#this was so frustrating but it turned out so good | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

strawchocoberry · 3 days

Text

THAT PUSSY KILL BE SO VICIOUS

୨୧ featuring: welt yang, sunday, jing yuan, aventurine x fem reader

ଘ cw: smut, dubcon, dacryphilia, edging, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie, nipple play, choking, manhandling, public sex, rough sex

୨୧ synopsis: keep your mouth shut and let him take his frustration out on you

ଘ wc: 2.4k

ʚ WELT YANG ɞ

Welt isn’t the type to get easily angered. It would be foolish to anger him, though. Depending on the situation, he has a few tricks up his sleeve to deal with it. There are times, however, when he is just beyond angered. He’s brimming with madness. And there is only one way to make him calm down and not pull a black hole on everyone, destroying everything in the immediate vicinity.

“Ah, Mr Yang!” You smile as you see him in the corridor of the Passenger Cabin, just outside of his room. “I was wondering if you could—”

Before you can even finish your sentence, Welt grabs your wrist and pushes you into his room, slamming you on the door. You turn over your shoulder to look at him confused and your eyes widen when you notice the shimmering anger burning fiercely in his eyes. You gulp, wondering what could have happened to make him so mad.

“Sorry, little one.” His tone is cold and dark. He takes his glasses off, leaving them on the desk on his right. His body pins you to the door, his hand choking your neck, as he grinds himself on your arse. “But right now, I need you to be a good girl and don’t make any noise.”

Welt is quick with freeing his cock from the confines of his trousers. He lifts your skirt to your waist and slides your panties to the side, spreading your pussy lips with his fingers. You bite your lip, squirming as he holds you in place. He kisses your neck, as he rubs his hard cock on your entrance. “This is going to hurt, but I cannot bother with foreplay right now.” He kisses your cheek, then covers your mouth with his palm. “Forgive me, little one.”

He thrusts inside you hard, going all the way in, before he starts pounding into you like a maniac. You scream against his hand, tears streaming down your face at the ferocity of his thrusts. You’re certain that if anyone were to walk by in the corridor, they would be able to hear the brutal slap of skin on skin.

Your back arches, as Welt pulls your head back. Still ravaging your poor little pussy, he looks into your eyes. Usually he would be angered by the rivers of tears streaming down your cheeks, but not this time. He still feels bad for hurting you right now, but you and he both know that it’s either you he takes his anger out on or the universe. And let’s be honest, you do enjoy yourself right now, despite the initial pain of his penetration.

His free hand is holding onto your waist tightly, slamming your hips against his. Your legs shake as he brings you to orgasm within minutes. Even so, Welt doesn’t stop. He fucks you through your orgasm and eventually reaches his own, filling up your pussy with his seed. He doesn’t stop then either. He kisses your forehead as your muffled cries mix with his grunts.

Orgasm after orgasm, he’s making a mess out of the both you. It’s unbefitting of him, Welt knows that. But your tight pussy is the only thing that can purge the burning rage within him. He’ll make it up to you later. He always does, after all. But for now, he decides to act a bit selfish and use you as he pleases. As he bites down on your neck and dig his fingers into the soft flesh of your hip, after at least four orgasms, he does start to feel better.

For good measure, Welt wrenches two more orgasms from your body, before his thrusts slow down. He removes his hand from your mouth, knowing you’re too exhausted right now to make any sound. Your heavy breath echoes in the room along with his. A low moan escapes your lips when he pulls his cock out of your pussy, your mixed arousals dripping down between your legs.

You can barely stand, supporting yourself on the door. Welt tucks himself back in his trousers, then picks you up in his arms and carries you to his personal bathroom, carefully lowering you into the tub and running you a warm bath. You hum relieved at the warm water enveloping your body.

“So, what did you want to ask me?”

“I forgot,” you giggle.

ʚ SUNDAY ɞ

You know from the moment he calls you, barking “Come. Now” that Sunday is in an awful mood. You immediately drop everything and hurry to his office. You don’t bother knocking at his door and just open it. The whole room is a mess, papers scattered all over the place, fragments of a broken vase at a corner, you take note not to step on.

Cautiously, you approach him, who’s looking outside the window. “Sunday?”

He turns towards you, a small smile curling up on his lips. “Oh, you’re here, angel.”

“What happened—”

You scream as Sunday bends you over his desk without so much as a warning. He hastily removes your clothes, leaving you naked under his malicious gaze. He kisses your neck, shoulder and back, his hands cupping your breasts, groping them and pinching your nipples. An involuntary moan escapes your lips, making him smirk.

“No, talking,” he whispers in your ear, as he unbuttons his trousers. “Spread your legs for me, angel.” When you don’t immediately obey, he slaps your thighs apart. “Spread them,” he repeats in an authoritative tone.

This isn’t, of course, your first rodeo. It doesn’t mean that Sunday doesn’t make your entire body shudder as he thrusts inside your pussy. His thrusts are slow at first, yet violent, shaking the entire desk and forcing the air out of your lungs. And yet your greedy, masochistic pussy loves it, clenching around his cock so hard, he needs to put more force to move. It feels as if he’s splitting you in half.

Sunday picks up his pace, thrusting in and out of your now dripping pussy at a demonic speed, penetrating you deep, having you squirm underneath him. You can barely muffle your moans by biting your lip, but he couldn’t care less if you’re heard right now. All that matters to him is getting rid of all his frustrations.

You gasp when his fingers start rubbing your clit, your body tensing in his arms as your orgasm approaches. You’re so close to tasting the sweet nectar of bliss when Sunday slows down his pace, before stopping altogether with his cock buried in your pulsing cunt. You turn to look at him over your shoulder, irritation written all over your face and he can’t help but chuckle at your cute expression.

“You’re so adorable all angered, angel,” he coos, his dark gaze devouring you whole. He starts rocking his hips once more, hitting your g spot time and again to make you moan and whimper. He leans over your shoulder, his right arm slipping underneath your body to grope your breast. “But you’re not cumming until I say so.”

The thing about Sunday is that even if you’re not the one who has wronged him, you’re still the one getting punished. He will eventually deal with the real pain in his arse, but for now, the easiest and perhaps safest way to vent his anger is by punishing his little angel, namely you. Each whiny little whimper he draws out of you with each denied orgasm feeds his sadistic ego, pacifying his wrath.

Your mind is lost in all your denied pleasure. You’re so gone, you can barely complain anymore. And that’s his cue for Sunday to finally allow you to cum. If he’s being honest, he has calmed down for a while now, but you couldn’t possibly expect him to drop his little game with his favourite toy, could you?

When your orgasm floods your body, you scream his name so loud, you’re certain everyone in Penacony heard you. Sunday cannot help but smirk, marvelling at the way your body spasms from the intensity of your orgasm. He can never think of a better way to ease his rage than this.

ʚ JING YUAN ɞ

Everyone flinches as the General passes them by, his irritation heavy in the air. Nobody dares block his way nor talk to him. There is a high possibility of ending up dead if they do. Even Yanqing changes paths, thinking that he can always come back later to challenge his master in a duel.

Jing Yuan walks into his bedchamber and he’s thankful you’re already there. He wouldn’t be able to wait a moment longer. Immediately, he attacks you, turning you to him and devouring your lips, sucking your very soul out of your body. His hands grope your arse cheeks, his fingers digging into the fabric of your skirt.

He lifts you in his arms, carrying you over and throwing you in his bed, before hovering over you. He’s like a wild lion, out to torment a poor little prey because someone enraged him. And that’s exactly what he’s doing right now. When you try to wrap your arms around his neck to bring him closer, he harshly pins them down the mattress, while pressing his knee on your clothed pussy, making you whimper in your kiss.

The next moment, Jing Yuan flips you over, pushing your face into the mattress, as he lifts your hips up. He rips your clothes to shreds, his hands hungrily roaming and groping every part of your body, relishing on your squirming form underneath him. You gasp when he pounds into you, stretching you out to accommodate his entire length. “Fuck,” he groans.

Each thrust is more vicious than the previous. You hug one of his pillows and bury your head in it, muffling your screams and whimpers, tears staining it. Jing Yuan couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to. The feeling of sliding his cock in and out of your pulsing core is making him slowly forget about all the trouble that enraged him in the first place.

He feasts on your trembling form beneath him, spanking your arse just to hear your cute, surprised yelps. It’s intoxicating him. He lies on top of you, still making you go dumb on his cock, and wraps his arm around your neck, while the other grabs on your breasts. You come undone right then and there and he can’t help but smirk. “My cute little kitten,” Jing Yuan coos in your ear.

He nibbles the soft flesh of your neck, curving his mark, as he chases after his own orgasm. But just one time is not enough to quench his thirst for blood. Like a savage lion, he doesn’t plan on releasing you any time soon, holding you tightly in his arms, as he brings you closer to another orgasm. Even when you complain about being sensitive after three more orgasms, Jing Yuan relentlessly pounds into you, filling you up with all his seed until he’s satisfied.

In-between of his ferocious thrusts, he kisses your lips, showing you some semblance of gentleness, not wishing to break you too fast or else he will be in need of another target to vent. And there’s nobody who can satiate him as well as you. You can feel every inch of him as he’s now slowed down to delay your next orgasm. Yet you’re so sensitive that you’re on the verge of cumming once more.

ʚ AVENTURINE ɞ

You had the feeling that you’d end up like this from the moment the meeting began. You could just tell that someone would anger your superior and you’d be the one to clean up the mess. And you were right.

The moment everyone disappears from the meeting room, Aventurine motions you to approach him. His darkened gaze dares you to disobey. When you’re close enough to him, he sits you on his lap, your thighs on either side of his, as you look into his eyes. He takes your chin in his forefinger and thumb and crushes his lips on yours, his tongue penetrating your mouth without warning.

Your body arches to him, your breasts flattening against his chest. He slaps your arse, making your jolt and whimper in your kiss. Aventurine ignores it. His hand slides underneath your skirt, pulling your panties to the side and sliding two fingers inside you. “Oh, what’s this? You’re already wet? Did you fantasise about this during the meeting?” Of course you did. You knew it was coming and couldn’t help your mind wandering off down a dark rabbit hole.

Fumbling with his belt, you pull his trousers and underwear down. He strokes his cock, rubbing the tip on your wet folds before thrusting inside. His head falls back at the tightness and warmth enveloping him. Aventurine holds your hips as he slams you down his girth, his cock reaching deep within you, while you hold onto his shoulders to support yourself.

You feel a bit uneasy having sex in the meeting room, knowing that someone can easily walk in on you, but you’re more worried about your superior right now. Besides, if a fool does come in, they’re going to fall prey to Aventurine’s rage.

Aventurine tears your shirt apart, sending buttons flying all over the room. He doesn’t bother removing your bra and just pulls it down. Your breasts bounce in rhythm with your movements. He takes them in his hands, running his thumbs over your hardened nipples. He leans down and takes one nipple in his mouth, sucking and biting on it, as you move up and down his length.

When your movements slow down, Aventurine raises an eyebrow in question, tilting his head on your chest. His right hand delivers a harsh spank on your arse, the stinging pain making your pussy clench around his cock. “Did I tell you to slow down?” He doesn’t wait for your answer before he’s thrusting up inside you.

You cover your mouth with your hand, yet your muffled moans are enough to make him cum inside you. His warm seed fills you up as he continues fucking you time and again. Your little mishap results in Aventurine denying your orgasm till you have begged him enough. Seeing you so desperately pleading him for release lights up his mood. He doesn’t plan on letting you cum yet, wanting to hear you beg more, but he will, eventually.

#୨୧｡˚₊♡꒰ strawchocoberry ꒱♡₊˚｡୨୧ #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #welt yang #welt yang x reader #welt yang smut #sunday #sunday x reader #sunday smut #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan smut #aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine smut

1K notes · View notes

noisilyscreechingsong · 3 days

Text

Image this:

Danny is sixteen. He just found out he is to become King, with a capital K, when he becomes a mature ghost, which is at least 20 years after his death. So he’s got time. Everything’s fine. Except for the Observants pushing his education. Tutors shoving information down his throat like he’s cramming for finals. Princess Dora, Pandora, Frostbite, and even Clockwork checking on him frequently and making a schedule for him to come visit their territories for little learning sessions. Fright Knight has been following his every move. And let’s not forget the other random ghosts he’s never even met before coming to ask for favors or to complain or just give him their problems in general and expect him to fix it.

He can’t even let his frustrations out! All his regular rogues avoid him now! Even Vlad doesn’t want to get involved, but that could be because he’s still bitter about not getting the crown like he wanted.

Good thing he knows a king that has probably been through the same thing.

King Arthur of Atlantis. In other words, Aquaman.

Because Danny wasn’t technically king yet, crowned prince is probably the right title?, he couldn’t just call him up or send a letter asking to meet. So Danny decides to go give the man a visit himself.

Using process of elimination, he was able to find Atlantis after about two months of research and searching. He didn’t have a whole lot of free time, okay?

Turning invisible and flying through the water was a lot easier than he thought. Getting through the barrier was a piece of cake and the castle was obvious to find. What wasn’t obvious to find was the king himself. He wasn’t in the throne room, or his study, or the training grounds, or literally anywhere in the castle. He checked.

No. He finds the king playing some game with some kids in the underwater city.

It was surprising to find him there, especially after the etiquette lessons from Dora, but it gave Danny some hope that maybe he wouldn’t be miserable and burdened with paperwork and boring meetings when he becomes king.

Danny turns visible. They were still invested in the game but the guards noticed him. Spears were pointed at him in a second.

“Halt! State your business,” the guard demands.

The shout caused everyone in the area to stop and look, including the king.

Danny raises his hands in surrender.

“Uh, hi. Sorry to stop the game, I just wanted to talk- sorry, speak to King Arthur, if- if that’s okay? There wasn’t an address to mail to that I could find-“

“It’s okay,” the king interrupts. “Let’s go somewhere private to talk then. Do you have any weapons on you?”

Danny perks up at the opportunity to finally talk to him.

“Yes please! And no, no weapons, sir.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” the king replies with a smile. Danny smiles back widely.

“My king-“

The king holds up a hand to stop the guard’s worries.

When they finally arrive to the throne room of the palace King Arthur turns to Danny.

“Who are you?” He asks in a tone that was a bit more serious than it was before.

“Oh! Sorry. Hi. I’m Danny. Danny Phantom. It’s nice to meet you, King Arthur,” he answers quickly with a nervous smile.

The king nods, obviously thinking about something else as he watches Danny with guarded eyes.

“How can you breathe underwater if I may ask? I’m curious.”

“Well that’s easy, I’m not breathing.”

“You’re… not breathing,” the king repeats with skepticism.

“Yea,” Danny agrees freely. “I don’t have to breathe if I don’t want to. You know, because of the whole ghost thing.”

“Ghost?”

“Yea. Can turn invisible, walk through walls, fly- you know. Haven’t you ever seen a ghost before?”

Danny tries a bit of humor with a crooked smile, but it falls when he sees the contemplative expression on the king’s face.

“Wait, seriously? You’ve never seen a ghost?”

“I’m aware of a ghost named Deadman apart of Justice League Dark but he is invisible to everyone.”

“Really?! I didn’t know that! I need to go talk to him! Where can I find him?”

“Hold on there, guppy. Didn’t you want to talk about something?”

Danny is drawn back to the topic at hand.

“Right, okay, so I was recently told I was gonna be king in like twenty years, which is news to me, and now they are just throwing everything at me with all this information I don’t know what to do with and I’m getting complaints and requests and everyone is expecting so much from me when I’m literally sixteen years old! I don’t know what I’m doing with my life, whether I want to go to college or if I’ll even graduate high school, and they want me to solve territory disputes and create new laws and provide protection for those who want to go into the living plane. I just- I don’t know what I’m doing and the only king I could think of was you, so I guess I was wondering if you could, I don’t know, give me some advice or if I could shadow you for a bit to see what an actual king should do or act. I know it’s a lot to ask coming from someone you don’t even know, but I’m just a bit overwhelmed with everything and I don’t really know where to go from here and was hoping you would at least understand. My friends don’t get it and the other ghosts are kinda afraid of me now because of my title and they wouldn’t get it anyway…” he trails off awkwardly.

Arthur had never had this conversation before. He was honestly flattered and the kid looked genuine. Maybe he’d wait until one of the magic users okay-ed the young ‘ghost’ before revealing any information about himself.

He pulls out a device and throws it the kid. Danny dodges just to snatch it out of the air from reflex alone.

“That’s a communicator. I’ll send Deadman and Constantine your way and call when I get the okay. Where are you located?”

Danny’s toxic eyes were big and hopeful, shining brightly through the water.

“Thank you, sir! Amity Park, Illinois, the most haunted city in America!” He answers proudly.

The king just smiles.

#dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #danny phantom #aquaman #dp x dc writing prompt #prompt idea #john constantine #dc x dp #dc x dp prompt

1K notes · View notes

talaok · 3 days

Note

PostOutbreak!Joel likes reader but he tries to hide it because of the age gap. To try and put us off, he can be a bit standoffish/mean but Ellie can tell it’s a facade and tells him to drop it and the age thing doesn’t matter if you really like each other. Then a fluffy confession omggg

Pairing: PostOutbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: unspecified age gap, joel being a lil insecure and scared, and Ellie being a menace, but its mostly all fluff who am i kidding

a/n: this was the cutest fucking request ever, thank you anon

You know those books or movies where it's painfully clear to everyone but the two main characters that they love each other, and you keep reading or watching thinking "How could anyone not see that he likes her?" as you increasingly get more frustrated and annoyed?

Well, this is a bit like that,

not a bit actually, completely so.

And in this metaphor, you and Joel were the two oblivious main characters, while Ellie, poor Ellie, was the unfortunate witness of your blindness.

It was so incredibly clear to her that she sometimes struggled not to laugh at your interactions.

I mean the first time Joel saw you was the very first time she'd seen him blush and forget how to speak in the span of a second- it was hilarious.

And then when he'd catch him staring at you or pretend not to purposely take the longer route home just to catch a glimpse of you outside the bakery... it was hard to only chuckle underneath her breath, but she managed...

until today

Joel slammed the door as he got it, like really loud, not like his usual slam.

"what's wrong?" Ellie asked, her brows frowning in suspicion as he kicked his boots off his feet before halfheartedly dragging them to the kitchen where she was sitting.

"nothin'" he grumbled,

Now that made Ellie sigh with annoyance,

he was always the one to blab about how she could always confide in him, and if that was the truth, then that meant it went both ways.

"Y'know a grumpy old man once told me that it's good to share how you're feeling" She tilted her head to the side, raising her brow as Joel rolled his eyes, filling a glass with water "Would be real hypocritical of him to not take his own advice..."

