that man. He had been starving for your touch all day, he was relentless with his pounding.

Aegon reached between you and began rubbing fast circles on your clit, both of you rapidly approaching your release. He began furiously pumping his hips into you, his mind no longer in this dimension. Aegon always made sure you came first. He wasn't a gentleman, but he had some manners.

You finally let go, and you felt him come at the same time, his arms encircling you. "Mine," he said. Your cheek fell to his shoulder, fighting to catch your breath.

His seed was warm inside you, he always silently hoped the moon tea would fail and you would be with child, but he'd never say it.

Aegon's lips found your breasts, taking your left nipple into his mouth and sucking on it while massaging your right. He didn't care that you were still sensitive, when it came to you, his arousal could never be satisfied for long. He continued swirling his tongue around your nipple, lightly sinking his teeth into it. His right hand had already managed to find its way back down to your core and was softly stroking you. He liked how, after you came, the slightest of touches could make you clench around him. His eyes were closed, and he felt you instinctively pull him in deeper. "Such a greedy girl."

You sighed, he knew your body so well. He switched to your other breast, making sure to give them equal attention. You tangled your fingers in the back of his hair. It looked so beautiful, the silver shining in the daylight. You wished you got to see it like this more often, all you had was the glow from the fireplace or moonlight. His eyes were also a different shade than you had always thought they were. His beauty mixed with his tongue and fingers caressing you led you to your second release.

Aegon cursed as he felt you tighten around him again. He wished he could stay inside of you forever. He was king now, and you would be his queen, whether anyone liked it or not.

#aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon targaryen angst #aegon targaryen fluff #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen smut #hotd smut #hotd x reader

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wildlife4life · 2 months

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Fuck-Friday Coda

Tagged by the always lovely @theotherbuckley @perfectlysunny02 @cal-daisies-and-briars @aroeddiediaz @exhuastedpigeon @hippolotamus @loserdiaz @wikiangela @daffi-990 @tizniz and @diazsdimples Thank you all so much for all the tags throughout the week and today! I have eased back on working NFL Buck because I am absolutely swamped with school. I have started clinic rounds and somehow the classwork has doubled for the next set of courses. Which holy crap. So a lot of my days are for studying, homework, and quizzes. Add on being a mom/house wife and yea, not a ton of time to work on my favorite WIP. But I am making time on Thursday to watch the newest 9-1-1 episodes and write codas, because I started them in the final episodes of season 6 and really enjoyed it! So I made a goal to make a coda for most if not all of season 7 episodes! 2/2! I will try my absolute damnest to get some work into NFL Buck because it is my baby and I know how much it is beloved. Until then, enjoy the season 7 codas. Posted to ao3.

7x02 Coda

“We-I…” Buck tries to find the right words again, but he has no idea what they should be. He doesn’t know if he should be defending himself along with Eddie and Chimney, proclaim that they were just being honest with internal affairs. Or if he should defend Hen and the betrayal she felt when they couldn’t back her up.

Rock and a hard place, with Buck being squeezed tightly in between.

Chimney left the locker-room soon after Hen, with the passing false hope comment, “She’ll come around.” His phone was half-way to his ear before disappearing around the ladder truck, most likely spilling the entire ordeal to Maddie.

Buck slumps back down on the bench and leans his head against the lockers, closing his eyes with a defeated sigh. Still standing close by, Buck hears Eddie hum in agreement. Yea, tonight was very much a downer.

“We should have had her back.” Buck finally says.

He feels additional weight added to bench and pressing warmth along his arm and thigh when Eddie sits beside him. “We did. We just all put our foots in our mouths trying to show her.” He assured. He gives Buck knee a gentle squeeze, “You more than me with that whole ‘right call’ comment and wanting to give Captain Collier’s a hard time.”

Buck groans in embarrassment, “I was trying and horribly failing to lighten the mood.”

“The mood was dead on arrival; you had no chance.” Eddie chuckles.

They both go silent, stewing in the hurt emotions left behind by Hen and Chimney, mixing with their own anxiety and worry. It kind of reminds Buck of the last time Hen was captain and that man died at the happiness convention. God that felt like so long ago, when really is less than a year. Yet here they all are, questioning themselves on the job after losing a patient and without Bobby’s steady leadership to help guide them through it.

Buck could only hope this didn’t send him or anyone else on the team into a spiral of questioning their purpose in life. And he really hoped it didn’t lead to another brush with death, for anyone of them.

The hand on Buck’s knee never left and gave another squeeze, pulling him from his past wallows and has his eyes fluttering open. He looks over at Eddie and sees an understanding smile gracing his lips. “That man’s death isn’t on us. We we’re working on the worst of the crash, and we saved that girl and her mother. Hen made the right call, the same one Bobby would have made and when those lab results concur with her story, she’ll be back, and we’ll find a way to make it up to her.”

Buck takes a moment to let Eddie’s words sink it and pull him from the beginnings of a self-deprecating spiral. He did his job, he gave his facts of the event truthfully, and Hen would come around. In all regards, Buck just needed to learn how not to put his foot in his mouth, because at the moment it really was a nasty taste.

