#Last night's pan is on the stove | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

screampied · 11 months ago

Note

plz write a domestic toji fic

៹ content tags. ៹ fem! reader, pure fluff, house husband toji, reader is pregnant, toji attempting to cook, petnames.

wc. 1.8k

toji quirks an arched brow in frustration. with a concise glance at his broken watch you bought him for his thirtieth birthday, it reads three am. sighing, the back of his wrist smears a sheet of sweat off his forehead as he gets a good sniff of the cuisine. like always, he stayed up all night, watching those random cooking mom videos on youtube. trying so hard to mimic their recipes and methods but failing anyway. “tch. fuckin’ shit,” he grumbles under his breath, covered in nothing but flour. the sizzling of the pan was quite loud. the smoke detector went off at least four times. he was wearing another thing you bought him. an apron that had the words of ‘kiss the cook’ imprinted near the front in bedazzled little sparkles. “why does it keep stickin’ to the pan.”

as his annoyance grows, he hears familiar little footsteps approach the linoleum kitchen floor. it’s you, his shoulders lower and his mood softens at the sight of you in comfy silk pajamas and a grouchy expression. “toji? ‘s like three in the morning,” and as you take a whiff of the air, you furrow your own two brows. “are you . . cooking?”

“yeah yeah,” he gruffly grouses, going back to whisking the flour. “go back ‘ta bed, baby. almost done. ‘m jus’ practicing.”

“at three am,” you deadpan, a hand rubbing against your plump growing tummy.

so cute, you were a few weeks pregnant yet everything was moving at such an rapid speed. with the way your body was changing so quick, he could barely keep up. toji hears the sass in your tone as you speak and he knows good and well he should be back in bed with you. you wondered why the left side of the mattress felt empty. you waddle over beside him, hugging him from behind. his bulging muscles rub against you and you let off a playful little whine. “tooooji, you need sleep. come back to bed.”

“princessss,” he plays along with a fake pout, his entire hands covered with piles and piles of doughy flour mix. “but ‘m makin’ breakfast for us two,” and with a brief notion of turning the fire down a bit, he utters last minute. “er— three.” and you smile at him not forgetting to include your unborn child.

toji never cooks, it’s always been just you.

it’s not like he was incapable or anything. he’s always found a liking to watching you cook though.

you always prepared him the best of meals, so good that it had his mouth watering, licking the tips of his tongue in sweet sweet relish.

right before you’d got pregnant, you’d pack him the most divine lunches for work, always with such loving care. you’d never forget to leave him a little adoring note or two, wishing him the best of shifts. so the moment you ended up getting knocked up, he wanted to try.

try to do better,

for you.

sacrificing his sleep wasn’t really an issue—he didn’t mind if it wasn’t for you and his unborn baby. and if toji had to learn how to cook simple meals, he’d do that.. despite the struggle it was.

giggling, you stretch your arms over his torso.

“toji . . making pancakes is easy,” you hum, and his muscles relaxes from your gentle touch.

he’s missed you dearly, even though he was only out of bed for at least a good hour now. hearing him swear vulgar curses underneath his breath at messing up the instructions was quite near adorable. peering at the mess in front of you, you take the cerulean blue mixing bowl from him. “you could’ve woke me up if you needed help, you know.”

“i know,” he grumbles, his voice softening a bit.

you pause—toji’s body language seems a bit different. it shifts. he looks a bit ashamed.

once toji turns off the stove, he deeply sighs. “i just wanted ‘ta learn how to cook for us— you know, like as a family. so when the baby’s here, i’ll uh- be prepared. don’t want ya to be doin’ everything, darlin’. y’er gonna be limited to do lots of stuff soon ‘n i jus’ wanna help out a bit more.”

with a smile, you stroke a thumb against your husband’s chin, right near his little scar. “awww,” and there’s an immediate embarrassed scowl stretching against his thin lips.

toji wanting to try more for you made your heart swarm up with a variety schools of butterflies. it flutters and flaps as he spoke. speaking in a soft tone, a thumb swipes a few remnants of flour near the crevices of his lip. “you’re sweet, toji. but i don’t want you stressing out over cooking. ‘s okay, besidessss we can always do it together.”

“eh,” his eye twitches at your smug growing grin. “that’s… not what i meant, mama.”

“don’t eh me. yeah it is, you want me to teach you how to cook like me,” you simper, planting a kiss against the back of his arm. “you wanna learn how to be a househusband?”

toji groans, turning to face you. verdant eyes leer at you for a long time—but he could never stay too vexed at you, you were so adorable, especially whenever you were this enthusiastic.