Said old man, was now rolling his eyes even harder, drowning the full glass in a second

"'s nothing, don't worry 'bout it"

"Joel" Ellie only glared at him,

and as always when it was her,

he was convinced faster than he liked to admit

He sighed, before speaking "It's stupid" he said

"I don't care" Ellie shrugged, placing her elbows on the kitchen counter where she sat and using her hands to support her head, her whole focus on Joel,

who sighed, again.

"I just-" he placed the glass in the sink before turning back to her "I just saw y/n talking to I guy I-"

"Oh my god you're jealous!" she said it with such enthusiasm and with such a smile pulling at her lips that you would have guessed she'd just won the lottery

"no" Joel frowned, shaking his head "What are you on about? I'm not jealous, I just don't like the guy"

"yeah" Ellie snorted "I'm sure you just "don't like the guy"" she air quoted as she laughed

"Why would I be jealous?" Joel went on pretending,

perhaps lying to himself together with her, the jury was still out.

"I'm just worried for her-" he argued "she's too kind and too fucking nice and Jake's an asshole"

again, Ellie only smiled as she watched him lie so blatantly

"why would you be jealous?" she pondered his question with amusement "well I don't know... maybe 'cause you have the biggest fucking crush on her"

"What!?" he spat "I don't know what's going on with you today, where did you get all these ideas? I-"

"Oh my god please shut up Joel" she groaned, rolling her eyes "That rude asshole act you do around y/n may work with her, but you don't fool me, Miller"

Ellie could swear she saw a hint of panic in his eyes

"I know you like her, just like I know she likes you" She finally said, done with this little act "I honestly don't get why you two don't just declare your love to one another and live happily ever after or some shit"

It was like he froze,

and while Ellie thought it was because he'd just been busted by a 14-year-old, it was for a wholly different reason

"she doesn't like me" he stated

And at that, at that Ellie could just groan as her palm descended dramatically down the length of her face

God, she'd always known he wasn't the brightest, but this? This is a little too much even for him

"Are you blind or something?" she threw her hands out for emphasis "She's definitely better at hiding it than you, I'll give you that, but I mean, still... it's fucking obvious dude!"

"Ellie" Joel only shook his head "you 'don't know whatcha talkin' 'bout"

Ellie was now very close to yelling at him.

"Joel I'm serious, she likes likes you!" she argued, "why do you find that so hard to believe?"

But of course, Ellie couldn't have known what was going on in Joel's mind, how certain he was that it wasn't true,

about how he knew he didn't deserve someone like you, someone so kind and beautiful and smart,

how he had spent months trying to get the thought of you to leave his tainted mind,

how he'd decided to be mean, rough, rude to you in the hopes that you would stop being so nice to him, in the hopes that you would start to avoid him, to hate him, and he'd never have to see you or that gorgeous smile again.

And finally, Ellie didn't know about how he was too incredibly, terribly old for you, for such a pretty young woman.

Half his hair was gray for god's sake, he never had a chance

"I could be her father Ellie" he finally confessed what had been eating up at him for so long "I'm too fuckin' old"

Ellie didn't even need a moment to take that it, she listened, thought about it, and immediately rolled her eyes

"SO WHAT?"

You don't understand how long she had to pretend not to want to give the both of you a good shake,

it was only right for her to finally shout it out

"First of all, you're not that old" she started listing, "second of all, she obviously doesn't care" she continued "and finally Joel, if you really like her, and if she really likes you, then it doesn't matter!"

But Joel was not convinced, he'd spent too long telling himself the opposite, and he couldn't even fathom the possibility of what Ellie was saying

"you just have to tell her"

she said it like it was easy, like the mere thought of it didn't give Joel a minor heart attack, like he hadn't woken up from multiple dreams where he would confess his love and you would laugh at his face, or worse, tell him you felt the same, something Joel knew not to be the truth.

Also, Joel had no idea when exactly throughout this conversation he'd admitted to liking you, but I guess it didn't matter now, it made no sense to keep the farse on.

"I can't Ellie, I-"

"oh my god you're such a chicken" she moaned "You're the one that always tells me to be brave!"

"that's different"

"how!?" she bugged her eyes, holding her palms up in show of her frustration "I get that it's scary, but what's the worst thing that could happen?"

And that, for some reason, stuck with him,

He really had nothing to lose,

It's not like you were friends or you would talk often, it's not like he would be ruining a relationship, there wasn't one,

And yet... yet it still terrified him,

"Ellie... I don't know"

"c'mon man, but your big boy pants on" she groaned "I'm telling you, she fucking likes you"

__ __ __

Joel didn't do it.

He couldn't. He just-

You were perfect, you were perfect in a way that made him feel all the more dirty,

like being close to you, talking to you, touching you... would be like plucking a flower with torn-up hands,

And fuck him, but Joel was scared, like he'd gone back 40 years and become 16 all over again.

He couldn't do it, he couldn't, wouldn't do it, and he'd set his mind to that, made peace with his cowardness and dread.

Until of course, Ellie's twisted mind came up with a way to force his fears to life.

"Howdy"

The kid was smiling so broadly that she looked like a child with a brand-new toy,

but Joel's eyes were somewhere else,

he was looking at you

"Hi Joel" you smiled, punching a knife into his gut

You were at his front door with his kid, who was very clearly plotting something, and Joel wondered for a moment if this was what would finally make his heart give out.

"Hi," he said, his voice sounding distant

Why is she here?

"Aren't you gonna let us in?" Ellie urged,

Us?

"Uhm, I-"

but Ellie had already sneaked inside, dragging you behind

And now the awkward scene was even more awkward, just at the entrance of his home.

"All alright" Ellie clapped her hands, watching Joel stare at you as you tried to avoid his gaze "I'm gonna go to my room," she said, shouldering him not so subtly

"Cool down dude" she mumbled, before disappearing upstairs.

What the fuc-

"I'm sorry to barge in like this" you finally spoke, a gentle smile on your lips "Ellie said you needed to tell me something, so I just... came here I guess" you finished with an awkward laugh

Fuck-fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-

"If it's too much trouble I'll just go-"

"no," Joel said, before he could stop himself, finally realizing he was still holding the door's knob, and in a spur of bravery, deciding to use it to close the door.

"Oh, ok" you mumbled, puzzled by his demeanor "so uhm, what is it you needed to tell me?"

God damn that fucking trick-playing kid of his

"do you- do you want something to drink?"

the question took you aback, but then you did something that stunned Joel even more, you laughed,

you laughed softly, quickly, like you were letting out all this stupid awkwardness in a simple gesture

because that's how you were: Magical

"Sure" you shrugged, grinning "some water would be nice"

If Joel had to watch your face for an instant more he feared he was gonna explode, so he did all he could think of, he walked to the kitchen, only glancing at you again when he handed you your drink,

to his dismay, finding a smile still drawn on your lips.

"thank you" you said, taking a sip

god, even the way your lips wrapped around the rim made him want to drop to his knees.

He needed to get a grip.

"so... are you gonna tell me or do I have to guess?" you joked, your fingers drawing patterns on the glass

Was this really happening?

Was this hell?

"I..." he trailed off, running a hand through his hair as he glanced from the counter to you on repeat "I wanted to tell you that..."

"that?"

"that- the uhm-" he shut his eyes for a second, searching for words "the...bread you gave us this week was real good"

Goddamnit

"oh"

Even you couldn't hide your disappointment

I mean, you certainly didn't expect it. A compliment from Joel Miller? What universe were you in?

Just like you didn't expect any of this... him actually letting you in his house or offering you water...

You had half expected him to shut the door in your face,

The most he had ever given you was a half smile at a joke you told him while he was picking up bread, the rest were all rude grumbles or just a bunch of stoic looks...

and yet... yet a part of you couldn't help but have set expectations a little higher.

What a silly fool you'd been,

hoping for a love confession from a man who has made it very clear he despises you,

but still- a girl can dream, right?

"thank you" you mumbled, as Joel cursed himself over and over in his head "that's very nice of you," you smiled, stalling a second to see if he was gonna say something else, interrupt you at some point,

but he remained silent

"well if that's all, I'm gonna go then, thank you for the water I-"

Until he wasn't

"no-stop- I-"

Ellie was right.

He had to do this, he had to win his fear and try at least, or he was gonna regret it for the rest of his life, and he already had too many of those.

The problem was that you looked really beautiful today, and he'd never been good with words

Fuck it- if he was gonna make a fool of himself so be it,

He had nothing to lose and everything to win,

he had you to win.

"Yes?" you asked, trying to tame your hopes down

Think Joel, think

how the fuck do you tell a woman you like her?

"There's one other thing I've been meaning to tell ya" he cleared his throat, standing up straighter as he took a step closer to you.

"'m not great at doing this type of thing" he admitted, shaking his head slightly "but Ellie... she's right, I'm always tellin' her to be brave and everythin', so... I guess it's my turn now," he said, letting out a short, anxious laugh "I don't even know- I guess what I'm tryna say is that I'm gonna be honest now, but I want you to know that- that I know what you're gonna say and it's ok" he swallowed thickly, preparing himself from your inevitable rejection "I understand, really, I just- I thought I should try at least"

What was going on?

What the fuck was he saying?

"Joel, what are you talking about?"

This was it.

It was now or never.

"Y/n I-"

his heart was beating out of his chest, and his legs felt like jelly, but he had to do it, he had to take a leap of faith-

"Y/n I like you" he breathed like the words longed to be out of his mouth "I like you a lot, I have for a while now"

he watched your mouth part, your whole face filling with shock as you blinked over and over, trying to make sure this was really happening.

"Y-you like me?"

"yes" he nodded "And as I said, I know you don't feel the same, I know I'm old, and I've been an asshole to you all this time, so it's ok, really I-"

"stop talking Joel" you huffed a laugh, stepping closer, and then closer again, until your hand was on his arm "please just-" you bit down a smile, and he was so confused, so fucking confused, "say it again," you asked

"I like you y/n" he murmured, trying to get his mind to start working again,

but you were leaning closer,

and who cared what his name was anyway

"you were rude to me"

"I was, I'm sorry I-"

You pretended to be thinking about it, glancing upwards as you pursed your lips together

But who were you kidding?

"you're forgiven" you smiled, looking up at him as you slowly raised yourself on your tiptoes to gently, oh so gently, press your lips to his.

Joel was certain he had just died.

But then he opened his eyes again, and you were still there, beaming up at him, and he felt such a wave of happiness that he could have started crying right there,

only he took on a different route and grabbed each side of your face with his hands, crashing his lips with yours and kissing you, kissing you like he'd been dreaming of for months

exactly how you imagined he would,

better than you imagined, actually

so much better.

"Ha! I told you, Joel!"

He groaned as he leaned away, shooting Ellie an annoyed glance

"What are you doin' here?"

"just came here to gloat" she shrugged, watching you two with a grin plastered on her face

"I think you've done enough of that" he muttered, but you could only smile

"thank you, Ellie," you grinned "Thank you for doing this"

She raised her brows, looking at Joel as if saying "See, she's thanking me, why aren't you?", but then her expression got more genuine as she shot you a smile

"you're welcome" she smiled "Better having to see you kiss than having to put up with Joel being all sad 'cause you're talking to Jack or any other guy"

You gasped with amusement as Joel shut his eyes in embarrassment, his cheeks tainting with red

"Ellie-" Joel grumbled,

A soft giggle flowed through the room as Ellie turned away and went back up to her room, seemingly satisfied with her work

"You were jealous?" you teased him, your hands on his chest, while he'd moved one of his from your face to your waist.

"maybe I was" he fessed up

You smiled even brighter

"And you like me?" you asked for the thousandth time

"yes, sweetheart, I really fuckin' like you" he smiled too now, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that made time stand still and the world spin around

"I like you too Joel" you finally said, giving the man an actual mini-stroke.

"say it again"

873 notes · View notes

allbark-no-bite · 3 days

Text

good boy.

art donaldson x reader (wc: 2.9k)

summary: as Art’s personal physical therapist, it’s your job to fix what Tashi has torn apart, by whatever means necessary. or in which Art just needs some TLC

warnings: 18+ smut, it could be worse tbh, mentions of disordered eating

author’s note: i’m back ig?? im out of uni for the summer and challengers has me in a chokehold. Art Donaldson the man that you are

————————————————————————

You're standing just within earshot of the doorway, passing a sanitary wipe over one of the tables in the athlete treatment room when you hear the door abruptly open. Tashi storms in with a purpose and Art trails meekly behind her. Even if you had been clueless to how the match had gone rather than on the sidelines beside Tashi not even twenty minutes ago, you could have guessed by the hard line of her mouth that Art was in for it. Not that her displeased scowl was much different from her usual scowl, but you'd been around long enough to know the difference.

She stops abruptly, and Art heels obediently as Tashi turns around to face him. "I need you to tell me when you're going to fucking get it together so that I can stop wasting my time."

Weary and sweat soaked, Art just stares at her with that pitiful look on his face and says nothing in reply. His blue eyes solemnly take in her harsh disappointment as though beyond used to it. At this point it's not all that foreign to you either.

"You may as well be fucking asleep out there," she snaps.

This time his mouth opens. "I- I'm just tired-" he begins, although there's hardly any argue to his voice at all.

"No, I'm tired, Art," Tashi interjects. "Do you have any idea how much fucking work I've put into getting you back onto the court this past year?! I've done everything! The least you could do go out there and try to act like I've done anything for you at all!"

Art swallows, the slight frown on his face deepening. "I am. I just- I don't-"

Before he can even finish his sentence. The open palm of Tashi's hand connects with his cheek as she pops the left side of his face. Art closes his mouth. You pretend to concentrate on wiping down the table. It's not the first time you've witnessed one of these conversations but it still feels private, like you shouldn't be here. You keep wiping the table.

Understanding that anything else he says is only going to make Tashi angrier, Art resigns to once again watching her in silence. His blue eyes are sad. The usually fair skin of his cheek is tinted pink where she popped him. Although it wasn't very hard, you're sure it still hurt him all the same.

"Quit wasting my time," is all she says before she finally turns and leaves, walking right past you and out the other door. You hold your breath as she passes you. Art watches her go but makes no move to follow. You release an audible sigh. It's been a frustrating day for everyone. As Art's personal trainer, physical therapist, and close friend, you felt every loss, every ache and pain, every bad play. And there seemed to be a lot of those lately.

Art is still standing there, watching the closed door that Tashi left though.

Not knowing how to break the silence, you finally pat the freshly sanitized treatment table. "C'mon," you call gently, as though beckoning to a wounded dog.

It takes a moment for him to budge, but eventually he does, his disheartened spirit apparent in the way he walks over. Used to the usual routine, he tugs his damp shirt off over his head as he takes a seat, the lean muscles of his torso flexing as he does so. You allow yourself to ogle at him, only for a brief moment before stepping in between the bracket of his knees. Gently, you cradle his chin, tipping his head back to look up at you as your thumb smooths over the redness of his cheek. His blue eyes blink up at you, sad and dog-like.

"It wasn't terrible," you reassure him. "You had surgery six months ago. You're still getting your feet back underneath you. Most people wouldn't have come back." You're right. The still-pink scars on his shoulder are still fresh on your mind. The stitches weren't even out before Tashi had him in physical therapy. Even though his medical team had released him, it was still a bit early to start doing rehab so soon after surgery, Art's comfort being your biggest concern. But when Tashi wants something, she gets it.

Wordlessly, Art sighs, the weight of his head settling into your palm as he finally lets go of the tension he'd been carrying. It was always like this. You fixing what Tashi had torn apart. You understood where Tashi was coming from. Art needed a firm voice in his training, and you had a lot of respect for the way she put her foot down and never let up, not even once. But there was only so many times you could kick a dog while he was down.

So if Art needed someone to coddle him, you would coddle him.

He trusts you. He needs you, is what Tashi had told you when she asked you to stay on as his trainer full time. The three of you had been in the same year at Stanford all those years ago, Tashi and Art on the tennis team and you helping out as a student trainer as part of a class requirement. Three peas in a pod, the trio of you were. Of course then they both graduated, leaving you to finish up your schooling, meanwhile Art set off to go pro.

A few years later, once Tashi officially took on the position as Art's coach, she began building his team, and that's where you came in. You were hesitant at first.

'I already lost to you once, Tashi. I won't come in second to you again.'

She had paused on the other end of the line. Back in your Stanford days, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that you were head over heels in love with the blonde tennis player. But loving Art was like accepting the participation ribbon for a game you knew you weren't going to win in the first place. It was like standing next to the podium, just lucky enough to be included in the picture while Tashi and tennis took first and second place. And so you let him go.

'I'm not asking you to. This is different.'

Your hand slips from his face, and he forces his eyes open.

“Have you eaten?" you ask, stepping away in order to put some distance between the two of you and look for the granola bars that you keep especially for him. The gels were good sources of quick fuel in between sets, but they were hardly enough to even begin to make up for the calories he burned while playing.

Slowly, Art shakes his head, but he makes no move to take the snack from your hand when you offer it to him. Ever since his injury, nutrition became all the more important. So much to the point that every single thing that he consumed was mapped out to the exact calorie. Although he would never admit it, any sort of change in this routine made him incredibly anxious. Some days it was better not to cause him the anxiety than to force him.

Today, you insistently hold out the bar until he begrudgingly takes it from your hand. You don't move until you've seen him tear open the package and take a bite.

"Were you still feeling tight?" you ask as you walk around the table, stopping at the slouch of his turned back. You reach out to grasp at the joint of his neck and shoulder, your thumb smoothing over the kinesiology tape that's peeling away at the base of his neck.

He half turns his head to glance back at you. "You watched the match. You tell me."

His response is meant to be snippy, but it comes out more defeated than anything. To be fair, you've been his trainer long enough to know that if something was bothering him physically, you would have picked up on it.

"I want to hear it from you."

"I felt fine."

Your left hand follows suit on the other side of his neck, and you use both of your thumbs to apply pressure to what you assume will be a tense spot along the upper part of his traps. Predictably, Art groans at the attention. The muscles of his back contract as he fights the urge to shake you off. Relaxing the muscle hurts as much as it feels good. Besides his obvious discomfort, the rest of his body has gone lax under your touch. His shoulders have dropped at least an inch, and his chin has fallen to rest against his chest.

"Finish your granola bar," you reprimand him, your firm fingers working across his back until you find another spot that nearly has him jerking away. He releases a whine but obediently takes another bite of the bar. This time he finishes it before you have to remind him again.

You spend a few more minutes torturing him before you're satisfied that a majority of the tension has left his shoulders.

"Okay, good boy," you murmur, leaning forward so that your chest is close enough to brush against his back. One of your hands trails up to squeeze the back of his neck reassuringly.

You're close enough to hear him swallow at the name. The skin on the nape of his neck shivers despite how hot he still is from the match.

"Was I?" he asks timidly. "Good today?"

'I can be his coach. Or I can be the person he cries to after a bad day. But I can't be both. That's why he needs you."