Slowly most of the tension that had built up during Hen’s confrontation eases away and Eddie felt it through the press of his shoulder into Buck’s, “That has to be a record.” He comments before getting to his feet and reaching a hand out.

Buck doesn’t even hesitate and tries his damnest not to flush too red as Eddie hauls him to his feet with little to no effort. The man has a girlfriend and Buck was done chasing. “Uh yea. Turns out when you stop trying to search for the life’s great moments and instead live in them, internal spiraling is easier to pull out of.” He explains. Eddie also is a big contributor, but Buck isn’t going to admit that to said man.

“Well… At least those self-help books will make good kindling for the next campfire.” Eddie cackles and Buck swats at his shoulder which only makes him laugh harder.

Eventually Buck joins in and the pit of dread dwindles further. He embraces this moment and knows eventually everything is going to be okay.

Short but somewhat sweet I hope! Tagging (no pressure): @jesuisici33 @fortheloveofbuddie @rogerzsteven @lemonzestywrites @evanbegins @buck-coded @devirnis @glorious-spoon @thekristen999 @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @sunshinediaz @watchyourbuck @lover-of-mine @hoodie-buck @elvensorceress @gayedmundodiaz @giddyupbuck @jeeyuns @bekkachaos @buddierights @try-set-me-on-fire @rainbow-nerdss @thewolvesof1998 @eddiebabygirldiaz @spaceprincessem @eddiiediaz @honestlydarkprincess @doublecheekeddiaz @prosperdemeter2 @transboybuckley @nmcggg @monsterrae1 @dangerpronebuddie @missmagooglie @thebloomingheather

#fuck it friday #tag game #coda fic #7x02 #my fic #911 abc #911 spoilers #911 fic #buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #hen wilson #chimney han #happier buck #pining buck

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harryssweatcreaturee · 7 months

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Petals and Promises

you guyssssss, i'm bacckkkkk (((':

a/n: here's something a little sweet and heart warming with soft harry being the sweet little baby he is, i hope this fluff blurb makes you happy. love you guys <3

wc: 1695

warnings: mentions of deceased parent

Days like this were Harry’s favorite.

The smell of the fresh rain drizzling down to water the trees, humidity that anyone else might complain about but Harry loved. Sure, it meant sadness for most people but for Harry, it meant growth and serenity. Each raindrop seemed to cleanse the very atmosphere, purifying it from worries and accumulated dust, washing away the problems from moments before the nature’s symphony. The air that was once stifling and heavy, now felt light, crisp, and cool.

He walked from the parking lot to head towards his flower shop. Sidewalk sprinkled with some people like him – under their umbrellas and coats coddling them away from the slight chill the rain invited.

“Excuse me!”

Harry kept walking, admittedly a bit distracted with the sound of the pitter patter from the rain hitting the pavement, not realizing the woman behind him was trying to call his attention.

“Sir! Excuse me!”

This time, Harry turned his head, finding a young woman with her hands wrapped around her body and drenched pointing to his umbrella.

“Do you mind? Just until I reach the flower shop. I parked too far and forgot my umbrella. Sorry just – it’s cold. Wet, very wet.” She rambled on, an apologetic smile on her face as if she was burdening Harry for wanting momentary shelter from the curtains of rain.

Harry smiled as he moved closer to her, “Don’t mind at all. M’actually headed to the flower shop too. What are you looking for? We have new shipments today and I ordered some new flowers that are in season.”

Harry’s always been so friendly and kind, not leaning into finding any harm in anyone’s intention of speaking to him or approaching him. Maybe it was a bit much for some people but hey, sharing his umbrella with a person and how could he not make conversation when they’re just inches away?

(Y/N) on the other hand, hated the rain. It meant sadness. It meant another day where the skies cried with her over how much she missed her mum. Her best friend. Her confidant. The world seemed to be just as sad as her from how often the skies cried with her – dreadful and muddy as it made every step a battle against the sucking muck.

It didn’t help that she left her umbrella today and she needed those flowers before she went to go visit her mum. But she wouldn’t miss it for the world. No matter the shine, the rain, the wind. She’d sit on that grave as the rain fell in a relentless downpour if she had to.

To make it worse, she wanted to try this new flower shop and the parking she found felt like it was miles and miles away from her car as the rain trickled down her dry body and making her a proper soaked towel.

God bless the man that allowed her to hide away from the rain until they reached the shop. He seemed so kind and genuine, giving her a smile that was so graceful – a delicate curve that carried with it elegance and joy. It was sweet and it made (Y/N) feel warm inside unlike the rain’s cold drips that made her body shiver.

“I usually get her a bouquet of sulfur and pink cosmos, if you have any.”

She stayed by the door, cautiously looking around the shop riddled in concentric shelves holding beautiful flowers and arrangements. It smelled so nice, soft yet alive. (Y/N) didn’t want to wet the wood floor any more than she already had, keeping her body at a close distance to the exit door.