“that’s not the term i’d use for myself, but i guess,” and he wipes a few pounds of flour off his apron. “don’t worry ‘bout the mess. i’ll clean that up too.”

“i like this new toji.” you tease, leaning up close to press a wet kiss against his temple.

toji buries his hands in his pockets, staring off to the side and trying to ignore the incoming flush setting against his skin.

oh, you had him weak,

weak everywhere—weak in the knees.

he was feeling himself getting soft as the seconds pass. toji couldn’t lie, he was starting to like this new side of his too. he’d never in a million years admit it though. “baby please,” he grunts, switching the sink on to wash his hands. as the water screams out of the faucet, he lathers everywhere with soap before grumbling. “been watchin’ so many of those damn mom vlogs of cooking. was so annoying, wanted to pull my hair out.”

“you could have just asked me for help, silly,” and your arms securely wrap around his beefy body once more. toji’s frame was a lot more broad and built compared to you. he sucks his teeth, leaning into your touch before staring at the kitchen counter. “okay, good. you have all the ingredients . . eggs, flour, milk, umm sugar..”

and as your words continue and you observe his unkempt handiwork, toji clears his throat. “i gave up once the things kept stickin’ to the skillet.”

you let off a pretty laugh that makes his ears twitch. “welllll that’s probably because you didn’t add enough oil or butter to the pan,” and he watches as you grab a nearby stick of butter. you cut near the end part it with a butter knife before spreading it on the middle of the pan.

toji cutely stays quiet, staring intently and taking in everything you’re doing. he’s attentive, he doesn’t wanna miss anything because he’d soon be doing this for you and his soon-to-be baby.

after a few long seconds, you turn on the stove and it starts to sizzle again. “okay, so you mixed the batter, that’s good. now all you have to do is just pour a good amount into the pan and flip it once it’s a brownish color.”

“ehhhh.”

“toji, you wanted to cook so you’re gonna cook.”

“yes ma’am.” he sighs, his tone playful.

some minutes pass before you both finally finish making a fresh, scrumptious batch of pancakes. with your arms wrapped around him, you showed him all the steps slowly. you were patient with toji, helping him pour the batter and mix it. every time he messes up, you’d kiss the edge of his arm, reminding him that he can just try again. he calms down after a while, and you step away to watch him make a pancake of his own. he flips it over, and he has a sly grin—glancing back toward you, hoping you caught that. you did, giving him an encouraging smile before showering him with praise.

it was almost four am and toji was desperately trying to stay awake—you could tell he was struggling to keep his eyes open with how he’s swaying a bit. turning off the stove for the nth time, you set the steaming hot spatula aside before looking in toji’s direction. “we can always eat them when we wake up.”

“we?” he grumbles, combing a hand through his messy strands, giving it a solid scratch.

“yes, we,” and you wrap the heated pancakes with plastic wrap, tucking the undersides of the plate with the material before putting it in the microwave to preserve heat. you then grab onto toji’s hand. “we’re going back to bed.”

with a sigh, he knew he wasn’t gonna win this little spat. toji squeezes your hand back, yet before the two of you could go back into bed, he bends down.

raising your brow, toji gets on his knees before bringing a chaste kiss toward your tummy. “hey little one,” he whispers, rubbing a palm gingerly against the front of your stomach. dark, tired eyes meet yours and he bedaubs a thumb near your the print of your navel poking through your his oversized t-shirt. the cold, frigid texture of toji’s fingertips almost tickles. as he softly runs a finger down the center of your growing belly bump, a bit of flour gets against your clothes. “how are my girls? any cramps or pain i should know about?

girls,

the gender was still too early to determine but toji always pondered about how it might be a girl.

“n- no,” you breathe, moving a few raven strands of hair out of his face. everything felt different, it was as if you were walking with volumes of water stored within you. toji’s always been supportive during your pregnancy, he was trying. he stands up again before kissing the crown of your head. “you still think ‘s a girl?”

“kinda, yeah,” he utters, and a strong arm slings around your shoulders.

toji guides you to bed, not minding your cute slow waddle of a walk. “up we go, c’mon,” and he helps you up the steps, lowly chuckling into your neck at your adorable state. toji was always patient, the moment you finally reach the bed, he pulls down the fat cover so you could climb in. “…. thank you baby.”

“for what?” you slump against the cushioned sheets, slipping off your baby blue socks. toji crawls in beside you, leaning in to switch off the lamp. he still had a bit of flour on his face—and he spots you swiping some of it off with your thumb.

toji groans, acting as if the next incoming sentence was gonna kill him.