Without removing your hand from his neck, you walk around the table so you're standing in front of him. Art widens the spread of his legs so that you can stand between them. His chin is still pressed to his chest, blue eyes focused on the ground.

"Art," is all you say, shifting your grip on his neck to tug lightly at his golden blonde hair. At your voice, he lifts his head just enough to look up at you through the pale wisps of his eyelashes. The irises of his blue eyes shine are wet with uncertainty.

Your fingers loosen their grip to allow your nails to scratch at his scalp. "You're good, Art. You'll always be good."

Art twists his head to nuzzle his cheek along the inside of your outstretched arm. His lips kiss the crook of your elbow. He swallows again. "Even if I don't play tennis?"

You can tell the question's been bothering him, eating at his nerves, and messing up his game. You know him well enough to know that retirement isn't what he wants, not really. At least not right now. What he wants is the reassurance that it's going to be okay if he can't swing the comeback.

"Look at me."

He lingers a moment longer with his lips pressed lovingly against your skin before he reluctantly shifts his gaze up to you. His look is anticipatory but reserved, as if to preemptively conceal his disappointment should you choose to crush his heart with your answer.

His fear is understandable. Art's relationship with Tashi has always been entirely built off of his tennis career. By being the driving force behind his success, Tashi has vicariously lived out the life she would have had had her injury never happened. Without tennis, Art has nothing left to offer her. He knows that if he gives up tennis, he loses Tashi.

Your relationship with Art was a little less conditional. Hell, you'd been in love with him since the first time you'd laid eyes on him at Stanford. You can still picture him standing there on the court, barely nineteen, scrawny, nervous smile, backwards cap over his strawberry blonde hair. Before he was the Art Donaldson. But when Tashi had stepped into the picture, you figured that was where your fairytale ended.

"I don't love you because of tennis. I love you because you're kind, and thoughtful, and you're passionate about what you do." You smile a bit before adding, "And you're my good boy."

The name turns him bashful again, and he's quick to turn and hide his smiling face against your arm, only the flushed tips of his ears visible. "[Y/n]," he mumbles, likely meaning to be threatening, but it doesn't come out that way.

Art Donaldson lived to be praised.

You laugh, pulling him closer so that his face is held against your chest. The hand that you don't have threaded through his hair trails up the muscle of his defined quad. "You're my good boy. Aren't you, baby?"

Art whines, squirming when your hand reaches the apex of his thigh and hovers over the forming bugle of his shorts. He's not quite there yet, his dick only half chubbed up in interest, but given the day that he's had, you won't make him wait.

"Please?" he mumbles, his face still buried into your collarbone, as if attempting to curling into you, like a small child needing their parent to hold them for comfort.

You rake your nails lightly up the inside of his thigh. "What, baby?"

Not only did Art liked to be praised, but he was masochist even on his worst days.

"Want you to touch me," he mumbles, his voice muffled by your shirt. "Please."

Your hand still scratching through his hair, you press a kiss to the side of his head, unable to suppress your smile at his timid politeness and how it never seems to fail him. The only time he ever resembled anything remotely voracious was on the court.

Palm finding his tented shorts, you cup him through the fabric. Art responds immediately to your touch, his hips shifting further into your grasp. You continue to pet him through his shorts, appreciating the way you can feel him actively responding to your touch.

His nails dig into the padding of the treatment table when you give his now fully hard dick a less than sympathetic squeeze. His breath is hot as he pants against your collarbone, alternating between laving open mouthed kisses to your skin and whining when you pause fondling him just to feel his hips rut up into your palm.

Art was so in control on the tennis court, that often after a match, putting the control into someone else's hands was just what he needed.

When his hips start to stutter, you ease up but continue to stroke him through his shorts. The front of his shorts are damp with the musk of residual sweat and precum.

His breath is shallow—anticipatory.

"Gunna come?" you ask softly, speaking into the blonde mess of his hair, cradling him. He right there, you can tell by the lackluster buck of his hips, his building fatigue, and the change in his breathing.

"Can I? —Please?" Art asks breathily. He hiccups out the last part, his voice catching.

"You know you don't have to ask."

There's a brief pause, as if coming to the realization, before he meekly murmurs, "I know.

It should be sad really, his unwavering obedience, but there are two sides to Art, two polar extremes. On the court, every match, every set, every debilitating second is up to him. No one else can help him out there, and up until about a year ago, he played like it. That was the side of Art Donaldson that Tashi wanted. After the match is a different story. In private, Art needed someone to do the thinking for him, to pull him into a reality where he could believe that it didn't matter whether he won or lost. Tashi had not the sympathy nor the patience for that kind of fragility.

Art comes with a brief cry into your chest, his body arching into yours. Your hand palms at his pulsing dick until he's oversensitive and pulling away. When you relent, the front of his shorts are sticky and wet.

Finally, Art lifts his face from the safety of your chest. His blue eyes are glossed over, but it's an improvement from the detached look they held ten minutes ago. His cheeks are flushed, a mixture of his own embarrassment and satisfaction.

You can't help the soft smile that creeps onto your face at the look of him, and immediately Art is abashedly trying to hide his face again, his own smile starting to appear. Before he can, you bring your hands back up to cradle his face, thumbs wiping away the wetness from under his eyes. This time he lets you.

His eyes study your face for a second, admiring you, appreciating the love he has for you.

“I don’t want to play tennis anymore.”

You can’t tell if it’s more of a statement or a confession. Either way, you know he’s telling you the absolute truth.

“Okay,” you reply softly, not hint of judgement in your voice. Maybe some disappointment, but that was understandable.

Retirement would be a kindness. Art would finally put back on some healthy weight, start smiling again, put on a real, actual smile. You could already see it, a nice house for the two of you to settle down in, with a picket fence and a dog in the backyard, the kind of things the two of you would have never had time for on tour.

Tennis had brought the two of you together, but it wouldn’t end you.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x y/n #challengers #challengers smut #art donaldson smut #challengers imagine #challengers x reader

866 notes · View notes

rafeandonlyrafe · 3 days

Text

relaxing

words: 900

warnings: 18+ only, handjob, thigh riding, c*mming on tits, semi public (theyre outside but its very concealed)

“what's up baby?” rafe asks, noting the way you're softly whining as you sit on the patio, staring out at the water, listening to the waves gently lapping against the shore.

“want you.” you complain. you always want rafe, but now more than others as you clench your thighs together.

“i just fucked you this morning, you're already needy?” rafe laughs harshly, making your bottom lip pout out more as you press your forehead against his bare shoulder.

“what do you expect? you're sitting there all shirtless and sexy…” you peek down at his abs, glistening slightly with the sheer layer of sweat on his skin from the warmth of the sun.

“im relaxing right now though, baby.” rafe hums, shutting his eyes as he soaks in the rays.

you huff out in frustration, swinging your leg over rafes thigh and planting yourself down.

“feel free to get yourself off.” rafe places his hands behind his head, leaning back against the plush chaise cushion.

“i will.” you say defiantly, placing your hands on his abs. you're thankful for the lack of clothing your wearing as your bikini bottoms are the only layer you have to push to the side to press against rafes bare skin.

“your swim trunks are so short.” you giggle.

“they're the ones you bought me.” rafe rolls his eyes, pushing the hem down, showing off the the lines of muscle that disappear into his shorts.

rafe places a casual hand on your hip as you begin to move, grinding yourself into his leg, feeling his muscle clench as you move.

“can you-”

“no.” rafe hums. “i told you, im relaxing.”

you groan and move forward so you can rest yourself against rafes front and keep your hips moving. you sigh happily at the stimulation, not needing to get off immediately.

“can i-”

“hm?” rafe questions, bouncing his leg, cutting you off as you gasp.

“can i touch you?”

rafe smile grows, a lazy grin taking over his tanned features. “sure. im just not gonna do any work.”

you sit back up straight, pausing your movements, focus now turned to rafe as you grip the swim shorts you bought him specifically for the short inseam as you pull them further down his hips until you're able to get his cock out.

you're thankful for the privacy of your background, hedges on either side blocking your neighbors view of the patio as you stroke a single finger over his length before wrapping your fist around the base.

“so soft.” you giggle, rarely getting to play with rafes cock when it's not hard.

you gently stroke your first up and down, swirling your thumb over the head every time you move.

“fuck, that's good.” rafe moans, quickly hardening against your palm as you move up and down.

“gonna help me out?” you hum, beginning to slide your hips again, wetting his thigh with your slick.

“nope.” rafe smiles as you groan.

“please! i want you.” you whine, stroking faster, hoping it will entice him.

“and i want you too. i always want you, but this is my relaxing time. if you want anything, you gotta do it yourself.”

you frown but continue your movements, determined to get rafe off. you consider dropping to your knees and sucking him, but then you'll be left with nothing to grind against.

the gentle hand placed on your hip tugs at your bikini strings, pulling it completely away as rafes hand rounds your body to grip your ass, but despite his fingers in your plump flesh, he gives you no assistance in moving.

“such a jerk.” you pout.

“oh come on, i fuck you real good every day, you can do the work for once.”

“im doing the work!” you stroke faster to prove your point.

“just complaining the whole time.” rafe laughs, the smile not falling from his face as he watches you, your tits bouncing in your bikini top with every movement.

“i love you.” rafe blurts out.

you smile as well, pausing to lean in and give him a big kiss. “i love you too, handsome.”

“and im gonna fuck you so good tonight. get me off baby.” rafe wraps a hand around the one one around his shaft, guiding you to continue moving as you let out soft moans, hips regaining their speed.

“if i bounce my leg and get you off, you'll let me cum on your ass?” rafe questions.

“yes!” you nod quickly.

rafe immediately begins to move, the hand on your ass assisting your grinding as he clenches his muscles and bounces his knee up and down until you're screaming out.

your orgasm washes over your body as your back arches, chest pressing into rafes face.

“fuck, wanna cum on your tits instead.” rafe pushes you off and onto your knees, tugging your top down to reveal your chest as his hand pushes yours off his cock.

you place your palms against his knees, chest heaving up and down from your high as he paints your skin in white.

rafe flops back against the lounge chair when he's finished, dick still out as you lean your head against his thigh, breathing heavily until you're able to use your legs enough to stand.

“wanna swim?” you question.

“skinny dip?” rafe raises his eyebrow, looking up and down your body.

you undo the string on your bikini so it falls away before jumping into the pool just a few steps away.

735 notes · View notes

miyasturniolo · 1 day

Text

RECORDING | chris sturniolo

pairing: bf!chris x f!reader

summary: when chris stayed over at your place one night while you were home alone, you both started watching a film but as the evening progressed, you both became aroused, but he expressed a desire to capture the intimate moment on video.

warning: smut, dominant chris, pet names (ma, good girl, mama, slut), unprotected sex, swearing, rough sex, hair pulling, use of y/n, praise kink, recording sex, dirty talking, oral female receiving, p in v, nipple playing, fingering, teasing, choking kink.

a/n: not my photos, found on pinterest. I had to mention about the star stickers which the teacher have.

WORDS: 2.3k

@miyasturniolo on wattpad

you - pink | chris - orange

Chris was nestled between your legs, resting his head on your stomach. His eyes were fixed on the film playing, while his hand absentmindedly rubbed your skin.

You ran your hands through his brown hair, giving him a gentle massage that elicited a subtle pleasure, though he would never admit it, he secretly enjoyed when you touched his hair.

The movie played in the background, a choice he made and you agreed to. He fidgeted slightly but remained between your legs, his gaze still fixed on the movie instead of his usual tendency to chatter about it.

The only noise in the room was the Tv playing. "I don't get why people can't just express their feelings. No need for those awkward teenage drama moments," he remarked.

You chuckled softly, continuing to braid his hair, although it was too short for a full braid. "Exactly”

He let out a sigh of relief. “Finally, someone who agrees,” he said. “I swear I would lose my mind if you didn’t agree”

You looked at him before speaking. “You can’t really say anything though, you were a nervous wreck to ask me out”

“I WAS NOT!” He rolled his eyes, he knew he was lying to himself.

You smirked and moved your hands out of his hair, which made him to look at you. “Why did you let go?” He asked.

He noticed you grabbed your phone and saw that you had received a message from someone, which made him frown, though he didn't show it. “Who is it?” he inquired.

“A friend” You simply replied to his question, but you didn't respond to the text. Placing your phone on the bedside table, you then put your hands on his shoulders and began massaging them.

He let out a small moan, initially feeling tense but eventually relaxing. He smiled and rubbed your thigh before turning his attention back to the movie.

The heat of his body against yours as he lay between your legs made him reluctant to move. He reassured himself that he would be fine, especially since he was only wearing boxers.

After five minutes, you shifted your hands so they were on his chest while he leaned against you even though he jumped slightly at your touch.

He couldn't resist the desire for your hands to caress his skin, no matter how warm he felt. His heart briefly sped up before calming down.

"You're so touchy," he whispered, taking your hands from his chest and placing them in his own. "I'm not," you replied.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," he said, shifting so his head rested on your chest. He continued to stroke your knuckles, but you eventually withdrew your hands, which he didn't seem to mind.

You were not following the movie's plot, but he appeared to understand it. You didn’t know but he wasn’t focusing on it, he was just thinking of what happened if he recorded you two.

"Can I record?" he asked, leaving you confused as he struggled to explain himself. His gaze was fixed on you, noticing your confusion, which made him huff in frustration.

"What I mean is, can I record? You know..." he trailed off, struggling to articulate his request. "Record what?" you questioned.

"For fuck sake. Can we record us having sex? I promise not to share it with anyone, I'm just... turned on and I think it would be different to have a recording of it," he blurted out quickly, his words not going unnoticed by you.

His proposition left you stunned for a moment, but Chris stood by his words. He was eager to go through with it, confident that you trusted him enough not to share it with anyone, not even his brothers, and he wouldn't risk posting it online due to his status as a YouTuber.

"Please?" he whispered, clearly aroused by the idea. The thought of capturing the way he made love to you on and having it on his phone for when you were apart seemed even more enticing to him.

He shifted slightly so that his erection pressed against your leg, silently conveying his desire. He exhaled softly, showing his determination.

“Can you promise to not show?” Your confident tone reflected your certainty that he wouldn't show it, but you wanted to confirm. He nodded and kept his gaze fixed on you. “Alright, go get the camera,” you instructed, kissing his forehead.

Without hesitation, he complied, eager to capture the moment. He was undeniably aroused and well-versed in what to do; he enjoyed hearing your moans and desired your vocal pleasure. He had a repertoire of tricks up his sleeve.

After adjusting the camera angle, he began recording. He had long harbored this desire but lacked the opportunity or courage to act on it. The scene felt reminiscent of a porn video.

Returning to the bed, he climbed on top of you, his eyes locked on yours. Your innocent appearance drove him wild, though he was aware of your true nature.

He started by softly kissing your lips, but soon the air was thick with lust, leading to more passionate kisses. He was clearly eager for more.

Your heart raced as his hands slipped under your shirt and squeezed your breasts, causing you to let out a soft moan that made him pause to maintain eye contact with you.

"Do you like that, ma?" he whispered before planting a kiss on your neck, eliciting shaky breaths from you. "Use your words," he instructed. "Yes," you managed to utter.

He played with your nipples through the shirt from a brand called Fresh Love, which belonged to him. With a smirk, he then removed your shirt, leaving you in his boxers that you found comfortable, while he remained in his own.

"I know you're so soaked for me and I know I'm right," Chris said as he caressed your cheek. "I'm going to make you lose control with how intensely I pleasure your tight little pussy."

“then do it..” your voice was heaven to him.

He slowly released his grip and glanced down before proceeding to undress you completely, exposing your naked body to him. "Fuck mama, you are so stunning. I can't believe how incredible you are."

He was unsure where to begin, your body felt incredibly soft, adorned with fading hickeys from your last intimate encounter.

Before kissing you, he gazed into your eyes as your hands found their way into his hair, causing a whimper to escape him. Despite the sensation, he didn't pull away. "You're so handsome," you whispered, prompting a smile to grace his lips during the kiss.

The kiss lingered a little longer before he gently pulled back to catch his breath, his breathing slightly erratic but he paid it no mind. "You're so beautiful," he replied.

His desire for you was palpable, yearning for the touch of his cock against your skin, or even better, to be inside you. He craved everything, but most of all, he craved you and your happiness.

With that in mind, he guided you to the end of the bed, ensuring the camera could capture both of you. With your legs spread open, he admired your pussy, his blue orbs fixed on it, taking in every detail he adored.

"You're such a good girl for listening," Chris murmured as he ran his thumb over your folds, eliciting a surprised moan from you. "I'll make you climax if you widen your legs," he promised, and you complied.

Once you released his hair, he moved his hand to your thigh, his fingers slick from how wet you were for him, but he didn't mind. Despite your hesitation, he kept his hand on your thigh to maintain the connection.

Suddenly, his tongue traced a teasing path around your folds, eliciting moans from you as you tugged at his hair, causing him to revel in both pleasure and pain.

"Wow, aren't you a fan of hair pulling?" he teased, although he secretly wished you would do it more. Your nails lightly grazed his scalp, intensifying his moans and sending more sensations through your body.

Your essence coated his tongue and soon his lips, ending the teasing. His desire was palpable, his arousal demanding attention.

"Close your legs while I taste you," he pleaded, the vibrations still resonating through your body. You followed his request.

With a slight smirk, he intensified the head game, adding a rough edge that you both craved. He was eager to leave his mark on you.

As he hit the sweet spot with his tongue, you couldn't help but clench in pleasure, your moans like music to his ears.

"You're such a slut for me, and I love it," he murmured, feeling your thighs around him driving him wild. Sensing your impending climax, he intensified his efforts, determined not to let up.

"I'm close..." you gasped, but he only quickened his pace, eliciting even louder moans from you.

Your orgasm left his lips and chin glistening, he loved the way you taste and even more than Pepsi.

Your passionate cries fueled his desire, momentarily forgetting they were being recorded, grateful for the genuine sounds of pleasure you were sharing.

He guided you to open your legs, pulling away with a groan of anticipation, his arousal evident as he prepared to take things further.

"You taste so good," he whispered before kissing you again, savoring the lingering flavor on your lips but soon pulling away. As he laid you back on the bed, he noted, "You look so innocent.. even though you aren’t.”

"The way you look at me makes me want to fuck you roughly until you see stars," Chris says to you, making you smile. "Then you should do it," you reply.

He smirks, kissing your neck and leaving a few fresh love bites on your body, in addition to the faint ones.

"Your words, not mine," he says against your neck before pulling away to look at his body on top of yours, then he takes off his boxers.

Both of you naked, the room filled with passion and love. He was large, maybe even too large, but you didn't mind; he always found a way to make it all fit.

As you lay bare together, with him on top of you, he kissed your lips once more before using his two fingers to stimulate you, "Please, Chris," you whimpered.

The recording was still in progress, indicating that everything was being captured.