Harry noticed and immediately walked over to her with a coat he usually left under the register, handing it to her with a soft smile, “Don’t worry about that. Walk around and look as you please. I’ll mop up after. M’Harry, by the way. Let me know if you need anything.”

She wasn’t sure if he even responded to her as to what flowers she wanted but he seemed busy at work with the yellow and pink puffs she asked for, working on a bouquet behind the counter.

(Y/N) could tell he took care of his flowers. Not a single wilted petal or a dead flower. They looked beautiful and full of life, ready to illuminate any room or bring a smile to anyone’s face. She hoped it did the same to her mum in heaven every time she showed up with her favorite flowers.

“May I ask who these are for? These are special flowers – beautiful and harmonious. Special person you’re getting them for.”

A smile perked the commissure of her lips, not realizing that her mother’s favorite flowers meant something so sweet and so in sync with what their relationship was – still is and forever will be.

(Y/N) walked closer to the counter, eyes now focused on his hand cutting the stems at an angle before perfectly arranging them at a height where they bloomed so generously.

“They’re for my mum. I visit her every Sunday with her favorite flowers, even if the ones from the week before are still perfect and blossoming.”

He had long, slender fingers. A cross tattoo etched on the back of his palm, a pastel yellow chipping away from his fingernails. It matched him, she thought. Tender and refreshing like the smile he gave her when he allowed her to hide away under his umbrella.

Harry didn’t need more explanation to understand what the flowers were for. And though his mum was alive and well, thank God, it resonated deep in him because cosmos happened to be his mum’s favorite flower too.

“Cosmos are my mum’s favorite too.”

A soothing silence fell over them as he finished up the bouquet, wrapping the stems with a rubber band, then the brown kraft paper, then the cellophane.

“This one’s on the house today. I hope you have a good visit with your mum and take my umbrella. The weather won’t get any better until later in the evening.”

His generosity made (Y/N)’s eyes water. He didn’t know her, didn’t know her name, yet his kindness wrapped her up in the warmest, tightest hug of sweetness that squeezed tears out of her. There was sincerity in his kindness that was unmistakable, a genuine desire to help others that radiated from him, and anyone can see that.

“Thank you.” She croaked out, holding in a sob that she thought would come later when she sat atop her mother’s grave but instead, this sweet stranger was nearly pulling it out of her.

Harry couldn’t seem to get the woman out of his head days after. He could remember seeing her eyes welled up in unshed tears, her lips trembling a sad testament to the emotions churning behind the surface. Harry just wanted to hold her, feeling compelled to promise her that everything will be okay and that one day things will get better.

He hoped she’d come by again this Sunday, maybe talk to her some more and try to make her smile again in any way he could. But luckily, he didn’t have to wait until Sunday.

The last thing he expected was for her to show up in his shop again on this Thursday afternoon, a basket of muffins and his umbrella filling her hands. She looked happier today, sporting that same apologetic smile as she nearly struggled with the door as she stumbled in, a silly little giggle leaving her lips as she tripped on the way to the counter towards Harry.

“This is my proper thank you for your kindness – and your umbrella. You don’t know me, don’t know my name, if I’m a good person, or a bad person. Yet you unhesitatingly treated me with such generosity and-and some sort of empathy that just nearly cured my sadness,” she giggled with a soft sigh following, scooting the basket of muffins closer to him.

“I don’t need to know a person for me to be kind. And besides, I knew in the bottom of my heart that you needed it and it was no problem for me to give you what my heart is full of. Thank you for the muffins, petal.”

(Y/N) huffed out a small laugh, softly shaking her head in disbelief that someone so perfect could exist. Someone so soft and emotionally intelligent, so beautiful and cautious. “You’re unbelievable, y’know that? I’ve never met someone so polite from the second I’ve met them and really, it warms my heart more than I can say. I –“ It was like the woman had a drank a truth serum before she came to see him.

“I left here on Sunday even seeing the rain in a whole different way. I told my mum about you – about the stranger that gave me his umbrella and gifted me flowers because I looked like a sad, wet mess. And I just knew you didn’t do all that out of pity. It means a lot to me.”

Harry could only smile at her. She was so cute, honestly rambling off again about whatever she felt with no filter on her mouth. It was sweet and it made Harry feel good that his kindness meant so much to her. It reminded Harry of the exact reason why he was the way he was.

“Well, I do hope you come by here often and I promise I’ll always be just as kind and sweet, petal.”

(Y/N) felt her cheeks warming up, her heart racing at that nickname again, finding it even a little funny given that he sold flowers. She wanted a different reason to come by the flower shop, perhaps to see him more often than just Sundays where she’d usually be a mess and crying again.

Before (Y/N) could respond, Harry disappeared behind the small hallway that led to the back, then returning with a beautiful chocolate cherry sunflower, Harry handing it to her with a hopeful smile.

“Every petal of this flowers will leave with a promise of your return. Come see me again, petal. I’ll be happily waiting to see you.”

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles fan fics #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles au #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harrystyles #harry styles x yn #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harrystyles fic #harrystyles fanfic #hslot #harrys house #harry styles fic

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