“for . . teachin’ me how ‘ta be a good househusband,” he pouts, giving you a quick kiss on the lips. “i love you.”

“i love you too toji.”

“i love ya more,” and he lowers his neck to kiss the middle of your stomach. “oh, ‘n papa loves you also, little one. love my girls so much.”

#★vegasbaby.#toji x reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x y/n #toji fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you

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surielstea · 5 months ago

Text

A Warriors Heart

Based on a request.

Pairing: Virgin!Azriel x Virgin!Reader

Summary: Azriel and Reader have been mated for a long time but have yet to act on it. What happens when alone in a house together?

A.Note: Sooo the original request asked for an Experienced!Reader but I was struggling writing a dynamic like that so here’s this, hopefully it’s okay. Also, Rhys and Reader are half-siblings!

6.2k word count.

The house was silent. A rare occurrence. Even when the three Illyrians weren't crowding it with their banter and heavy footsteps, Rhysand's mother's soft humming usually drifted from the kitchen, accompanied by the clatter of pots and pans. That noise, that life, filled every corner of our home, like a heartbeat.

But tonight, the silence felt heavier. My brother and Cassian were away on an overnight expedition to another war camp, and Rhysand's mother had been summoned to the Night Court by my father. It was just Azriel and me. Alone.

I had known Azriel was my mate since I was eight years old, the bond threading between us as easily as a ribbon slipping through fingers. I had accidentally accepted it when I was fifteen, too young to understand the weight of what I'd done. We'd made a pact soon after, two awkward teenagers fumbling to make sense of the unshakable connection between us. Friends could be soulmates, we told ourselves. We swore to keep the bond platonic, to navigate it without letting it define us.

But no matter how much I tried to ignore it, the bond shimmered between us like sunlight on a blade, sharp and undeniable. Azriel's protective nature—his tendency to linger closer than necessary, to bristle when someone dared flirt with me—had always been my undoing. And while he could command a room with a single glance, I had no doubt he saw me as nothing more than the sister of his closest friend.

It was why I'd spent the last seven years pulling away, trying to temper the ache that came from unrequited feelings. Even now, with all the years and distance between us, I didn't know how to act when it was just the two of us.

I didn't hear his footsteps. I never did. But his voice, soft and steady, broke the silence as I stirred the stew on the stove.

"Smells good."

I jumped, whirling to find Azriel leaning casually against the doorway, his hazel eyes glinting with quiet amusement.

"Gods," I exhaled, clutching the wooden spoon to my chest like a lifeline. "You have to stop sneaking up on me."

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, a rare, fleeting thing that made my heart skip. "Can't help it," he replied, shrugging one broad shoulder. "Your reaction is worth it every time."

I rolled my eyes and turned back to the stove, determined to ignore the warmth creeping up my neck.

Azriel moved closer, his steps silent, until I could feel the faint heat of him behind me. He leaned in, just enough for his breath to brush the back of my neck as he peered over my shoulder.

"Stop looming," I muttered, swatting at him half-heartedly with the spoon.

He pulled back with a low chuckle, the sound curling in my chest and settling there, stubborn and unrelenting.

As he retreated to the sitting room, I focused on the stew, determined not to let my racing heart betray me. But even with his back turned, I could feel him—his gaze like a tether, steady and unyielding.

I hummed a tune under my breath, one my mother always sang while cooking. The melody was soft and familiar, a distraction from the weight of the quiet house and the man watching me from across the room.

By the time I ladled the stew into bowls, the tension in my chest had coiled tight. I turned, the bowls in hand, and froze.

Azriel was leaning back on the couch, his legs stretched out before him, wings draped lazily over the sides of the cushions. But his eyes were locked on me, dark and burning, as though he could see straight through me.

"Ready," I murmured, more to break the silence than anything, nudging a drawer closed with my hip as I grabbed two sets of silverware.

I set the bowls on the table and slid into my chair, pretending not to notice the way Azriel settled into the seat beside me instead of the one across. The scent of him—night-chilled mist and cedar—washed over me, and I busied myself arranging the utensils just to keep my hands from shaking.

He started eating without a word, and I followed suit, though each bite felt like a struggle under the weight of his presence.

It was almost odd watching him eat food I made, so reminiscent of how mates accept the bond. Even if the tether between us was always at the back of my mind, nights like these brought them front and center as if laid out on the table in front of me.

"Thank you," he said after a few minutes, his voice low. Almost shy.

I glanced at him, startled. "It's no bother," I replied quickly, brushing off the gratitude. "I know you've been training all day. You needed it."

Azriel tilted his head, studying me with a look that made my stomach flip. For a moment, I thought he might argue, but he only nodded and returned to his meal.