"Tell me how much you need me, come on, y/n," he smirked, encouraging you to speak. "Badly," you responded.

He then removed his fingers from your intimate area, kissed your forehead, and slowly entered you with his sizeable length.

You let out a mixture of a painful groan and pleasure due to his size. "Take it slow, you're doing great," he whispered, gently moving your hair aside.

Continuing to push himself into you, he kissed you and whispered sweet words. He grunted and moaned though, trying to maintain control as you felt tight around him.

He caressed your cheek before starting to thrust into you, already targeting your g-spot. "Good girl, ma," he praised as he increased the intensity.

The pain had transformed into pleasure, and Chris found your moans endearing now that it was all about pleasure.

He began to get more intense, gripping your legs as he gazed at you. You looked so beautiful, the way you arched your back and your eyes rolled back; he loved it because he knew he was treating you right.

Your bodies were colliding with a rhythm that seemed endless, and the sounds of your passion would surely echo in a recording.

He grunted as he felt himself losing control, realizing he wouldn't stop even if he tried. It was like a powerful addiction once he was inside you, and he couldn't resist it.

Continuing his movements, he left harsh hickeys all over your chest as well, while your hands explored his back, leaving definite scratches.

"Shit," you whispered, beginning to feel your climax, which made him smile as he could already tell by the expression on your face and the way you were tighter around him.

"Let go for me, ma" he urged, picking up his pace. He grasped your neck, causing your breath to catch and your eyes widen in surprise as he pleasured you thoroughly.

As he continued hitting the spot you desired, you quickly coated his dick and a bit of your bedsheets in seconds. Your moans grew louder as he released his grip on your neck slightly, but still applying some pressure.

He climaxed inside you, letting out a groan and closing his eyes tightly. "fucking hell, ma" he whispered before laying on top of you, still inside you.

Your sweaty bodies pressed against each other, but you didn't mind. You ran your fingers through his damp hair, both of your heartbeats racing, especially yours since he had fully released your neck now, allowing you to breathe properly.

He snuggled closer to you, locking eyes with you. "I love you," he mumbled, his face flushed from the heat.

"I love you too," you replied, causing him to smile as he traced his thumb over the fresh hickeys on your neck and breasts.

You praised him for him for how good he was which he thoroughly enjoyed. He smiled before shifting to cuddle you better, no longer inside you. “I should get those star stickers which teacher have and give you some since you’ve praised me.”

MIYAS MASTERLIST

409 notes · View notes

sunkissed-zegras · 3 days

Text

𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐃𝐌𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈'𝐌 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐓 ─ PB⁵ ft. UCONN WBB MANAGER

౨ৎ ─ summary | this is taking place pre-relationship! paige apologizes for distancing herself after her injury. this can be read by itself but i would highly recommend reading my headcanons first so you have a bit of context!

─ word count | 1.1k

─ warnings | paige's injury, mention of tension/pettiness, the reader and p weren't on good terms for a while.

─ ev's notes |

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my wcbb masterlist! (updates once a week or so)

THE KNOCK ON your apartment door was sharp and slightly unexpected, your expression turning confused and slightly annoyed.

KK and Ice had left your apartment almost an hour ago, could they really be back already? You sighed before closing your laptop, getting up to open the door only to be met with the person she least expected to be there.

Paige, in all her glory ─ crutches and everything.

You couldn't really explain exactly what happened to prompt Paige to begin acting weird, but she was. She had been, for a while now and you didn't really know why. This was almost two months before her injury so you couldn't even use that as an excuse; she just was.

Despite her efforts to create distance, you couldn't help but worry about her. After all, you had grown close and you even considered her to be one of your best friends at some point, but right now you really didn't know what your relationship was. And of course when she got injured, you made it your mission to take care of her, offering support and comfort whenever she needed it.

But no matter how hard you tried, she always pushed you away. You didn't understand it, you didn't even know why ─ so eventually, you just gave up.

As Paige stood at your doorstep, a whirlwind of emotions seemed to flash across her face. You ushered her in quickly, noticing the slight grimace of pain as she maneuvered on her crutches.

Before you could even begin to speak, she began to talk. "Look, I'm sorry."

You stared back at her, taken aback by her sudden apology. This whole thing had been happening for three months, and even after the millionth time you tried fixing the issue, she continued to act distant with you. It was frustrating and disheartening, to say the least. You had racked your brain trying to understand what went wrong, what could've caused Paige to pull away, but you always came up empty-handed.

"I'm sorry for being a bitch, especially the other night," Paige's voice was devoid of any of the usual excitement she had, it didn't even sound like her.

You couldn't really blame her though, she had just suffered a potentially season-ending injury and the weight of it all seemed to be pressing down on her shoulders. Despite her usual extroverted energy, Paige appeared diminished, her usual spark dulled by the frustration.

You felt a pang of sympathy as you looked at her, realizing the immense toll her injury must be taking on her both physically and emotionally. It wasn't just about missing games or the possibility of a season-ending setback; it was about the loss of something she loved, something that defined her in many ways.

"No, it's okay. Don't even apologize, I get it," you said softly, your voice laced with empathy. "I shouldn't have pushed you, especially with your injury and all,"

"You were just trying to help, I really am sorry," Paige mumbled as she sighed. "I've been so caught up in my own anger that I haven't stopped to think about how it's affecting everyone else, especially you."

You frowned at her words, your heart aching for her. You had been there; the exact moment it happened and you almost couldn't believe it, all the pettiness from the previous months were thrown out the window as you ran to her side.

You moved closer to her, wanting to offer her some comfort. "Please, don't stress yourself out about it. I just wanted you to get better and... well, I just wanted my best friend back," you let out a nervous chuckle as you spoke.

Paige finally met your gaze, her eyes watery and red as she sniffled. She felt ashamed, she couldn't believe that she let anything get in the way of her relationship with you.

"P, it's okay," you said gently, reaching out to wipe away her tears. "I understand why you've been feeling the way you have. And I want you to know that I'm not going anywhere. I'll always be here for you, through the good times and the bad."

Paige sniffled, leaning into your touch as if seeking comfort. "I'm really, really sorry, Y/N. I've been such a mess lately, I missed you."

You could practically feel the exhaustion radiating off of her as you sighed. Without any hesitation, holding her close as if trying to shield her from the weight of the world. Paige buried her face into your shoulder, her body trembling with pent-up emotion as she finally allowed herself to release the weight she had been carrying.

"You don't have to apologize, P," you whispered, your voice filled with warmth and reassurance. "I've missed you too, more than you'll ever know. But more than anything, I just want you to be okay."

Paige buried her face in your shoulder, her breath hitching as she let out a shaky sigh. "I'm trying, Y/N. I really am."

You held her tighter, offering her the comfort and support she so desperately needed. "I know you are, Paige. And I'm here for you every step of the way. We'll get through this together."

Paige nodded against your shoulder, her breaths coming out in ragged sighs as she let herself be comforted by your embrace. In that moment, the walls she had built around herself seemed to crumble as she let go of all her fears.

Paige spoke up again, her tears soaking into the fabric of your shirt. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Y/N. You've always been there for me, even when I didn't deserve it."

"That's what I'm here for, right?" You replied, tightening your hold around her.

Eventually, Paige pulled back slightly, her eyes red and puffy but filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Y/N. I don't know what I'd do without you."

You gave her a gentle smile, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. "You don't have to do anything alone, Paige. I'm here for you, always. Are you hungry?"

She was slightly taken aback as she let out a soft chuckle. "Sure, yeah. What's on the menu tonight?"

You smiled back at her, feeling yourself fall back into the natural swing of things. "Mac and cheese, if you're up for it?"

"Hey, it's a thanksgiving food! It's kinda fitting the vibe, don't ya think?" Paige's voice came out hoarse but you could see the amusement in her red-brimmed eyes.

With a gentle arm around her shoulders, you guided Paige to the kitchen, mindful of her injury. As you worked together to prepare the meal, the tension that had been weighing heavily between you seemed to dissipate, replaced by a sense of familiarity.

However, you could still sense a little tension in the air ─ but you decided that issue was for another day.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#paige buckets #paige bueckers x reader #paige x reader #paige #paige bueckers #uconn #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball #uconn wcbb #ncaa women’s basketball #women's college basketball #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers headcannons #uconn wbb manager ★

336 notes · View notes

maxtermind · 1 day

Note

Request for lewis. Maybe after a terrible race weekend he comes home. and his wife thinks he would be so disappointed but when he comes home he's just so...... unserious (like look how giddy he is even when the results r not that good). like maybe he comes home and just starts kissing her and their son.

until i found you

★ : feat :: lewis hamilton x wife!reader ★ : genre :: fluff; hurt/comfort ★ : word count :: 1k+ ★ : a/n :: domestic lewis is food for the soul

It was so frustrating for you to sit at home alongside your son and watch Lewis have another horrible weekend that you decided to just skip watching the race altogether. Given that last time, your son cried so much that he threw up.

It was a mutual decision yet you were shocked to see that you were feeling worse than Lewis did when you guys talked about it. His only reply was,”You know I can’t even drive knowing he’s crying at home because of me, right?”

As you watched Lewis trudge through the front door, a heavy weight seemed to hang on his shoulders. His steps lacked their usual bounce, and his usually bright eyes were dull with disappointment. You could practically feel the tension radiating off him as he entered the room.

”Hey, Lewis,” you greeted him softly, trying to gauge his mood.

He offered you a weak smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. ”Hey, baby” he replied, leaning forward to kiss you as his hands sneaked around your shoulder.

You moved closer, concern etched into your features. ”How… how are you?” you asked tentatively, dreading the answer.

Your husband let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping further. ”It was… rough,” he admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. ”Nothing seemed to go right. Mechanical issues, a pit stop mishap… you name it.”

Your heart sank at his words, knowing how much he had been preparing for this race. ”I'm so sorry, Lewis,” you murmured, reaching out to gently squeeze his shoulder. ”That sounds incredibly tough.”

”Yeah, it was,” he admitted quietly. ”But hey, that's racing, right? You win some, you lose some.”

You could sense the underlying disappointment in his words, the frustration of coming so close to success only to have it slip through his fingers. Your heart ached for him, wishing there was something you could do to ease his pain.

Before you could say anything else, your son's voice rang out from the other room. ”Daddy's home!” he exclaimed, his excitement palpable.

Lewis's face lit up at the sound, a hint of his usual brightness returning. ”Hey there, champ!” he called out, his voice infused with warmth.

Your son came bounding into the room, his eyes wide with excitement. ”Did you win, Daddy?” he asked eagerly.

Lewis hesitated for a moment, a flicker of doubt crossing his features before he managed a small smile. ”Not this time, buddy,” he replied gently. ”But I gave it my best shot.”

Your son nodded understandingly, his disappointment fleeting as he threw himself into his father's arms. ”That's okay, Daddy,” he declared. ”You'll get 'em next time!”

Lewis's smile widened at his words, a genuine sense of pride shining through. ”Thanks, buddy,” he said, his voice filled with gratitude. ”I'll definitely give it my all.”

As Lewis hugged your little bundle of joy to his chest, you couldn't help but feel a swell of pride and admiration for the man standing before you. Despite the disappointment he faced, he remained determined and resilient, his love for his family shining through even in the darkest of times.

It was just another instance where you realized how you would never be as strong as your husband.

You approached them slowly, your heart heavy with empathy. ”Lewis,” you began softly, ”I'm so proud of you. You gave it your all out there, darling.”

He turned to you, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. ”Thanks, love,” he murmured, his voice tinged with gratitude. ”It means a lot to hear you say that.”

You reached out, tracing a gentle finger along his cheek. ”I know it's tough right now, but remember, you're more than just a race car driver. You're an amazing father and an.. alright husband.”

A small smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, a hint of the familiar spark returning to his eyes as he threw his head back and let out a laugh. ”You always know how to lift my spirits,” he admitted, pulling you into a warm embrace.

”I don’t think it matters, anyway. Wish there was a way to skip this season altogether.”

He said it so nonchalantly that you were left blinking your eyes as Lewis tickled your son and left kisses all over his face. It took you a minute to process but you were glad he wasn’t letting it get to him.

Five years ago Lewis would’ve probably lost it but the Lewis who was the father of your child wasn’t a sore loser.

You joined them for a moment, wrapped in each other's arms, the weight of the day slowly lifting from your shoulders. At that moment, it didn't matter that the race hadn't gone as planned. What mattered was the love and support you shared as a family.

As the day wore on, you gathered around the dinner table, sharing stories and laughter as a family. Lewis's infectious energy lifted your spirits, turning what could have been a somber evening into a celebration of togetherness.

”He really colored his camel green?” Lewis snorted, engaging in the conversation smoothly.

”Yes, daddy!” Your son snickered loudly. ”And then he cried when the teacher asked if it was a crocodile.” Your son ranted away, finally having another person to share the tales from his day with, his laughter filling the room with joy.

And as Lewis caught your eye from across the table, his gaze filled with love and gratitude, you knew that no matter what the future held, as long as you had each other, you would always find a reason to smile.

Later that evening, as you tucked your son into bed, you couldn't help but marvel at the resilience of the man beside you. Despite the disappointments of the day, Lewis had remained steadfast in his optimism, his unwavering love for your family being the pillar he leaned on.

”I bet you’re tired,” you whispered as Lewis closed the door to your son’s room, mindful to keep your voice low.

”I know a way you could help me relax then.” He said right back before hoisting you up his shoulders. A loud yelp leaving your mouth that made him chuckle as he walked you both into the master bedroom.

( masterlist \ drop a request ) ©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

351 notes · View notes

euthymiya · 19 hours

Text

loving is easy (it didn’t used to be) ft. wriothesley

in which a familiar face brings wriothesley to a dark place, a place from where only you can pull him out. you always find a way to staunch the flow of blood from his broken knuckles, one delicate kiss at a time

contains: 2.7k word count ; female reader ; spoilers for wrio’s backstory and quest—briefly touches briefly on murder and child exploitation and trafficking ; mentions of blood and injuries (pankration rank) ; reverse comfort ; established relationship ; angst with a lot of fluff too ; this is slightly a character study of wrio i suppose

“—thesley, stop—wriothesley! you need to stop!”

“your grace, that’s enough!”

one voice calls out to him after the other. slowly. one by one. they register in his ears after being muffled for so long, after only the sound of his own voice rang in his head for so long.

more. he can take more. again. give him another. one more. don’t stop. another punch. punch. don’t stop punching. just keep punching.

he can hear the words repeating in his head as he lands a fist one after the other to the swollen, bloodied face under him.

finally, he stops—he doesn’t have a choice. his shoulders are grabbed, strong sets of multiple hands holding his arms back before his knuckles can make another precise landing to their target.

typically, wriothesley doesn’t participate in pankration rank matches very often. the place is entirely reserved for him to use after hours, when his boxing gloves can come out and a punching bag can take the brunt of his hits.

it’s better that way. it’s less likely to cause injury of inmates, it’s an effective method to get rid of his pent up frustrations through the day, and it’s a wonderful way to exercise and get in a work out.

today, however, he can’t wait that long. the thought of waiting until everyone’s off to their quarters to sleep, until the rank is his alone in the dead of night, until hours have passed and he’s had to suffer simmering in his thoughts is not something he thinks he handle today.

today, on a rare whim, wriothesley decides to join a match himself. he’s done so before—and in all fairness, it’s never exactly turned out poorly. sure, he wins a bit too easily, and, of course, the inmates are typically too nervous to really give him a proper fight. but it’s not the first time, he joined.

but right now, as his senses return to him, as the guards pry his body off the opponent he’s pinned to the ground, as your concerned gasp rings in echoes through his ears and sigewinne’s shocked face quickly approaches the unconscious and bloody figure crumpled on the floor, he thinks this might just be his last match.

“wriothesley,” you whisper, voice shaky and disbelieving, “what in teyvat has gotten into you?”

he stares down at his fists.

blood.

so, so much blood. just like that day—just like that cursed day. his hands shake as they ball into tight fists, nails digging into the meat of his palms. the pain feels good, he faintly registers. it feels like something, anything against the numbness he’s starting feel spread across his entire body.

he’s fairly certain the only reason he’s standing upright anymore is because the guards are there to stabilize his body.

“someone should take him to the infirmary,” you set your shoulders back, a firm tone taking over your voice as you decide to handle the clear poorly tamed situation. you gesture at the limp form on the floor, making guards nod as they rush over and lift the body. “sigewinne, will you be able to take care of him?”

“of course,” she nods, quickly following after the guards as they leave.

wriothesley’s not fit to do anything but stare off in a trance for the moment. you’ll tackle that issue in a bit—first, you turn to the surrounding crowd, voice strict as you say, “everyone is to leave the rank. now.”

inmates at the fortress know better than to question you. at times, they even wonder if you have more authority over wriothesley than he does himself over the entire fortress. they quickly file out of the room, hushed murmurs between them all that you pay no mind to.

what do you reckon has gotten into his grace?

you think that guy’ll be alright?

it’s a good thing i didn’t participate today.

me too.

you catch the faint words every now and then as all the bodies quickly empty out of the rank, leaving you, your boyfriend, and the few guards still holding him upright.

“my lady,” a guard quickly walks up to you, urgently handing you a first aid kit as she adds, “the head nurse has requested for this to be delivered to you.”

“thank you,” you murmur softly, taking the kit in your hands before smiling at the guards that slowly but surely let go of wriothesley’s arms, letting him stumble over until he stops just before your figure.

his eyes are still so distant, so hollow.

“we’ll be off,” one of the guards nods, “we’ll leave his grace to you.”

“of course,” you return the gesture, watching as they slowly exit too, leaving you and the duke to yourselves.

you look at him in concern. he doesn’t meet your eyes, focusing on the blood stains on the floor not too far away.

“baby,” you say gently. delicately. like approaching a small, caged animal as you carefully reach a hand over. he doesn’t pull away, but he stiffens as your hand cups his cheek, “you should sit down. i’ll just clean your hands, okay?”

“i…”

“c’mon,” you guide him by the wrist, slow steps that he follows, completely silent, completely resigned to letting you pull him along as he blindly follows.

you softly push him to sit on a bench at the side, grabbing a hand and slowly setting to work. he doesn’t even let out his usual exaggerated hiss when the sting meets his broken skin as you disinfect it with a cloth.

“i didn’t mean to,” he says quietly after some time, overwhelming guilt coating his words. “i don’t…i can’t figure out what came over me.”

“i know you didn’t,” you reassure, pausing when his eyes stare up at you unsure. “you’d never mean to hurt anyone.”

his face tells you he doesn’t believe you—don’t you know what got him sent here in the first place? how could you say that so confidently when you know his past?

he scoffs bitterly, looking away as he mutters, “yeah, sure.”

“so you meant to hurt that guy?” you raise a brow, making his lips curl into a frown as he pauses, contemplating your words before slumping in defeat and glumly shaking his head.

“no,” he mumbles lowly, voice hardly audible if you weren’t so close, so intent on hearing him.

“okay, what’s on your mind, baby?” you press a sweet kiss to his forehead. his hand is still in yours, cleaned and bandaged now as your thumbs trace over the tough, dried calluses of his palms. “talk to me.”

“nothing,” he says gruffly, not meeting your eyes as you look at him and sigh.

“i’d believe you sooner if you told me you were trying to kill that guy,” you reply—you think you might immediately regret the choice of words as soon as he flinches.

kill.

was he trying to kill the man? it certainly feels like he might’ve been. he didn’t mean to lose control like that, he’d never purposely hurt an inmate in such a manner. but one taunt turned to two, and it’s easy for the cocky opponent of his to get under his skin—something that’s so unusual, so unlike wriothesley.

he can’t remember the last time someone’s, let alone an inmate’s words mattered to him. someone apart from you, perhaps sigewinne.

“you haven’t been yourself since the newest prisoner,” you note, voice taking on a careful lilt as you brush back sweaty strands of hair from his forehead, pressing a lingering kiss to the skin.

he closes his eyes, letting out a stuttering breath.

“what makes you say that?”

it’s a deflection—wriothesley is certain you’ll see through him, but it doesn’t stop him from avoiding the heart of the matter nonetheless. he doesn’t look at you, opting to stare down at the bandaged knuckles of his hands, imagining the blood that was just there moments ago.

he’s familiar with blood on his hands. this wouldn’t be the first time, and he’s certain it won’t be the last. he wonders why he was destined at such a young age to always feel the thick, crimson liquid coat his skin. why he of all people is cursed to feel the warmth of life spill across his knuckles and turn cold.

wriothesley doesn’t even blink, doesn’t even register your hands covering his own, squeezing as gently as possible so you don’t disrupt the sore skin under the cotton.

“wriothesley,” you call, hands moving to cup his cheeks, “it’s okay, i promise.”

i’m here now. you can trust me. i won’t betray you. i won’t let anyone betray you.

that’s what you mean—he can hear the words hidden under the ones you speak, whispering to him like echoes that speak over the calls of his childhood.

they’re enough to make him bury his face into your shirt, inhaling the scent of you to try and forget the wretched scent of blood. he’s so tired of blood.

“that new inmate,” he starts, voice hoarse, croaking so weakly, your hand cups the back of his head to bring him closer, “he was my older brother. when i was a kid.”

wriothesley’s childhood is not foreign to you. you’d read the files before you came down to the fortress for work, and even after your relationship shifts from colleagues to lovers, he tells you. the version that’s seen from the haunted eyes of a little boy forced into the reality of a man. the version that doesn’t speak through the codes of law, but the horrors of a child with no way out. the version that makes wriothesley human, not a criminal.

he doesn’t speak of his siblings, not often anyway. too many of them left before him, before he could have known they needed to be free. he doesn’t know what happened to them, and you think he might never want to know. the ones he set free have lives of their own, he tells you. he took it upon himself to find out, just to be certain.

just to know they’re safe.

you’re sure this recent prisoner must be the first of his older siblings that he’s ever come across past his youth.

“he doesn’t recognize me,” he whispers, fingers hooking into your shirt as he grips you, “i can tell.”

“do you want him to?”

“no,” he admits, “i don’t…he doesn’t know me as wriothesley. maybe that’s for the best—i don’t think knowing it’s me would be very good for him.”

“i’m sure he misses you,” you soothe your fingers through his hair, raking your nails across his scalp as he shivers at the tenderness of your touch. “just like you missed him.”

tenderness has never come to him without a price. his mother’s gentle hands and his father’s kind words all came at the expectation of mora. mora through his mind and body as though it were theirs to sell away like he was nothing. a mere commodity to come by and own rather than a child to love and nurture.

your tenderness comes without a price. without so much as an expectation for the affection in return. your love comes because it wants to, because loving him is the price you earn, not the price you pay.

“i’m too different now,” he says quietly, “i can’t be what he needs. not as a brother—i was too late.”

“too late for what?” you scoff, pulling his face from your shirt much to his disapproval. the soft flesh of his cheeks spill over your palms as you squeeze them together, forcing his head to tilt up and meet your gaze. “too late to what? to setting him free? you were a child.”

“i know,” he sighs, fluttering his eyes closed once more as your thumb strokes the scar under his eye. “we all were.”

wriothesley hates this scar in particular. it’s right under his eye, the first place he glances to when he looks at his own reflection. he can’t even assure his hair isn’t unruly without being reminded of the unfairness life has handed to him—but you love it. he thinks you must, with the way you kiss it so often. feel it under your delicate thumb. look at it so fondly. trace it with your index finger when you think he’s sleeping.

you love such ugly parts of him, he wonders if he’s ugly at all. if maybe he’s just bent, waiting for your hands to come gently mold him to be smooth, undamaged.

but you never try to fix him. instead, you try to love him for all the dents and scratches that he is, unwilling to change him despite all the flaws that stick out like a sore thumb.

that must be what love his, he realizes one day. not spilling blood on your hands for the sake of the ones you love, not leaving them behind so they won’t be tainted by your sins, not pretending they don’t exist so they can be free from being of reminded the horrors that cling to you.

love is you, when you look straight into his terrible, shriveled heart, stomped on and shattered over and over, collecting the shards in awe. loving each piece no matter how tiny, no matter how difficult to hold onto. love is choosing not to put them back together in a cracked, messy version of what it once was, choosing to file away and soften the sharp edges slowly, even as it makes your fingers bleed. love is keeping him close, even when he stands so far, walking extra steps even when your heels and calves ache from closing the distance he puts between you.

love is so easy to you, he wonders why it’s been so difficult the rest of his life. how can something seem so effortless now, after it took blood and tears from his for so long before?

he doesn’t know. but he doesn’t want to return to those dark, wretched days. his mothers hands weren’t kind, they didn’t hold him, didn’t protect him like they should have. his father’s eyes didn’t hold light, they never glowed at the sight of him, never shed a tear for his sake. and his siblings—oh how he once loved his siblings, how he considered himself so lucky, so gifted to run among them with his tiny, innocent feet.

but that’s gone now. those days are over. he no longer uses that cursed name he once answered so gleefully. he’s wriothesley now—duke. administrator. warden. your lover.

he’s fine with just that.

“what’s he here for?” you ask after some time, breaking the comfortable silence as he stays buried into your embrace.

“murder. just like me—the family he was sold to.”

“he’ll be okay,” you hum, trailing your hand to find his back, rubbing up and down the planes of his muscles through his shirt. “i’m sure of it.”

“how can you be so sure?” he asks disbelievingly, “i was at my lowest after my sentence.”

“you didn’t have an administrator as capable as you,” you point out. “he’ll be okay. he has you—whether it’s as his brother or as wriothesley. it’s up to you. either is more than enough.”

“you think so?” he looks up, pressing a kiss to the pad of your thumb as you trace his curled lips.

you nod, grinning gently as you say, “of course. when have i ever been wrong?”

“i suppose never,” he chuckles—his knuckles feel lighter now, as they mold to fit over your hips, holding your waist securely as if he holds his whole world.

he does. he doesn’t tell you, but he does.

“you have an injured inmate you owe an apology to, by the way,” you remind him, laughing as he pouts into your hand, laying his cheek further against your palm.

“i’m injured too,” he protests, “it’ll have to wait until i’m healed.”

you raise a brow, giving him an amused look. “and where exactly are you injured, your grace?”

he holds his hands out to you, the evidence of your tender love and care evident through the careful bandaging. but he’s selfish. because you let him be.

so he asks for more, in a simple plead of, “i need to be kissed better. please?”

you shake your head and laugh as he bats his lashes, but you don’t dare deny him. never saying no to more love, never running out of the affection he doesn’t know if he quite deserves.

“will it allow you a speedy recovery?”

“most definitely,” he confirms, nodding in all seriousness.

“fine then,” you snort. you kiss his knuckles, one press of your feather-light lips at a time.

the haunting feeling of blood goes away—all that’s left is the easy, simple feeling of being loved.

i headcanon that wrio recognizes an inmate when they’re new a bit after he becomes warden as one of the older children he was adopted with and spirals for a few days because their crimes are so similar to his but as an adult. and he mourns that he was too little back then to set the children before him free. and i wish i could tell you why all of my hcs about wrio are so depressing but he’s more fun to write that way bc then he’s that much more in love with reader when she comes into the picture ;)

#writing tag #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fluff

259 notes · View notes

itneverendshere · 2 days

Text

a circus ain't a love story - baby daddy! rafe.

request: "baby daddy! rafe where reader and rafe are not together and she’s going on dates with men and he’s jealous but not like possessive jealous but like 🤭 jealous?" @zyafics

warnings: cursing; rafe's an asshole but he's just going through it <3; a lil angsty??; lots of tension and pent-up frustration; they just need to fuck it out honestly.

rafe likes to think of himself as a changed man.

long gone is the reckless impulsive guy that reigned horror in the outer banks. he’s grown now, the man of the family, and a father. he spends his days working hard, providing for his family, and cherishing every moment with his baby girl.

but when he learns you’ve been seeing other men after your ‘amicable’ breakup, he feels like he’s nineteen and ranging in misplaced anger all over again. younger days, when his temper ruled his actions and consequences were an afterthought.

old insecurities resurface, whispering doubts and fears into his mind.

you’d broken up before, years ago, and it barely lasted a month before both of you caved in. but now? now, you have a baby together, and for some reason, the breakup feels…permanent.

he thought you just needed a breather from him, a little space to settle your mind after going through all the changes with your pregnancy. maybe he took you for granted, maybe he became too comfortable, too complacent in the belief that your love was unshakeable. and he’s paying for it.

“where the fuck are you going?”

he knows exactly where you’re going, he’s just a masochist.

rafe’s always been vocal about his thoughts around you, having virtually no filter between his brain and mouth. it’s something you’ve gotten used to after five years in a relationship, the man is nothing if not blunt and crass. but now, it's different.

you’re not a couple anymore. you shouldn't have to put up with his nagging bullshit. but you have a child together, which means that you’ll never be able to fully scratch him out of your system.

how were you so good before and yet so terrible once your daughter got here?

you sigh, choosing to keep your back to him.

“date.”

you hear him snort, not even having to peek to know he’s shaking his head, blue eyes lingering between your new dress and the ceiling, “my bad. thought you were going to a gala.”

you turn then, hand on your waist as you take him in. it’s hard not to stare at his freshly shaved hair and it only makes you want to slap him stupid for not doing it years ago. what’s the point if you can’t have him?

“why? it’s not illegal to put in effort.” you tilt your head slightly, ignoring the way his eyes are burning holes through your shiny legs.

he pulls his eyes back to your face, but all you can see is the imprinted vision of your daughter laying on his chest earlier, her chubby cheek pressed against his shirt and her little hand curled around his finger.

rafe’s heart clenches, the bitterness of your words sinking deep into his bones. he knows what you're implying, knows that you're trying to hurt him.

“he’s worth all that, huh?”

you shrug your shoulder, pieces of your hair falling back as you attempt to act nonchalantly, “maybe he is.”

rafe’s lips twitch into a half-smirk, half-grimace, a familiar expression that used to make your heart race but now just knots your stomach.

“who is it this time? it’s just kinda hard to keep track of your dates.”

his gaze lingers on you, searching for something, perhaps a hint of the girl he fell in love with, buried beneath layers of resentment and exhaustion.

you grit your teeth, the frustration growing beneath the surface threatening to spill over, “you don’t know him.”

he shakes his head, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips. “got yourself a touron?”

“don’t piss me off.”

he raises his hands in mock surrender. “i’m not trying to. just curious.”

“his name is mike.”

rafe's lips quirk into a sardonic smile as he hears the name. "mike, huh? sounds like a guy who sells insurance or teaches yoga on the weekends."

you shoot him a glare, unamused by his jest. "can you just be serious for once?"

catching sight of the offended look in your face, he adds, “it’s not my fault you keep choosing the ugly ones.”

you stare at him incredulously, “you don’t even know him!”

“hear me out, okay? if you’re ever going to give charlotte a sibling might as well—“

you’d throw the mug on your kitchen table at his head if charlotte wasn’t sleeping in the room next door.

“you think you’re so fucking funny don’t you?!”

rafe hushes you, one of his hands rising to his lips, “what happened to no cursing in the house?”

your eye twitches, fingers itching to wrap themselves around his throat. “i’ll strangle you right here, rafe.”

“you got a new kink, mama?”

his ability to push your buttons has always been unparalleled, and it seems he's mastered the art even more since your breakup. he still manages to evoke a weird mixture of irritation and fondness within you.

“you can’t keep doing this. i like mike, maybe i want to date mike.”

rafe's expression shifts, his brows furrowing slightly as if your words have struck a chord. but then, just as quickly, his facade hardens again. he raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "i’m just trying to help. you said the exact same thing about whatever his fucking name was two months ago.”

you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “see! you’re trying to patronize me.”

“’m not.”

“right,” you mutter, rolling your eyes, “course you aren’t.”

his taunting smirk is more than a little infuriating. “i just doubt this guy is gonna stick around.”

“oh, so that’s it?” you prod him, laughing in his face, hands curling into tight fists. you get closer, staring him down as you look upwards. “we’re back to lying to each other now?”

rafe’s face is contorted into a grimace; eyebrows furrowed, and you can feel his steady breathing before he speaks.

”i can do this all day.” he scoffs, a bitter edge creeping into his voice, “i think the moment you tell him about charlotte he’s gonna run back to whatever hole he creeped out of. you think he wants to be a daddy?”

“who said he has to? that’s your job. maybe i just want to fuck him, you ever think about that?” the admission feels like a betrayal and a liberation all at once.

it’s a familiar dance you two have been doing since the breakup – hurling accusations and blame at each other like weapons in a war neither of you can win.

rafe’s smirk fades into a scowl as your words hit him like a slap in the face. he takes a step back, one of his hands instinctively rising in a placating gesture, but there's a defiant glint in his eyes that tells you he's not backing down without a fight.

his jaw tightens, “now you’re just trying to get under my skin.”

you throw your hands up in despair, “it’s always about you, unbelievable.”

you feel like your heart is being vacuumed into your stomach as he stares.

“me?” his fingers dig into his chest, as if you’ve shot him right there, “you're the one who's constantly bringing up other guys, rubbing it in my face like- like i'm supposed to just sit back and take it."

you let out a slow controlled breath and attempt to loose your body movements. “we’re not doing this again.”

rafe knows he's treading on thin ice, but relents, “oh, m’sorry sweets. forgot you hate to be reminded i care.”

“care?” you laugh but it’s void of any humor, “is this your way of showing me you care? making me miserable? slut-shaming the mother of your daughter?”

“didn’t mean it like that, don’t twist my words.”

you square your shoulders, refusing to let him see the cracks in your armor. "you said what you said, and you can't take it back."

his jaw clenches, and you can almost hear the gears turning in his mind as he searches for the right words to say, “you’re pushing it.”

there’s a fiery anger in your eyes that makes his body warm. “so fucking what?”

without a word, rafe closes the distance between you, his movements tentative yet purposeful. his hand reaches out, fingers gripping your cheeks, his rough touch sending your body into a frenzy. you want to push him away, but the pull between you is too strong to resist. you’ve been yearning for his touch for months, no one knows how to pull your strings like he does.

“you drive me fucking insane, y’know that?”

you merely blink, pretending to be bored, “go fuck yourself.”

and then, in a rush of pent-up desire and frustration, rafe snakes a hand around the back of your head to pull you to meet him in a passionate kiss.

it’s all sorts of desperate as if trying to bridge the problems between you, you're arching into him as his hand trails down your spine. his tongue is brushing across yours in a tentative swipe before you’re meeting him halfway, kissing him urgently. there's a hunger in rafe’s touch, a desperation to reclaim what his lost, and you respond in kind, your hands roaming over his back, tracing the contours of his muscles with a familiarity that sends shivers down his spine.

“you’re not going on a fucking date.” he pants between kisses, the way his lips caress your face keeping you close distracting you momentarily.

“you can’t stop me.”

his hand slides around your waist, over the curve of your ass, grabbing a handful in the process, “watch me.”

#rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron #rafe cameron au #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron angst #rafe x reader #rafe x female!mc #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #babydaddy!rafe #this is literally just rafe being an asshole #the angst got out of hand #i was about to write smut but fell asleep

294 notes · View notes

unheavenlyvision · 2 days

Text

SLEEP OVER PT.1

pairing: fushiguro toji/reader

wc: 2.3k

summary: staying the night at your boyfriends place for the first time is nervewracking, especially when he seems to feel a certain way about you wearing his clothes

a/n; dilf dilf dilf dilf dilf dilf...uhm anyways...i lurv toji a lot and i needed to write something for him, i thought it would fix me but it may have made me worse :D also, i would like to write a part 2 for this maybe :3

warnings: 18+ only, smut, established relationship, tiny bit of possessiveness, (minor) size difference kink, heavy petting, dry humping, afab!reader, no use of pronouns or y/n, nicknames used; doll, ma'am (once in a joking way)

MDNI | SMUT UNDER CUT

Hovering in Toji’s kitchen, you try to make yourself seem more relaxed, you’ve been in his house plenty of times now but this time is different. This is the first time you’re staying the night, alone, in his house, with him.

Besides heavy petting, nothing more has ever happened between the two of you, to say you have expectations is an understatement. It doesn’t have to happen but you’ve been together for a little bit now and there’s only so long you can hold out, you mean, have you seen Toji?

He’s been patient, you were initially the one who said you didn’t want to rush things, you were scared of just being a lay and asked him to wait until you felt ready, which he has respected. He’s respected it…too well, barely making out before he’s parting from you. The sexual frustration you’ve been feeling has you wound so tight that you might literally implode as soon as he touches you.

From across the counter separating you, he teases, “You gonna help me over here? Or did you propose baking together just to watch me do it for you?”

“Well… I am enjoying the view,” you flirt back, playing off the stiffness in your joints.

He raises a brow at you, “How about you flirt with me while whisking that bowl right there,” he nods down to the bowl just off to his side.

“Yessir,” you stand at attention and throw a little salute his way.

When you round the bench to stand next to him, he bumps into your shoulder with his own, “You feeling okay, doll?”

You hum and look up at him, “Yeah, I’m good.”

It’s mostly quiet after that, aside from small talk and teasing remarks made while you finish prepping the ingredients. You told him that sleepovers needed brownies and he went out and bought stuff to make them, it was incredibly sweet and made you almost swoon on the spot when you showed up and he told you what he’d done.

Unluckily for you and your clumsy nature, his sink sprays a bunch of water down your front as you’re washing a dish. You let out an unceremonious squeaking sound at the sudden rush of cold running all the way down your pyjama shirt, to your pants.