"I'll make you breakfast in the morning," he said finally, the promise simple but weighted.

I blinked at him, a small smile tugging at my lips despite myself. "Deal."

We ate in silence after that, though it wasn't uncomfortable. The sound of silverware against bowls filled the space, grounding us. But I couldn't ignore the way his gaze kept flicking toward me like he was holding back something he didn't know how to say.

Finally, I set my spoon down and looked at him directly. "What?"

His lips curved into a faint smirk, the kind that always made my pulse stutter. "Nothing."

"Az," I warned, dragging his name out like a thread.

His smirk deepened, but his eyes softened, the light in them catching like a spark in the dim kitchen. "I missed this. Just the two of us."

Heat crawled up my neck. "Is it so different than when Rhys and Cass are here?"

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "You tell me." He smirks. "You don't usually stare at me so much when they're around."

The words struck something deep, a soft ache I hadn't realized was there. I looked away, focusing on my bowl. "Maybe you just haven't been paying attention."

His wings shifted slightly, a rustle of leather against wood. "I always pay attention." The quiet conviction in his voice made me pause, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. "You seem so busy avoiding me that you don't realize how often I'm watching you."

I dared a glance at him, and the way he was looking at me—like I was something worth watching, worth knowing—stole the breath from my lungs. "Now you just sound obsessed with me," I replied, attempting to keep my tone light.

"And if I am?"

I quickly dropped my gaze, grabbing my spoon like it could anchor me. But the tension in the air didn't ease, and I knew—no matter how many years we'd spent pretending otherwise—that the bond was still there, pulling us closer with every passing moment. "Then I'd tell you to find someone else," I say, my pulse fluttering.

"No," he added casually, "you'd miss me if I wasn't here to keep you company."

I snorted, rolling my eyes to mask the sudden skipping in my chest. "You mean to annoy me, right?"

"Same thing." He grinned, his rare smile brightening his usually stoic face, dimples softening his features and making my stomach knot.

I shook my head, trying not to laugh as I resumed eating. "You're unbelievable."

"C'mon, admit it. You'd be so lonely in this house without me as entertainment." His voice was softer now, and when I glanced at him, his expression had shifted. The teasing was still there, but beneath it was something warm, something real.

I swallowed hard, the knot in my chest tightening again. "I hate to ruin your fantasy but you're not exactly a great source of entertainment."

"Do you want me to be?" he said, and the way his voice dipped sent a shiver down my spine.

We fell back into silence after that, but it wasn't the same quiet as before. This time, the air between us felt charged, every glance and shift of movement loaded with something unspoken.

As we finished our meal, Azriel leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he studied me. "So, what's for dessert?"

I scoffed at him. "Dessert?"

"Yes, dessert," he said, as though it were obvious. "You cooked dinner, so dessert is next. That's how it works, isn't it?"

I gave him a flat look. "You're awfully demanding for someone who just promised to make me breakfast."

"I like to think of it as balancing the scales," he replied smoothly. "Besides, I'm in the mood for something sweet."

The way he said it made my stomach flip, though I tried to keep my expression neutral. "Well, unless you're planning to bake something yourself, you're out of luck."

He sighed dramatically, resting his chin in his hand. "What a shame. Guess I'll have to settle for your company instead."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," I said, standing to clear the dishes, though I couldn't keep the grin off my face.

"Who said I was flattering you?" he called after me, his voice laced with amusement.

"You can clean up dinner then, I'm going to go read," I say with a taunting smile.

"So I can't have dessert or your company?" He argued as I began retreating down the hall.

"I'll be in my room if you need me, shadow singer."

"Yes, ma'am." But his tone was anything but obedient. I reached my door, and when I glanced back at him, his smirk was firmly in place, his gaze following me like one of his shadows. I entered my room and closed my door with a finalizing shut.

I leaned against the door, letting out a shaky breath. My chest felt tight, the warmth of Azriel's gaze still lingering on my skin. It was always like this with him—subtle, unspoken, charged. And yet, neither of us ever dared to cross that invisible line.

Until tonight, maybe.

The sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen echoed faintly through the house, proof that he had actually listened to me. I smirked to myself, shaking my head as I moved toward my bed.

I plucked my book from my nightstand, letting his gaze and words fizzle away, forcing myself to focus on the story in my hands.

It was hard not to think of him, he was technically a part of me after all. The tether between us was dusty and untouched, but somehow pulsing with life. I hadn't meant to, but I tugged on that bond, and the noise in the kitchen halted entirely.

Before I could weigh the fallout of my actions there was a knock on my door, soft and hesitant.