The bowl Toji was holding clatters a bit as he drops it to be at your side, “What happened?” He asks before seeing your drenched clothes, an amused smile taking place where his concern was sitting, “You’re not much help in the kitchen, huh?”

“Hey!” you frown at him, “I am perfectly helpful, thank you very much. It’s not my fault your sink hates me.” You feel like a wet cat under his gaze, “What am I meant to do now? These are the only pyjamas I bought with me,” you pout slightly, looking down at your ruined clothes.

“Just wear something of mine,” he shrugs easily.

The idea of wearing his comfortable clothes makes your skin buzz, “Okay… thank you,” you mumble at him.

He scoffs at your sudden coyness, “You want me to pick something out for you or do you got it?”

“No, I got it,” you smile at him before turning to wander through the house to his room.

Shuffling through his drawers, you find a shirt and some sweatpants to wear. They’re large on you, the whole look incredibly baggy, having to pull the drawstrings on his sweats a bit tighter to make sure they stay up. You feel better though, warm, you hope he won’t mind but you had to borrow a pair of his boxers as well…

When you walk back into the kitchen, Toji does a double take on you, his eyes widening slightly, “You comfy?”

“Very,” you walk up to him, “You finish with the brownie mix?”

He stares at you for a moment before replying, “…Yeah, they’re in the oven.”

“Nice, putting the mix in the tray is my least favourite part, it’s always so sticky and messy and I end up getting frustrated because it won’t all go in and then I need another spoon to get the mix off the spatula and then I have to go back and forth…” You trail off, noticing he’s not really paying attention to what you’re saying, he is looking at you though, “Toji, Something wrong?”

He considers you for a moment, “You look cute,” is all he says.

You feel shy under his gaze now, not expecting him to compliment you so sincerely, “So do you?”

He barks a laugh at your clumsy compliment, “Alright, wanna watch something while we wait?” He changes the topic.

“Sure!”

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

He’s not as subtle as he thinks he is, his hand rests on your thigh, rubbing his thumb in circles but just because he’s not subtle doesn’t mean it’s not working. The tv plays some movie in front of the pair of you but you can’t pay attention, you’ve not retained a single plot point, his warm hand on your thigh is all you can feel, all you can register.

You have a feeling you’re going to have to be the one to break this, the weird limbo you’re both in. Turning your head to the side and looking up, you aren’t ready for how he’s already looking down at you, his hand on your thigh reaches for the side of your face, cradling you gently. He moves in slowly, giving you the chance to pull back in protest if you don’t want him to kiss you.

You want it though and lean up the rest of the way, kissing him deeply, wanting to put your lips on him for nearly the whole time you’ve been here. He meets your eagerness, his hand holding you more firmly, his tongue licking into your mouth, wanting to taste you. His body moves into yours more, his other hand grabbing at your hip.

His kisses grow rushed and he ends up trailing them to your neck, kissing and licking along the exposed skin there. The hand on your face angles you to his will, manoeuvring you every which way so he can get his lips on whatever part of you he desires.

Huffed out whine leave you at the way he nips at your skin, he has enough of the odd angle and pulls you onto his lap completely, sitting back as his hands roam your body over his clothes.

“Toji,” you whine out his name.

His eyes look into yours, “Do you need me to stop?”

Shaking your head at him, you say, “No, I need more…”

“You really do look cute in my clothes,” he murmurs, leaning in again and pressing a full kiss to your lips, “You look comfortable… all wrapped up in my clothes.” He reiterates that they are in fact his clothes you’re wearing.

His hands move under the large shirt, groping at your bare skin, delighting in the warmth and plushness of you. Your body breaks out in goose bumps as a noticeable shiver runs down your spine, his touch electrifying to you.

“My, how sensitive you are,” he teases you, a self-satisfied grin making its way onto his face.

“Shut up,” you snark back, “Just… kiss me again?”

His smile grows, “Yes ma’am,” he jokes before kissing you again.

You’re getting lost in it, in the feel of his lips on yours, it’s making you dizzy and needy. Your hips grind down into his on their own accord and Toji moans against you, surprised by the sudden friction. Recovering quickly, his hands grab your hips and encourage you to keep going, your clothed cunt dragging up and down his covered cock has spots in your vision.

Your hands grip the fabric of his shirt tight, your lips disconnecting from his every time you moan, only for him to press them back together. His dick twitches in his pants, painfully erect and sensitive, he has a feeling he could cum like this.

This is the furthest the two of you have gone so far and he’s not wasting this opportunity, he needs to see you cum, he needs to hear it. The grip he has on you is harsh, his hips rut up into yours which results in the most pathetic sound he’s ever heard coming from you… he needs more.

Pulling back, you whinge, “Toji~ I wan– t more… I want more.”

“Well… I want you to cum while wearing my clothes,” he counters.

You gasp at his blunt words, “I–”

You don’t get the chance to finish your thought, his hips thrusting up, the shock delicious. His dick is leaking profusely in his pants, he’s way too sensitive right now, for his grown age. You’d asked to go slow and he complied but that didn’t mean he didn’t have to furiously jerk himself off after your visits.

Toji’s boxers are uncomfortably wet against your core, slick and stuck to your pussy with how worked up he’s gotten you. All the layers are upsetting you; you just want one less layer, his pants, your pants, you don’t care, you just need more.

“Toji, lemme take off the sweats, please, please, please,” you all but beg at him.

“No. Told you,” he scolds, “I want you cumming in my clothes.”

“Mmm but…” You hesitate.

You’ve caught his interest, quirking a brow at you, he asks, “But what?”

You decide to tell him even though you’re a little embarrassed, “I’m also wearing your boxers.”

He holds you still against him, a sound of objection coming from you at the lack of friction, “You’re wearing my boxers?”

You nod quickly, hoping for this line of questioning to be done soon, “I am.”

“Why?”

You look down, to where you’re sat on top of him, his large cock strained against his pants, you falter slightly in your answer, distracted. Toji’s hand tapping against your thigh brings you back, “Mine were wet from the sink…”

He tugs at the sweats, “Take these off, right now.”

Standing on wobbly legs, you undo the drawstring on his pants and slip them down.

Toji groans at the sight of your bare legs, “Lift up my shirt,” he directs.

Which you do, biting your lip, trying to fight off the urge to run away in embarrassment. Your hands hold his shirt up slightly, exposing to him how you’re wearing his boxers.

His eyes scan your lower half carefully, his heart stuttering in is chest. His light grey boxers dark where your arousal has pooled, “Fuck, come here,” he pats his lap, grabbing you when you’re close enough. “You’re so fucking wet, doll, shit.”

When you’re back on his lap, he wastes no time, his cock rubs between your folds, parting them from under his boxers, the friction different and consuming. This feels so much better than before, it feels almost intense after getting minimal sensation.

“Toji~ I don’t think I’ll last long like this,” you admit, feeling shame from how pathetic you must seem.

“Good,” he groans, his hips thrusting up into yours while his hands drag you back and forth on his cock, “I won’t either.”

To hear he’s just as effected by this as you are makes your cunt pulse around nothing, a whimper leaving you from how pathetically empty you feel, “I still want more,” you pout.

“Later,” he promises.

Your skin buzzes and your stomach clenches, your fingers dig into his shoulders, feeling impossibly close to finishing. Your eyes grow dazed, hot, huffed breaths leaving your parted lips. The sight has Toji’s cock twitching profusely, barely fighting off his orgasm, wanting to see you cum first.

“Come on, doll, I need to see it,” he tugs you quicker, your slick cunt sliding easily against his pants, the wetness seeping through the boxers onto them, “I need to see you cum for me.”

You shudder at his words, “I’m gonna–”

One of his hands leave your hip and slides to your face, his thumb pressing past your lips, you take it and suck on it, tongue licking the pad of it gently. A moan from deep in his chest rumbles under your hands, it’s all too much. Your cunt flutters against him and your eyes roll back, moans muffled around his thumb as your cum gushes from your pussy, coating his boxers even more.

Toji can’t help but watch, he’s watching you so closely, his cock cumming very suddenly. Your orgasm, the dumb look in your eyes, the flutter of your lashes, the shake in your body as you cum in his clothes undoes him. His own cum seeps into his pants, a large, wet stain growing on his sweats as his dick jerks with his orgasm.

He pulls his thumb from your mouth, dragging your lower lip down with it, “Fuck,” he bites out.

He rides out both your highs, lightly grinding his hips up into you as you both come down. Your form collapses into him, curling yourself around him. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as you jolt every now and again, it’s cute, he thinks.

You lay peacefully like this for a moment before you remember, “The brownies,” you try to pull yourself away from him.

“They’re fine, oven went off only a moment ago,” he hums.

“I’ll go grab them then,” you say.

“Alright, shaky, off you go,” he mocks you and your jelly legs.

Pulling back, you frown at him, “I will.”

He just smiles knowingly at you.

Crawling off him carefully, you stand on your shaky legs momentarily before sitting back down on the couch next to him, “Maybe you should go get them.”

“Mhm,” he answers, leaning over he presses a kiss to your cheek, “That’s what I thought.”

You cross your arms over your chest and scowl at him, pretending to be more upset than you actually are.

Toji goes into the kitchen and pulls the brownies out, he calls over to you, “So… I hope you like the corners of your brownies a little crispy.”

You can’t help but laugh at that.

PLAGIARISM NOT CONDONED | REPOSTS NOT AUTHORISED

#visionwrites #toji x reader #toji x reader smut #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro smut #fushiguro toji x reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro x reader smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #toji fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji x reader smut

360 notes · View notes

toodelusionalforreality · 23 hours

Text

Rare

Azriel x Reader(N)

Summary: Azriel's reluctant night out with his family turns out to be more interesting than he expected.

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. I have newfound respect for writers who have mastered group dynamics in their writing.

Word count: ~5.6k

Warning: None [minimal editing/proofreading/formatting]

‘Two weeks,’ Mor whispered, trudging forward with her eyes set ahead in a daze. Her heels hit the cobbled path with soft clicks. ‘They’re closed for two weeks. What am I going to do?’

Feyre looped her arm through hers and guided her away from the closed doors of Rita’s. No one took the disappointment as hard as Mor did. Still, they each expressed varying degrees of frustration with their grunts and groans. Cassian cursed aloud for it was his idea to enjoy a night like good old times. And he enjoyed a night like good old times every two months. However, that night, the rest of the Inner Circle agreed to celebrate the few peaceful months they'd had in a while.

Except for one.

Azriel was grateful for his family’s reunion and their safety. Only he wanted to celebrate it in the quiet of their home. His family didn’t spare him the courtesy of protesting. Knowing him well, they sent the middle Archeron sister to plead their case. One look at her hesitant eyes and he couldn’t deny the soft-hearted woman. He had one regret for the night—to have not flown off when he sensed Elaine’s presence on the other side of his door.

When Rita disclosed their misfortune, Nesta pinned him with an accusatory glare as if his ill will had manifested into the burning down of their beloved retreat. She would have calmed if Azriel had stood there with his usual blank stare. Instead, he lifted a brow as a smirk tugged at his lips.

Cass grumbled, ‘At least pretend not to enjoy this so much, you ass,’ without even looking at his brother.

‘Two weeks!’ Mor shrieked, throwing her arms in the air as she reeled out of the initial shock. ‘How could she do this to me?’ Her blonde hair swayed behind her with every shake of her head.

Rhys walked on her other side. Besides Azriel, he was the only one unbothered by the ruin of their plans. ‘I’m sure the fire in her kitchen had barely anything to do with punishing you.’ His taunting tone was the only sign of his apathy for his cousin’s plight.

Elaine’s voice perked up as Mor opened her mouth. ‘We could go somewhere else,’ she inched away with each word as if she expected another outburst. ‘It’s not that late.’

And that’s how Azriel came to hate the woman for the night.

He wasn’t cruel. He loved his family, and he agreed they deserved a break, but it wasn’t something he would sacrifice his peace for. He was ready with his own proposition—go back home, get drunk on faerie wine, and maybe some mirthroot if they resisted too much. His family would've had their merriment, and he’d have had his serenity.

As they stumbled and meandered through the streets, stopping at one place and the next, vetting out each other’s suggestions, Azriel found himself enjoying the moment—listening to his family’s usual banter, the comfort of familiarity built over centuries, and fussing over triviality instead of wars and courts. If his family chose to spend the entire night on the streets, he would gladly trade his peace for that.

Before he even finished the thought, his family arrived at their destination. The last on their list. Another bar. Or at least what it said on the polished plaque that hung above the rusty door frame.

Cass spoke first, ‘This is it?’ His words echoed the thought they all had in their minds.

Beyond the worn-out door held in place by a brick wedged between it and the doorframe was a harshly lit long room. Even the open door and cool breeze of the summer night couldn’t mask the stench of stuffiness from the dingy hole in the wall. Light flickered warning anyone dared contemplate entering the horrid place. Too narrow to hold any table or chair, there stood a single desk opposite the entrance. Two shelves nailed behind it sloped, the bottles stacked atop them slowly making their way to the edge. A place like that at the centre of Velaris was a swamp surrounded by beauty and life.

A woman rotten with age sat behind the table. Her hands jittered with each click of the needles held between her sharp, black claws. Her crooked nose curving past her thin lips and her non-existent ears were the only indications of her faerie blood other than her savage nails. Azriel couldn’t remember the last time he saw a creature that looked so old and fragile, yet with malice in her being, a kind of cruelty that lurked in her bones.

Despite what he witnessed, none of it deterred him that night. His body shook with silent laughter. All that wasted trip, endless stops to pick at the tiniest flaws only for his family to end up there.

Mother loved him. The complete disbelief on their faces was worth everything Azriel suffered since he opened his door to Elaine that night. Even his shadows seemed to enjoy the irony of their situation, skittering around his shoulders.

Mor turned to him sharply, her eyes alight with fire. ‘As long as there’s wine, this will do,’ she gritted her teeth.

Pushing his friend, whose only purpose in life was proving a point, was the last thing Azriel wanted to do. Yet it was an opportunity he couldn’t pass. How far would his family go? What would it take to break them? Would they give in and chuck down whatever wretched brew the suspicious creature offered? He merely bowed his head and waved at the door.

Mor swallowed her squeak of disgust as she crossed the threshold. Her eyes ran over the assortment of bottles on the shelves—three filled to the brim with pale green liquid, two half-filled with something that looked awfully like rotten blood, of what Azriel didn’t care to find out.

‘Do you suppose,’ she brought her eyes back to the woman, ‘you have any wine?’

The needles went silent for a beat, ‘Take your pick,’ and resumed. Not once did the creature glance at them as she jerked her chin to the shelf above her head.

With the seven of them now inside, the air turned hot and suffocating. Nesta pushed past to the front, standing next to Mor. ‘This is Pharus, isn’t it? The bar?’

Finally, the faerie looked up. Her eyes roved over their faces, their bodies, the detailing of threads on their clothes finer than the ones she held in her hands. ‘Of course,’ she snarled, ‘why else would you be here?’ Her lazy eyes rolled creepily in their sockets to stop at the door beside the shelf. ‘Over there,’ she said and went back to her hideous patchwork of browns and blues and pinks.

In the silence, a steady thrum of beats crept along the floor. A soft murmur lured them to trust the creature’s words and enter the unknown that awaited them behind the burnished wood, a portal out of the creature’s lair.

Mor stepped up to the door, her eyes on the glass doorknob—hypnotised, curious, so bright. As her fingers brushed against it, the faerie cleared her throat. ‘There’s a price for it,’ she added with a sly smile on her lips, a little thing that didn’t belong in her sagging face.

Azriel fished into his pockets while his family stared between the door and its guardian. His curiosity ebbed and grew to a point of no return. He had to find whatever called to him, whatever called to them. He dropped a gold on the table. It clattered on the wood, its ring echoing for a breath too long.

The faerie stared at it and then at him, and then his family, studying each of their faces. Her claws left scratches on the wood as she grasped the coin in her palm. She sniffed it, her eyes widening.

The door didn’t make a sound under Mor’s hand. One by one, they entered, and Azriel let the door close behind him. Their heels clicked on the polished wooden floor.

Every plush leather chair, strategically arranged table, and carefully curated decorations contributed to the elegance of the room. Soothing warmth enveloped them even on the summer night in a comforting embrace. The fragrance of spices cut through the musk of the wooden furniture. Golden orbs hung from the ceiling, casting a soft glow across the space enough to enable their fae sight, but none too harsh like Rita’s.

A band sat on a raised podium at the far end, playing music that complimented their ambience. In the middle stood the majestic bar, a stretch of counter that ran along almost the entire length of the room. Bottles filled with various shades of liquor sat on the shelves behind—each of them, artistically planned and placed. Lights reflected off decanters and glasses set on trays, adding a bit of colour to the brown and gold theme of the room.

Faerie—high and lesser—took the seats without sparing each other a glance of discrimination. There was no stench of tension in the air, only a fragile calmness. Two servers shifted around the room speaking softly with polite smiles on their lips. A female tended to the bar, her hands worked with mesmerising precision. Despite the overflowing liquor, there wasn’t any loud cry, laughter, or chatter.

Luxury and safety were the words that came to Azriel’s mind. His shadows shaded his shoulders, falling quiet as they studied their new territory.

One of the servers led them to the only table large enough to fit them—close to the band, a bench along the wall on one side, and chairs on the other.

Once they settled, he spoke with a rehearsed tone, ‘I’m guessing you’re new here.’ The hitch in his breath told them he knew exactly who they were, and yet his smile remained. ‘We have two rules. One, we ensure the night’s peaceful here as much as possible. So, we don’t appreciate harassment of any kind, and I’d advise you to stay out of trouble. Two, if our barkeep cuts you off for whatever reason, you leave.’ His shoulders relaxed as if it were the most hated part of his job, and his smile turned more genuine. ‘Other than that, you do whatever you want. What would you like to drink?’

‘I’ll have faerie wine,’ Mor waited for no one, ‘Any wine. Don’t care how many.’ Her thigh pushed against Azriel’s as she shifted to a comfortable position on the bench, her warmth seeping past his leathers. A swift nod from everyone else had the server scrambling back to the bar.

Nesta inspected the surrounding faces. ‘What kind of moron expects drunks to follow rules?’

‘The one who doesn’t want to be held responsible for whatever happens when they are broken.’ Nesta’s eyes snapped to Azriel’s, and he shrugged.

Elaine looked between their faces, expecting the inevitable. But the Inner Circle indulged in spying on their night’s getaway. ‘Are we really ignoring what we saw outside?’

‘Oh,’ the server peered down at them as he set a tray with two wine bottles and glasses with a grace unexpected of his thick, manly fingers. ‘That hag is harmless. She just wastes her day knitting. If she bothered you, it’s because you’re new. Easy prey, you know? The regulars are used to her by now.’