I slipped from the bed, still clutching my book just for something for my hands to do. I opened the door before I could second guess myself, revealing Azriel leaning against the frame of it. "You finished with the dishes already?" I say with a tilt of my head.

"No, I—you called me in here," He said with a crease in his brow.

"I didn't say anything?" I mutter.

"But you did, the bond," He attempts to explain and I cringe, hating to watch him fumble around this.

"I didn't mean to," I confess with a slight smile.

I stepped back instinctively, letting him into my room before the vulnerability of the moment could choke me. Azriel hesitated at the threshold, his broad frame nearly filling the doorway. His shadows coiled restlessly around his shoulders, mirroring the tension in his jaw. Finally, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

"You didn't mean to," he echoed, his voice low, almost disbelieving.

I shook my head, gripping the book tighter. "I've been doing well, haven't I? Not tugging on it? Not pulling you into something you didn't ask for?"

Azriel's gaze snapped to mine, sharp and unyielding. "Something I didn't ask for?" His wings shifted slightly, the leather whispering in the quiet. "You think I don't feel it, too? That I haven't felt it every day since I was sixteen?"

I blinked, his words striking me like a lightning bolt. He took a step closer, and the air between us charged, crackling with everything we'd been avoiding for years. "You think you're the only one pretending this doesn't exist? That it doesn't rip me apart every time I'm near you?"

The rawness in his tone stole the breath from my lungs. "Az... I didn't know. You—" I swallowed hard. "You've always seemed so controlled, indifferent to it."

He let out a low, humorless laugh, the sound cutting through the room. "Because I had to be. Because if I wasn't, I'd—" He stopped himself, dragging a hand through his dark hair. His wings flared slightly as if he was fighting the urge to pace. "You have no idea what you've done to me. And when you pulled on the bond just now, well it's a shock I can even find words despite the aching in my heart."

My heart thundered in my chest, the bond between us humming, alive and insistent. "Azriel," I murmured, barely able to meet his gaze. "I didn't mean to—"

"Stop apologizing," he interrupted, stepping closer again, his hazel eyes burning into mine. "Don't you understand? I want you to pull on it. I want to feel you. To be near you."

My lips parted, but no words came out. He was so close now, his heat wrapping around me like a second skin. The scent of him—cedar and night-chilled mist—was intoxicating, pulling me under, but I was far from drowning.

"I thought you wanted me to ignore it, and I tried my best," he continued, his voice quieter now, trembling with restraint. "But then you went out of your way to keep your distance. And it drove me insane. Do you know how hard it is to love who doesn't feel the same?"

My breath hitched, his confession settling over me like a second bond. "You—what?"

He smiled faintly, but there was no humor in it. "Don't make me say it again."

My knees felt weak, my grip on the book tightening to keep from falling. "I thought..." I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping me. "I thought you only tolerated me because of my brother."

Azriel's wings flared again, a sudden, restless movement. "Rhys has nothing to do with this. He never has."

I stared at him, my heart racing, my mind a whirlwind of confusion and hope. "Azriel," I whispered his name a prayer, a plea.

He reached for me then, his hand hesitating before brushing my cheek. His touch was warm, grounding, and the bond between us thrummed in response, a living thing that refused to be ignored.

"I'm done pretending," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. "If you don't want this that's fine, I'll distance myself. But if you do—"

I didn't let him finish. I dropped the book, my hands finding the soft material of his shirt as I yanked him closer, crashing my lips to his.

Azriel let out a surprised noise, a deep, guttural sound that sent heat pooling in my stomach. His wings flared wide, his shadows scattering as he kissed me back with a ferocity that stole my breath. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I melted into his warmth, into the strength of him.

I gasped when his lips left mine, trailing down my jaw to the sensitive spot just below my ear. "Just us," he whispered the words sacred, a vow.

"Us," I breathed, threading my fingers into his hair, tugging gently. "Always."

He lifted me then, his hands firm on my thighs as he carried me to the bed. He laid me down gently, his body pressing against mine as he kissed me again, slower this time, reverent.

My hands roamed over him, tracing the hard planes of his chest, the ridges of his muscles. He shuddered under my touch, his wings trembling as they curled protectively around us.

"I've never—" he murmured against my lips, his voice ragged as I cut him off.

"Neither have I," I whispered, arching into him. "I trust you, Az."

Something in his eyes softened at that, the love and need in them so intense it made my chest ache. Then he kissed me again, and there was no more room for words.

Just us. Just this.

We were a fumbling mess, equally awkward as we were clueless. But I wouldn't have changed anything about it. Because I finally had him, his lips were on mine and his hands held me.

I wrapped my arms around the back of his neck, pulling at the back of his shirt, yanking it up, needing my hands on his bare skin. He pulled away from the kiss to get it over his head, discarding it on my bedroom floor.

His body hovered over mine, his wings curling inward like a shelter, cocooning us in a space where only we existed. My hands roamed the expanse of his bare chest, marveling at the strength there, the warmth that radiated from him. His muscles tensed and relaxed under my touch, a shiver rippling through him as my fingers explored.

He dipped his head, brushing his lips over mine again, this kiss softer, slower. "Are you sure?" he murmured, his voice a low rasp against my mouth. The vulnerability in his hazel eyes made my chest ache.

I cupped his face, smoothing my thumbs over his sharp cheekbones. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life." My voice trembled, but it carried the weight of truth. "It's always been you, Az."

Something in him broke at my words. His forehead dropped to mine, his breath shuddering as he let out a soft laugh, tinged with disbelief. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."

"I think I've got some idea," I whispered, my hands slipping to the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair.

His lips found mine again, but this time, there was no hesitation, no restraint. His kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against mine as his hands began to explore, sliding down my sides, tentative but firm. Each touch sent a jolt of heat through me, my body arching into him instinctively.

When his hand skimmed under the hem of my nightgown, his fingers tracing the bare skin of my waist, I gasped against his lips. He stilled, pulling back just enough to meet my gaze. "Tell me if I—if you need me to stop," he said, his voice a strained whisper.

I shook my head, a soft smile tugging at my lips. "Don't stop. Please, Az."

He exhaled shakily, his hands more confident now as he lifted my nightgown. I helped him pull it off, and he paused to take me in, his gaze sweeping over me like a caress. "You're beautiful," he murmured, his voice filled with awe, as though he couldn't believe this moment was real. His fingers brushed over my collarbone, down to my ribs, and I trembled under his touch.

"You're allowed to touch me," I said softly, my cheeks warming under his intense gaze. "I want you to."

His shadows curled around my wrists, feather-light, as though they couldn't resist the temptation of me either. "You're, soft," he murmured, an uneasiness in his eyes that made me realize why he was so hesitant. I took his hand in mine, running my thumb over a scar.

"Touch me, Az." My voice was a breathless plea as I guided his scarred hand to my covered breast, craving the feel of him everywhere. His breath hitched, but the hesitation in his eyes melted away as his hands explored my sides, fingertips trailing heat over my waist. His thumbs brushed against the underside of my bra, and my breath faltered. He froze, his gaze meeting mine, searching for any sign of doubt.

When he found none, his lips tilted in a barely-there smile, reverence written across his features. He reached behind me, his fingers fumbling with the clasp, his brow furrowing in concentration. When the garment finally slipped free, I flushed, exposed under his gaze.

His wings trembled, his eyes darkening with barely restrained desire. "You're perfect," he whispered, the words soft, as though they were meant for no one but himself.

I swallowed, my heart thundering as I reached for him, pulling him down until our bodies met. The heat of his skin burned against mine, a delicious contrast that sent sparks through every nerve. His lips found my neck, pressing kisses along my skin that grew wetter and hotter as he made his way down. My head fell back as he trailed lower, his mouth closing over my breast.

A soft cry escaped me, my fingers tangling in his hair, tugging lightly. He froze, pulling back just enough to look at me, concern flickering across his features. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," I whispered, my voice shaky but insistent. "It—it feels good, Az."

Relief flooded his expression, and his lips curved into a small, teasing smirk. "Good," he murmured before returning to his task, his tongue flicking experimentally, his teeth grazing gently as he learned what made me gasp and arch into him.

My hands explored the expanse of his back, the muscles beneath his skin flexing and rippling under my touch. I dragged my fingers lower, to the base of his wings, earning a low groan from him that vibrated through my chest.

"You're sensitive there," I noted, a teasing lilt to my voice.

He let out a shaky laugh, his breath fanning across my skin. "You have no idea."

I grinned but left the spot alone for now, my hands sliding to his shoulders to pull him back up. Our lips met again, his tongue brushing against mine, tasting me, exploring me. His kiss was consuming, and I let myself sink into it, reveling in the way he took control, how he kissed as though he'd waited lifetimes for this.

I trailed my hands down his chest, my fingers mapping every ridge and dip of muscle until I reached the waistband of his pants. My hand slipped beneath the fabric, but his scarred fingers covered mine, halting my movements.

"Are you sure?" His voice was hoarse, his forehead pressed against mine, his breathing uneven.