Feyre reached for the glass offered to her. ‘Who is she?’

The server didn’t care to meet their eyes, but his words were eager. ‘She came with the building. This used to be her home. The old owner, her son, wanted to sell this bar. He found a better place for his family. But she didn’t want to move. Night and day they fought so much that people were afraid to even walk the street. Anyway, the son couldn’t resist our offer and sold it, and she—,’ he clicked his tongue, ‘she refused to leave with him. And N didn’t want to leave her homeless.’

Azriel didn’t particularly enjoy the conversation as much as his family did. It mattered very little to the server, whose words tumbled out in a single breath. Clearly, it wasn’t the first time he was telling the story to his customers. He would make a terrible spy, Azriel thought. Maybe a decent source.

'N?’

'She owns the place now. She gave the hag that hall. That’s where she and her husband lived before her son built a bar here.’ He sighed. His eyes swept over the rest of the room once he placed a filled glass in front of each of them. ‘It’s not good for business with a front like that. She scares everyone away. But N insisted, and we renovated around it. Most customers don’t even set foot inside after the first time. Some take pity and give her a few coppers. Not that she needs them though. N takes care of all her needs.’

He turned to them with a wide smile, with a server’s politeness. ‘Anyway, enjoy!’ He turned to leave and paused. ‘You didn’t give her anything, did you?’

Every pair of eyes at the table fixated on Azriel. He blinked, ‘A gold.’

‘You better stay away from her the next time.’ The server walked away laughing.

In his long life, and also as a spy, Azriel had met enough faeries ranging from the vilest to the kindest. Nothing fazed him anymore. Though it would have made quite a story on any other day, his focus remained on his family. He would rather figure out a way to coax his friends to leave early than uncover more about a hag and her benefactor. After a long night of searching for a bar which offered wine sweeter than Rita’s, he knew it would be almost impossible.

At her sister’s request, Feyre led Elaine closer to the band, both nursing their drinks in their hands. Loose chairs littered the open space in front of the dais, where they took a seat among other patrons. The musicians nodded at them with a smile.

Cass slammed his glass on the table. ‘I don’t like this place,’ he grumbled, looking at the well-behaved mob, ‘Where’s the fun here? This is not how a bar is supposed to be.’

‘Why? Is this place too classy for a brute like you?’ Nesta smirked, sipping her drink as she surveyed the place. She fitted right in.

Years of sneaking and spying had ingrained the instincts in Azriel’s very bones, impossible to separate who he was and what he did for his family, for his court. His hazel eyes didn’t miss a thing. His shadows stayed close and whispered in his ears. Careful, calculating.

Between the bar and the band stood two doors—one the servers often drifted in and out of with trays in their hands, a kitchen; and the other too pristine to be a back door or entrance to a storage room. An office, maybe. No one entered or exited it since his family took their seats across it.

His brother was wrong. The patrons enjoyed their time, but not the way people did in Rita’s. Like his family, they bundled together and shared a drink and a laugh with their loved ones. Their glazed eyes and flushed faces proved they indulged in the drinks as much as Cass did. A few cleared the space in front of the band, shifting the chairs around and waltzing to the music. A sense of belonging lingered in the air, unlike the mindless chaos that stained Rita’s.

As warned, the bartender declined drinks to a few. Even the ones who posed the most threat to start a fight walked away without resistance. Not one sound of protest or trouble followed.

Elaine and Feyre returned when the band paused to start their next song. As Elaine settled into the seat across from him, she gave the widest smile to Azriel. He smiled back. Rhys filled Feyre’s glass and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. Cass and Mor still disagreed with Nesta on the essence of the true bar experience. Rhys took Nesta’s side only to watch his brother seethe with anger. With the remaining sisters returned to the table, it became clear Cass and Mor were losing the battle.

To add salt to their burn, Azriel trailed a finger along the rim of his glass and smirked. ‘I like this place too.’

‘You weren’t on board all night and now you have an opinion?’ Cass waved a hand of dismissal but his eyes burned with betrayal, ‘Go back to your brooding.’ Azriel grinned.

Laughing and stumbling, Mor headed to the bar. The bartender blushed so red that it wasn’t a mystery what she was up to. Minutes later, she returned with a bottle of amber liquor and a glass of a blue-green drink.

Bottles were emptied, banter was shared, and laughs grew contagious. Even though it was harmless, raucous laughter, they attracted the wary eyes of the server. Azriel knew where they were headed.

He slid Rhys’s glass of whiskey out of his grasp, who turned to him with an arched brow. He mumbled with a sigh, ‘We’d need more than one ride tonight.’

Rhys didn’t argue. He limited his drinks as much as Azriel that night for the sake of his mate. Ever since Feyre, his brother’s usual recklessness waned. He became more attentive and considerate in ways he had never shown before.

Both his brothers were equally troublesome. Cass with his wildness and brutality, and Rhys with his cunning and sly. And yet, after finding their mates, they were still all that and a bit more, someone better in every sense.

Azriel looked at Mor pressed to his side, drunk and smiling. The woman he once loved. And then, Elaine, the woman he wondered to be his mate.

Even with the passage of time and endless disappointments, his heart refused to let go of hope—such a fickle thing for an immortal life. An everlasting pain that turned the kindest of souls into a force of cruelty—worse than love, worse than torture, worse than death.

To have heard of and believed in a spiritual bond with another was one thing, but to see it with his own eyes and not long for it was not something even a damned soul like him could resist.

Who wouldn’t want something so precious divined by Mother herself, to be blessed by her, to be born fortunate to have a mate in their lifetime and find them?

Azriel knew love, he’d felt it. But how was it any different from a mating bond? Would a love be enough to save his wretched heart from himself? Could a love be as profound and sacred as a mating?

He looked at the happy faces of his family. Four of the seven—mated and in love. One with her supposed mate.

Rare of the rarest.

And there he was. An ordinary rock amongst gems. One Mother didn’t deem worthy enough. Maybe she was right. What was he, after all, but an unlucky bastard? What would it take for Azriel to be one of them? Shadowsinger. Warrior. Servant. Brother. Friend. Survivor. Tortured. Abused. Broken. What more did he need to be to appease the Mother to bless him with one miracle?

What would make him one of the deserving?

He took the glass he snatched from his brother and downed the drink in one gulp. The liquor burned his throat, a good burn, almost as good as the one his hands endured a long, long time ago.

Rhys turned to him with a blank stare. Azriel checked his mental wards and averted his eyes. It was pathetic enough to long for something that he couldn’t have. He refused to warrant pity from his brothers as well.

His family was together and happy. He breathed in the sweet aroma of the blue-green liquor Mor swirled in her glass.

It was a good night.

As he drank a little more, his shadows ventured out weaving through tables and shuffling feet. Azriel allowed it for a while before he reined them back. But they never answered when they returned, only dancing around his shoulders.

Moments later, they tried again, crawling down his back. The tug and pull of control slipped out of his hands as if an invisible force stripped them off him. A gentle caress over his shoulders, coaxing him, easing him to let go. And his shadows were willing to follow this force, betraying their loyalty to him. Azriel didn’t touch his drink after that.

As expected, the server approached their table and looked at him, the only one sober enough to be reasonable. ‘We won’t cause any trouble,’ said Azriel before he could speak.

His shadows swayed around the back of his neck and leaned to peer beyond the male in their path. They stood still, unmoving, watching, and then crashed into his shoulder, turning into a dark mist.

The server watched them wide-eyed. He shook his head and glanced behind him at the once-closed door, now open. ‘Maybe they could get something mild. Don't let N see them like this.’ With those words, he stalked back to the bar.

The room in front of him lacked the soft ambience of the bar with its golden lights and cosy furniture. A desk with a chair occupied the small space, giving a partial view of the bar outside. A woman bounded down the stairs that ran up from behind the door. She headed to the bar, exchanged a few words with the bartender, and went back inside the room. The servers paused by the door to greet her before they moved on.

To own a bar for high fae and lesser faeries alike, to have her workers and customers fear her, N was laughably docile. Azriel had spent long enough around women of strength and courage to never judge one by looks, but he couldn’t help it.

In her simple dark pants that flared at the hem and grey-white shirt, N was underdressed than her workers. She was as tall as Feyre, maybe a few inches taller. Her face held a hint of innocence, not close to Elaine’s, but something about her convinced she was harmless. Unless she had a sharp tongue like Nesta or had someone like Mor or Amren to do her bidding, it was unlikely she managed to keep her patrons in line by herself.

‘Azriel,’ called Mor from beside him. Her eyes were unexpectedly fierce after all the wine she had. ‘You’re drinking, right?’ She waved the empty glass in her hand.

He knew he should’ve said no. He glanced at the server across the room, but Nesta and Mor had already left for the bar. His attention drifted to the three drunk males who stood too close to a young fae trying to get away from them. She inched closer and closer to Mor who whispered into Nesta’s ear making her laugh. The shadows on his shoulders grew restless, creeping up and down his arms. He should have offered to get the drinks himself.

Cass was in the middle of narrating an elaborate plot of his fights in Illyrian war camps from their childhood days to Elaine as she leaned over the table with enthralled horror in her eyes. Rhys smiled smugly at his exaggerations while Feyre looked over at the bar, thinking the same as Azriel.

The crude comments of the three males circling the fae made the bartender stare between them with nervous eyes. The air silenced around them, nothing but their obnoxious laughter echoed. The smile on Nesta’s lips vanished, and Mor noticed. His friends at the table paused their conversation.

‘Come now,’ one of the male carried on, ‘don’t be like that.’

N looked up from the paper in her hand. She stared ahead at the wall where the male would have stood if it hadn’t been in her way. Dropping the papers onto the table, she reached inside a drawer. She stepped out of the room, cradling a leather bracelet to her right wrist, pulling its straps taut against her skin.

The bartender breathed in relief as N eased next to her and took a step back. N gathered her hair, securing it at the nape of her neck as the bartender whispered in her ear. Chunks of hair slipped free and framed her face. Her eyes swept across the bar, took in the faces seated before her, deliberately shifting over the three males. She stood in front of them, mixing drinks with precision and expertise on par with the bartender. She didn't lift her eyes up again.

The male moved close to the fae who immediately backed away. ‘Come on, love. It’s free drink. You should be grateful.’ He spoke into her ear but loud enough to be heard across the room.

A minute longer, and Nesta would have ripped that fool’s tongue with a shard of her broken glass. Azriel had seen enough bar fights—started a few and ended too many—to know when one loomed around the corner.

N’s eyes darted to the man’s hand reaching for the fae and then his face for a second while her body gave no sign of her attention on anything but the tumbler in her hand. A smirk tugged at Azriel's lips.

Maybe it was a bad idea to let Mor and Nesta murder a few males in a bar they had never visited before. Maybe it was a bad idea not to interfere with their authority which usually saved time with vermin like the male. Or maybe it was a bad idea to let the situation escalate, putting the fae in danger only to see N’s reaction.

But Azriel was not above making bad decisions to quell his curiosity. He leaned back and brought his glass to his lips.

‘She’s not interested,’ said N in a voice so soft and smooth. With her eyes on the pink liquor she poured into a tall glass, she added, ‘And she has a drink.’ Her eyes met the fae's, gentle yet firm. She pushed the glass with her index finger. The fae heaved a sigh of relief and reached for it.

The male turned his attention to N with a wicked smile. ‘The coins are to shut your mouth, pretty.’ He ran his vile eyes over her and winked. ‘I’ll come back for you later.’ With a bone-grating chuckle, he returned to the fae who backed towards the tables. He blocked her path with his hand, ‘So, what do you say?’

Oh, how Azriel wanted to tear every tooth from his jaws.

N finally looked at him. Her eyes were calm and intense, a reassured stillness in them. She straightened and placed her hands on the counter. And it was enough to shift the air around them. The woman who commanded respect from her patrons was in the room instead of the quiet, lingering spirit that drifted in and out moments earlier. The band slowed their music, and the ones who refused to look at the ruckus dared to glance their way.

‘I’m going to ask you to leave.’

The male let out a grunt, mean and vulgar. ‘Shut up, you bitch.’ A grimace of impatience replaced his smile. He hissed at the fae, ‘You’re starting to make me angry.’

His eyes widened as a hand grabbed the back of his hand and shoved it face-first onto the wood of the counter. His arms flailed miserably to stop the impact, only to fail. The following crunch made the fae flinch away.

N let go and walked around the bar, her steps calculated and leisured. Her dainty fingers slipped through two gold rings attached to the inside of the bracelet. ‘You okay?’ she asked the fae softly as she pulled the fingers away, two cords of metal unwinding between the rings and the leather. Once she got a frantic nod from the fae, she diverted her focus to the crying male who swiped at his face and stared at his bloodied hands.

Cass snorted. His drink sprayed through his nose, drenching himself and poor Elaine. Rhys’s eyes gleamed with amusement. Feyre looked between N, Nesta and Mor.

The male screeched to no one in particular, ‘That bitch hit me.’ His nose flared and spurts of blood leaked soaking his shirt. ‘You’ll pay for this,’ he lunged forward.

N sauntered ahead with lazy steps and swerved when his fist came close. Her left hand went around his head once. The male stumbled forward by the wasted force of his body and his neck caught in the cords.

N pulled her hands back to her sides, the cords went taut, and the male fell to his knees. His bloodied fingers pried at the noose around his neck. His breaths grew shallow and raspy. Blood sprinkled from his nose with each strain of his chest. His pained cries echoed in the quiet. Not even his friends attempted to help him.

‘Whining on the floor,’ N curved her wrist around his head again, watching his eyes grow wider, ‘Leash on your neck. You sure you aren’t the bitch?’ She looked down at him with void eyes as her fingers clawed his jaw open.

Her other hand reached for a bottle on the counter, her eyes never leaving his. She tipped the bottle close to his mouth and his breath left his chest in a painful heave. ‘It’s free drink, love.’ Her voice was a lover’s purr, low and soft. As the liquor filled his mouth and streamed down his shirt mixed with the red of his blood, she gritted her teeth, ‘Be grateful.’ The first emotion she showed.

It was inappropriate.

Utterly inappropriate.

A deep chuckle ripped from Azriel’s throat, loud enough to warrant the glances from his family and the ones beside their table.

When the male choked and his eyes blurred, N stopped. Her fingers released him and slipped out of the rings with a simple flick. The rings whipped spraying drops of amber-red in the air before it latched onto the bracelet again, the cords disappearing between the black of the leather. She turned to his friends, ‘Don’t come back.’

They nodded, their eyes wide, and began to back away. The cries of their friend brought them out of their stupor and they carried him out with his blood staining the once perfect floor.

N blinked.

Once they were out the door, she went back behind the counter, and time resumed. The band began their music again. Servers shuffled to clean the floors and check on the fae. The bartender wiped at the splotches of blood on the counter with a rag.

N cleaned her hands and continued with her other orders. As she offered drinks to the ones still waiting at the bar, she smiled. Azriel set his glass down.

When she reached Mor and Nesta, she studied their faces and uttered a few words. Mor pointed at their table with a grin, her eyes sparkling under the light swaying over her head.

N spared each of them a glance. Her eyes paused at Cass and his wings, Azriel and his wings, and finally Rhys and behind him where his wings should have been. The shadows didn’t appreciate the scrutiny. They went erratic around his shoulders and for a moment her eyes returned to the shadowsinger again.

‘She’s judging us,’ Rhys muttered through his grin. The amusement in his eyes flickered and N held his gaze. ‘Rather harshly,’ he chuckled.

Feyre frowned at him. ‘Stop it!’

Rhys’s smile fell from his lips. He hummed, staring at N for a beat too long before he turned to his mate. ‘It’s not my fault. Her mind called to me,’ he kissed her cheek.

Azriel wanted to ask what his brother meant, but knew better. His shadows quietened around him, still as midnight air, draping over his shoulders with their ghostly weight. They didn’t sing to him much that night.

Mor and Nesta returned with a tray of drinks. N wrapped an arm around the bartender and whispered in her ear. Her eyes were soft and her lips still held a smile. The bartender relaxed and sighed. Azriel wondered if there was more between the two. N rushed out of her room at the first sign of trouble and took charge of every responsibility while the bartender stayed safe and recovered.

‘I like this place!’ Mor exclaimed as she slumped next to him and handed him a glass after taking one for herself.

Cass only cursed under his breath. ‘Because she gave you free booze?’ He stole a drink for himself, ‘But that show was fun.’

‘So was yours,’ Nesta laughed and pointed at his soaked front.

N accepted a sealed plate from the server with a smile and headed to her office. Her fingers paused at the doorknob. She looked down at her shirt. Crimson spotted along her torso below her ribs. She ran her fingers over them once, slowly. She blinked and wiped again at the dried stain. And again. Then she closed the door.

Once the glasses were emptied, Mor hated the place again. The drinks N offered sobered them completely. Grumbling and muttering their disapproval at the trickery and betrayal, Mor and Cass walked out of the bar with the others trailing behind them.

Azriel sneaked a glance at the locked door smiling before he joined his family. It was indeed a good night.

#azriel #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar series #acotar x reader

164 notes · View notes

lynk-zee · 3 days

Note

how do you think a fight would take place with lads boys? like how it progresses and then silent treatment and the yearning to make up and actually making up

Fights

Warnings: Angsty with a blip of spice in Rafayel’s part. Happy endings because I don’t want to be sad anymore 🥲

Fights with Zayne are almost always about your health. How you’re not sleeping enough or eating right, despite the advice he gives you. He may be your boyfriend but he’s also your doctor. He just wants the best for you.

The silent treatment starts on his end, giving you one worded answers and generally ignoring you. If you didn’t care about your health, why should he? Except, it would progress worse and worse because you’re both stubborn-headed, to the point he decided to go home instead of staying over at your place like usual. It was then you conceded defeat.

Yes, he was worried about your health and safety, as both a doctor and a boyfriend. But he didn’t have to be so right…

In the end, you guys come to a compromise. You’ll get a normal amount of sleep, and he’ll lay off scolding you. Fights with Zayne aren’t without valid reasons. But, you guys always end up talking it out in the end.

Oh boy. Fights with Rafayel? Explosive. They’re mostly because of his flirty nature and the fact he can’t seem to take anything seriously. As a Hunter protecting Linkon City, you have to be steadfast and vigilant. Rafayel takes things by the moment with little thought or control, like a dumpster on fire. It gets worse when he brushes you off.

I think the fight wouldn’t officially start until you get back at him for being overly flirty with a patron. You decided to flirt with an art critic in front of him, fueling the fire for a later fight. The night continues with petty passes and glares across the room. When you get home, all hell breaks loose.

Screaming match, barely coherent, words that couldn’t be taken back. It’s a wonder you guys are still together. When you tear up and finally had enough, you grab your coat to leave when he grabs you by your shirt and yanks you in for a smoldering kiss.