"Yes," I murmured, one hand tugging gently on his hair to pull him closer. "I want all of you, Azriel. I've always wanted you."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, the vulnerability in his eyes stealing my breath. "It'll hurt," he warned softly, his voice laced with worry.

"I know," I said, cupping his cheek with one hand, my thumb brushing over the sharp line of his jaw. "But every time after this will be perfect," I added, a quiet promise in my voice.

His eyes softened, a flicker of something unspoken passing between us. He exhaled deeply, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Every time after this," he echoed, his tone laced with awe.

Still, his hand didn't release mine. "We have to get you ready first," he said, his voice gentler now, the determination in his gaze sending a thrill through me.

My face burned, but I nodded, moving my hand to his shoulder and digging my nails into his back as he slid my panties down my thighs. The cool air kissed my heated skin, but it was nothing compared to the intensity of his touch.

He started slow, his fingers sliding through my folds, teasing, testing. My hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more, but he gripped my thigh with his free hand, holding me in place.

"Azriel," I breathed, his name leaving my lips like a prayer.

"Here?" His voice was dark, teasing, as his thumb circled my clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through me.

"Yes—there," I gasped, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

I slapped a hand over my mouth, desperate to stifle the noises spilling from me, but his shadows coiled around my wrist, pulling my hand away and pinning it above my head.

"No, love," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "I'm done imagining what you sound like screaming my name." His breath ghosted over my skin as he pressed a kiss to my neck, finding the sensitive spot that made my body tremble. "Let me hear you," he uttered, his voice rough with desire.

A shaky exhale escaped me, and when he slipped a finger inside me, crossing a line that sent a burst of pleasure through my body, I did exactly as he'd imagined.

"Azriel," I moaned, my head tilting back into the pillows.

"That's my girl," he praised, the words making me clench around him.

His scarred fingers moved in a slow rhythm, in and out, each stroke deliberate, teasing. I could feel myself unraveling, the tension building in my core threatening to snap.

"I—I'm close," I whimpered, my voice barely audible.

"I know," he whispered against my neck, his teeth scraping over the sensitive skin.

His shadows tightened their hold, pinning me further into the mattress as he placed his thumb on my clit, circling it hard. His mouth returned to my breast, his tongue working in tandem with his fingers.

Pleasure surged through me, and I cried out his name again, my legs trembling as he pushed me closer to the edge.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice like velvet, thick with want. "Let go for me, love."

And I did.

The tension snapped, and I shattered beneath him, pleasure crashing over me in waves. My body arched into his touch, and his name spilled from my lips in a breathless chant. He slowed his movements, coaxing me through it, his lips pressing gentle kisses to my skin.

When I finally came down, my chest heaving, I opened my eyes to find him watching me, his expression raw, reverent.

"My girl," he murmured again, his voice thick with emotion.

I reached for him, pulling him down until his forehead pressed against mine. "Azriel," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I'm ready."

His jaw tightened, eyes flicking over me once more but he nodded. His eyes didn't leave mine as he removed his pants and everything beneath it.

He hovered above me, his chest rising and falling with measured breaths as he shed the last of his clothing. My gaze followed the lines of his body, drinking in the powerful, carved planes of him. Shadows danced across his golden skin, softening the hard edges, but nothing could diminish the raw, unyielding strength that he carried.

"I've waited for this," he said finally, his voice hoarse. "For you."

Emotion swelled in my chest, tangling with the heat that still coursed through me. I placed my hand over his, pressing his palm more firmly against my face. "Then take me, Azriel. I'm yours."

Something broke in him then, the raw vulnerability in his gaze giving way to a feral hunger. He lowered himself onto his elbows, caging me beneath him. His wings flared slightly, a protective shroud as his forehead pressed to mine.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, his voice softening as his lips brushed mine. "I'll stop if you ask me to."

I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. He kissed me then, slow and tender, as though sealing a promise.

When he positioned himself at my entrance, his gaze found mine again. His wings quivered as he asked one last, silent question. I answered by wrapping my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

The first press of him was exquisite—a stretch that burned but didn't break. My breath hitched, and Azriel froze, his hand gripping my hip as though anchoring himself.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice strained.

"Yes," I said, my hands finding the base of his wings, the sensitive area so soft beneath my touch. I stroked gently, hoping to soothe the tension coiling in his body. "Keep going."

He nodded, his jaw clenched as he eased into me, inch by torturous inch. My body adjusted to him, the burn fading into a fullness that made my breath catch. Azriel buried his face in the crook of my neck, his breath hot against my skin.

"Gods," he groaned, his voice breaking. "So fuckin' good."