Makeup sex ensues. Clothes are practically burned off as you vent out your frustrations through each others bodies. In the morning your both groggy, but have a clearer head than last night, able to talk things through more effectively. He loves you and you love him— your love can be too fiery for your own good. But that doesn’t mean you don’t try to work through it.

Fighting with Xavier can be hard because he genuinely doesn’t understand why you’re so mad at him. Yes, he disappeared for a week without telling you, but he was hunting Wanderers. Isn’t that such a noble cause that it negates the fact you were mad at him in the first place? Turns out no, because you want to be communicated with and not scared half to death when you don’t hear from him for a week.

It’s hard to stay mad at him, but you have to stay strong. If this relationship was going to work, he needed to communicate with you. You laid down your boundaries now it was his turn to understand and accept. But until then, silent treatment.

Xavier would end up at your door looking like a kicked puppy. It had been four days into the silent treatment— how did he like that? Not being communicated with, pacing back and forth wondering if your partner was safe? It wasn’t fun, huh? He would apologize, admitting he was wrong for disappearing while desperately waiting for a long needed hug from his significant other. You give it to him, happy he understood your feelings.

Perhaps you could have handled things better, but you’re learning. Xavier’s learning too! You just have to explain it to him in a way he’ll understand.

#☀️l&ds #⭐️l&ds #love & deepsace x reader #rafayel x reader #xavier x reader #zayne x reader

169 notes · View notes

strawberrymochin · 3 days

Text

Sukuna's obsession with you would be so obnoxious that you would be regretting your life decisions.

He sees you for the first time after he's done battling (killing) some random sorcerers for fun, roaming around bloodthirsty for next target.

You were on your way back home from the late night shift from your work. That's when you noticed him. Blood dripping out from a small cut on his right cheek was what drew your attention, walking straight up to him, offering him a bandaid insisting he's hurt.

Sukuna initially planned to kill you but before he could act upon his devious intentions, you were there babbling on how he should treat his cut right away or it would result in infections and so and so.

He stilled, watching your every move skeptically.

If it were some other person, he or she would have given a damn run to Olympics for their life, though it would turn out useless as one swift motion of his finger would slice once's body similar to a piece of fruit.

You, however, seemed to have no such care. "Your tattoos are cute! Where did you get them done?"

Sukuna didn't answer. He just kept staring at you. Feeling awkward you excuse yourself, forgetting about this incident the next day.

And that's how you got yourself kidnapped the second time he sees you when you went out to run errands, humming to yourself scanning a box of strawberries.

He would try several methods to impress you. And one of those several methods includes treating you good food and that's how a freshly prepped human hand by uraume was served to you.

"do I seem like a cannibal to you?" You ask frustrated. First of all you didn't get to watch your favourite Netflix series you planned to watch after running errands that day. And now that he did kidnapped you at least he could treat you with some hospitality.

"you don't like it? humans have peculiar taste buds! You could give it a try though it's good...." Says sukuna in a monotonous voice. Uraume nods at his words.

"are you really king of curses or so? I thought that was just a mere myth—" the hand uraume served to you slit into two pieces as he gestured his finger in a certain way, making you gulp "it's not a myth I understand." Better not to agitate him much you never know when you end up like that hand on his plate. Shivers ran down your spine on this thought.

"what do you humans prefer to eat then?" He asks, dragging your plate to him, munching on one finger.

"ahh— umm...normal staple food would be enough...."

"mhmm kk"

"btw, if you don't mind can I ask you a question?"

"go ahead..."

"whose hand is that?"

"oh it's the guy you were talking to in that store."

"......"

Later that evening a box of strawberries was delivered to you by uraume, saying sukuna wanted you to have those. You thank her awkwardly.

The king of curses is kinda cute, you thought, even though not being able to shrug off the thought of the staff guy you consulted with in the store being dead because of — nvm.

You do regret your life decisions, but maybe not too much.

Though sukuna would never accept that he's heads over heels for you, uraume and others could sense the subtle change in his behaviour around you.

Considering he himself brought those strawberries for you.

A/n- sukuna in his vessel mode; I don't know what the heck I wrote...

273 notes · View notes

cowboylikelyric · 2 days

Text

too much wine

Summary: Camilla and Fallon's girls night takes a steamy turn as they discuss relationships and desires over wine. With Camilla's guidance, Fallon explores her attraction to women, leading to a passionate encounter witnessed by Camilla's fiancé, Harry. Their night of passion brings them closer together, blurring boundaries and igniting newfound desires.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, threesome, degradation, spanking, daddy kink, voyeurism

A/N: hi guys! this is my first time posting one of my oneshots EVER! so please be kind and if you don't like it, don't read it! please let me know your thoughts!

---

Camilla had too much wine. She knew it for a fact. She also knew that Fallon had far too much wine.

Tonight was girls night, so Harry had been booted out of the house while Cami and Fallon had their glasses of wine, watched Jeopardy, and gossiped. Tonight was white wine with a side of sex talk.

“You’ve just gotta guide them. If he can’t eat you out now, he’ll never be able to eat you out if you don’t teach him.” She took a sip of her wine. “Talking Harry through it worked like a charm. He's a pro now.”

When she and Harry had first gotten together in college, he was a little… rusty. But he was always really good at taking constructive criticism and applying. Now she was getting what she wanted when she wanted and they were both in this so-called heaven.

“Ugh, I guess.” Fallon fell back on the couch, almost spilling her wine. “It’s so conflicting because Cody’s such a wonderful guy, he just gets so lost and it's frustrating.”

“Like i said, you gotta be a teacher.” Camilla nudges Fallon's shoulder, “Miss. Parker.” They both giggle and focus back to Jeopardy.

On the show, they read, “The chapstick Katy Perry tastes in her single, I Kissed A Girl.”

Fallon shouts, “What is cherry?!” Eventually, one of the players on the show also answers, earning 300 points. She sighs. “Maybe I should just switch directions.”

Cami's head spins, “What?”

“Ya know, tryout for the other team.” Fallon shrugs.

“Yeah, I got it. but, I mean… are you serious?” Camilla wasn’t being judgmental at all, she had dipped her toes before. College was the time for experimenting and things of that nature, so she took the opportunities presented.

“It wouldn’t hurt, woman anatomy and all that.” Camilla raises her brow at fallon. She huffs. “I’m just saying the a womans gonna know how to eat me out for gods fucking sakes.”

Camilla was stunned at the frustrated girl sitting in front of her. But then their eyes met, and suddenly Cami understood. They had way too much wine. Definitely.

Cam shifted towards Fallon, resting her hand on her thigh over her flannel pj shorts. “Take a deep breath.” She rubbed her hand up and down. “So frustrated.” She taunted and felt as Fallon shivered. Camilla traced her finger up the inside of her thigh.

“Cam…” Fallon whispers.

“this is what you want, yeah?” Fallon nods her head insistently, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Cody hasn’t been doing his job, has he?” She shakes her head. but something flashes in Fallon's eyes and she grabs her wrist.

“Harry,” is all Fallon can mutter.

Camilla was confident this wouldn’t bother Harry. They weren’t insecure in their sex lives together. They had been engaged for almost a year, but still loved to wade in the water of others. And Harry loved it. But the thing he loved the most was seeing the girl he loved being absolutely devoured with pleasure. So nothing about this situation scared her. She would tell him as soon as he got home and he would get that dark look in his eyes and take her to their bedroom. The only thing they didn’t do with others was kiss them. That was something only for them.

“Shh, it's okay.” Camilla lowered to her knees in front of the couch. “Now how about I get to my job?”

She lifted Fallon's shirt and kissed down her soft stomach and the hem of her shorts. Fallon’s breath trembles the closer she gets.

Camilla dips her fingers underneath the waistband of both her shorts and her panties. She brought them down just a touch before kissing her way down to the apex of her thighs.

Fallon took in the sight of absolute hunger on Camilla’s face while Camilla couldn’t stop admiring Fallon's pretty pussy. Cam brought her finger forward and swiped it down through the bits of hair on her pubic bone to the wetness of her eager cunt.

“Please.” Fallon whimpered.

“Please what?” Camilla hummed.

“Please, need you.” Fallon thrust her hips forward needily, just begging for the touch of Camilla. That was all Cam needed to dive forward and plant her mouth on Fallon's pussy.

Fallon squeezed her eyes shut and let out a shaky moan as she kitten licked at her arousal. Camilla wrapped her lips and tongue around her clit, sucking at it before flicking her tongue.

“Mmm, so sweet, Fal.” Cam tucked herself in further, using her tongue to fuck Fallon’s cunt and her nose to nudge at her clit. “How could Cody not devour something that tastes so good.”

“Fuck” Fallon ran her fingers through Camilla’s hair, tugging at it. Cam groaned into her pussy, sending vibrations through her. “More, please.” She begged.

Cami pulled herself away, “You want my fingers?” She nodded feverishly. “Maybe if you were this mouthy with Cody, he’d give you what you want.” But still, Camilla ran her fingers through her arousal and fed her one finger.

“Holy shit,'' Fallon keels over, her chin to her chest. Her head feels like it's spinning with the way Camilla precisely tongues at her versus the way Cody blindly dips in.

While Camilla only buried herself deeper, Fallon heard the click of the apartment door and looked up to see Harry entering the living room. She let out an involuntary gasp as Camilla teethed at her clit, completely unaware of her fiancé’s entrance.

Harry felt a desire bubble in his abdomen at the sight in front of him. He leant against the doorway to the living room, keeping eye contact with Fallon, a stoic look on his face.

Camilla had no idea of his entrance, and if she did, she had no plan of stopping. As she added another finger, her stamina had Harry stiffening in his pants and biting the inside of his cheek.

Fallon’s abs clenched as she felt herself tiptoe to the edge of her orgasm, especially being watched over by Harry. She lifted her finger tips to her tits, kneading them while also grinding her cunt into camis face.

“Oh, just like that,” Fallon pushed her face against her, “Fuck”

“Come for me” Camilla mutters against her pussy, shaking her from side to side, her nose nudging her clit even more.

Fallon started to see white as her orgasm took over her entire body. For the first time since Harry walked in, Fallon took her sights off Harry and closed her eyes in pleasure.

As Fallon slowly came down from her high, Camilla pulled her head away from her pussy, chin dripping in her juices. Harry felt himself twitch in his pants at the pure desire in her eyes.

Suddenly, Harry began a slow clap and watched as Cami finally realized his presence, previously drowning in her work.

“Hi baby” Camilla says to Harry, with a sickening smile, arousal still dripping from her face. Harry slowly inched forward, approaching Cam.

“Hello, darling” Harry grabs her face, pulling it upward and off her knees, onto her feet in front of him. “Have fun with girls night?” Harry starts licking Fallon's cum off Cami’s face, making Fallon shiver as she watches.

“Mm yeah” Camilla hums, “loads”

He pulls away from her face “Have a sweet treat?” He caresses the side of her face, running his fingers through Camilla's hair. She nods.

“Was real tasty” She leans up on her tiptoes and smashes her lips against his, both of them acting as if Fallon was not even in the room.

He hums on her lips, pulling away. “Can taste it on your tongue,” He grabs her chin forcefully, making Camilla look at him. “Was she good for you?”

Camilla smirks then looks at Fallon “The best.”

Fallon starts breathing heavily as they stare at her.

Camilla nods to Fallon, “You gonna show him how much of a good girl you are?” Fallon bites her lip, slowly nodding.

“Go on,” Harry says to Fallon, “Touch yourself for me”

Harry and Cami held each other as they watched Fallon slide a hand down her body, slowly making it to her soaked folds. Cami got on her tiptoes again and began to kiss and nip at Harry's neck as he watched Fallon.

“Gimme a peek,” Harry said and fallon slid two fingers between her lips, spreading them for Harry to see. “Mmm,” he hummed, “Such a pretty pussy baby.” He grabbed Camilla’s hips tight as she continued to kiss his neck. He turned to Camilla, “You just can't wait, can you, baby?”

Cam shook her head, “No,” She leaned up and bit his bottom lip, “Need you now. Fallon got me so wet.”

Harry shook his head, feigning disappointment, “Such a needy slut.” He pushed his hand past the waistband of her pants, beginning to rub her clit over her panties.

He looked back to Fallon, nodding her on. “Touch yourself while I touch Camilla.” Harry watched as Fallon ran her fingers up and down her folds. Fallon had never been more aroused in her life, she was practically dripping onto the couch.

Camilla moaned into Harry's ear, Harry's cock twitching behind his zipper. While he watched Fallon, he blindly tugged at Camillas' pants. She kicked them down her legs, and Harry turned his attention back to Camilla.

Smashing his lips against hers, he brought his fingers to her sopping pussy, dragging them up and down her folds.

“Want my fingers baby?” Harry asked. Cami was quick with a high pitched ‘mhm,’ already grinding against his hand.

Slowly, he fed one finger into her cunt, fucking it in and out. Then he peered over to see Fallon mimicking his actions on herself.

“Look at you,” Harry mocked, “so pathetic and needy” That didn’t even come close to stopping Fallon, in fact, it made her go faster.

Camilla was a mess at the way he was speaking to her and Fallon. She was begging for more from him.

“Want me to fuck you?” Harry taunted Camilla. She nodded feverishly. “Course you do, you little slut.”

Harry brought them both down to the floor as Fallon continued to fuck herself. He popped the button to his jeans open and ripped his shirt off over his head. Camilla dragged her nails down his abdomen, Harry letting out a moan at the pain.

Fallon was turned on beyond belief, watching how in tune the couple was with each other.

Harry pulled himself from his briefs, sighing in relief. Fallon's eyes widened at the size of his cock, not believing her eyes.

He gave himself a few strokes as Camilla removed her shirt and showcased her tits, pushing them together, accentuating their fullness.

“Fuck, darling,” Harry moans and Fallon watches as his fist tightens around his dick. Camilla reaches down to rub her clit at the sight of her fiance, melting at her fingertips.

“Please” Cam whimpers, pulling at Harry's hips, trying to get him closer.

Harry turns to fallon who is writhing on the couch. “Gonna watch me fuck Camilla?”

“Yes, yes!” Fallon bent her knees and placed her feet flat on the couch, giving him a better view.

“Good girl” He turned back to Camilla, swiping his cock up and down her pussy, his tip circling her clit. “Ready for me to stretch this pussy baby?” He whispered.

“Mhm” Camilla hummed, looking up at him with this look that made Fallon's stomach turn.

Harry slowly inched his cock inside of her, Camilla moaning at the stretch, Harry moaning at the hug of her cunt.

“Ooh, shit,” Camilla wrapped her legs around Harry's waist and arms around his back, his cock reaching deeper.

“So wet,” He pulled his hips back, slamming his cock back into her. “Who got you this wet?”

Camilla got this smirk on her face before she answered, “Fallon”

This made Fallon gasp, throwing her head back and squeezing her eyes shut, that is until she hears Harry say “Open your fucking eyes, Fallon”

When Fallon opened her eyes, Harry wasn’t even paying attention to her, but she obeyed his wish.

“Fallon got you this wet?” Harry wrapped his hand around Camilla's throat.

“Ye- yes” She could barely spit out the word between moans. Harry presses his thumb against her clit, halting his hips from their thrusts.

“Then why isn’t she fucking you right now?” Camilla whined at the loss, clawing at his biceps.

“Harry…” She begged.

“If you want me to fuck you then tell me the truth.” Camilla squirmed at the pressure he had on her clit, no longer being able to take it.

“You! You did!” Harry smirked at her confession, looking over at Fallon as he continued to pound into Camilla.

“Damn right I did.'' Harry leaned down to take Camilla's nipples in his mouth giving them equal attention, all while holding eye contact with Fallon.

Fallon was falling apart, her legs trembling at the energy in the room and the punch of her fingers to her g-spot. She wasn’t worried about what her and Camilla's friendship would look like after this, all she could comprehend was the metaphorical mountain she was climbing to her high.

Harry pulls out of Camilla, flipping her around and slapping her ass before entering her from behind.

“God, I love this pussy” Harry had a strong hold on her hips, his balls tapping her ass as he pounded into her. “‘s all mine, isn't it? All mine to fuck and use.”

“Yes, all yours, Harry” Fallon watched as Camilla drooled onto the floor as she backed her ass onto him.

“Who?” Harry spanked her.

Camilla moaned, “You,” He spanked her again, “Daddy”

That sent Fallon over the edge, screaming as she clenched around her fingers.

Harry's head snapped to her, his brows furrowed. “Did I say you could come?”

“N-no” Her thighs shook, abs clenching as she rode through her high.

Harry shook his head as he quickly pulled out of Camilla again, Camilla rubbing her clit to ease the emptiness. Harry stalked over toFfallon, grabbing her face as he stood in front of her. He grabbed his cock, still sticky with his and Camilla's arousal, slapping Fallon's cheek with it. He pushes his tip against her lips.

“Suck it, slut” Fallon wrapped her lips around his tip while Harry held his cock at the base. She sucked lightly, making Harry groan. With his opposite hand, he threaded his fingers into her hair and slowly pushed her further.

“He really likes when you take him to your throat, Fal,” Camilla commented as she pushed a finger in her entrance, “Then you swallow around him”

And so Fallon did. She followed the push of his hand on the back of her head until his cock poked at the back of her throat.

“Just like that, fuck-“ Harry moaned as Fallon gagged around him. His jaw dropped to his chest, abs clenching, before he pulled his dick from her mouth, a strand of spit connecting the two.

Harry returned to Camilla, admiring the sight if her grabbing at her tits and fucking her fingers.

“There's my pretty baby” He grabbed her face and smashed his lips against hers. she took his cock and pressed it against her opening, letting him push back into her.

Harry felt how Camilla immediately clenched around him as he pushed into her.

“You gonna cum, baby?” He pounded into her faster than before, her nails digging into the muscles of his back.

“Yes daddy!” She shouted “Please don’t stop, please.” She lifted her hips to meet his every thrust.

“Let go, baby,” Harry whispered as he lifted her calf to his shoulder, “Give it to me”

Camilla felt the tingle in her spine explode as Harry slipped even deeper than before. She clenched around his cock and threw her head back, Harry quickly laying his hand between her head and the wooden floor.

Harry's thrusts started to lose rhythm, pleasure starting to cloud his brain.

“Cum in me, daddy,” Camilla whimpered, “Please”

Harry lost it, growling, “Fuck, gonna give you my cum, baby.” His legs trembled as he shot ropes of cum into her pussy. “Take it, take it all.” He moaned beside her ear, burying his head in her neck.

Fallon’s heart was beating fast as she watched him unravel in front of her, wondering how the hell she was gonna fuck Cody after this.

Everyone sat quietly in the living room, aside from the deep breaths as everyone settled from their orgasms.

Harry starts to chuckle into Cami's neck as they all sit quiet.

“You guys should invite me to girls night more often”

157 notes · View notes