I tightened my hold on him, my fingers slipping into his hair as I whispered, "Please, more."

He sunk in further, and once I was certain I couldn't take anymore he pushed in another inch. I moaned into his shoulder, relishing the burn of it, the pleasurable pain that sent me spiraling. Deeper, so deep. I lost words as he finally bottomed out, his hips meeting mine.

Tears shone in my eyes but I didn't tell him to stop, didn't want him to. It took me a moment to adjust, to so much as catch my breath. He lifted one of my legs up, shadows tethering it there, allowing the foreign stretch to lessen.

"Okay," I say shakily. "Mm, you can move." I nod, placing my hands on his shoulders.

He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, telling me he was here if I wanted him to stop. Then, he began to move, slow and steady, his hips rolling in a rhythm that built a delicious friction between us. Each thrust was deliberate, controlled, as though he was determined to make me feel every moment of my very insides molding to him, fitting around him and only him.

The pain faded entirely, replaced by waves of pleasure that built with every movement. I moaned his name, my nails digging into his back as he drove deeper, his wings trembling on either side of us.

"Look at me," he rasped, lifting his head. His eyes burned, molten with desire and something deeper, something that made my heart ache. "I want to see you."

I met his gaze, unable to look away as he moved inside me, his name spilling from my lips like a prayer. The connection between us deepened, an unspoken bond that seemed to tighten with every thrust, every shared breath.

Azriel's hips maintained their slow, deliberate rhythm, each thrust sending a delicious ripple of heat through my body. His wings trembled above us, shadows curling and twisting around my raised leg, holding me in place. The stretch still burned faintly, but it was a sweet ache, one that was quickly drowned out by the mounting pleasure.

“You're so tight," Azriel groaned, his voice hoarse, breaking on the words. His hand came up to cradle my cheek, his thumb brushing over my lips. "So perfect for me."

I whimpered, my chest heaving as I struggled to keep my eyes locked on his. It was hard—gods, it was so hard when he was staring at me like that, his hazel gaze molten, filled with a hunger that set me ablaze.

"Az," I breathed, his name a plea I didn't fully understand myself.

"What do you need, love?" he rasped, lowering his forehead to mine. His breath mingled with mine, his lips brushing against my mouth but never pressing fully. "Tell me. I'll give you anything."

I couldn't find the words, so I arched into him, my nails dragging down his back, the feeling of his muscles tensing beneath my hands enough to make me shiver. He groaned low in his throat, his hips stuttering before he caught himself, slowing once again.

"Careful," he murmured, his lips ghosting over my jaw. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You're not," I managed, my voice trembling as his next thrust hit something deeper, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through me. I gasped, my fingers tightening in his hair.

Azriel's smirk was dark, dangerous. "There?"

I nodded, unable to do much more than whimper as he shifted his angle slightly, rolling his hips in a way that made my entire body arch off the mattress. The pleasure was overwhelming, a slow, torturous build that had me teetering on the edge without ever quite falling over. "Faster," I begged, needing him to abuse the spot.

He did as told, quickening his pace, learning what made me gasp, what made my nails bite into his skin. His shadows curled around me, their cool touch a stark contrast to the heat of our bodies. They skimmed my sides, my thighs, whispering over my skin like a lover's caress.

"So beautiful," Azriel murmured, his voice filled with reverence. He dipped his head, his lips brushing over my collarbone, then lower, until his mouth closed over my breast yet again.

I cried out, my back arching as his tongue flicked over my sensitive peak. He lavished attention on me, his hand coming up to knead the other breast, his thumb teasing the hardened peak.

"Azriel," I moaned, my hands roaming over his back, his shoulders, desperate to anchor myself as he continued his slow, torturous rhythm.

"Say it again," he demanded, his voice rough as he nipped at the delicate skin of my chest.

"Azriel," I whimpered, my voice breaking on his name.

He groaned, his hips snapping harder against mine. The sudden force sent a shockwave through me, pleasure and pain twining together until I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

"Good girl," he murmured, his lips trailing back up to my neck, finding that sensitive spot beneath my ear that made me shiver. "You take me so well."

I couldn't respond, couldn't think past the way he filled me, the way his body moved against mine. My free leg tightened around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer.

Azriel's pace quickened further, just slightly, enough to make my breath catch. His wings flared, the powerful appendages framing us, blocking out the world until there was nothing but him.

"Gods," he groaned, his voice breaking as he buried himself deeper, his hands gripping my hips so tightly I was sure there would be bruises. "You're going to ruin me, love."

I cupped his face, bringing his lips to mine in a searing kiss. He kissed me harder, his movements growing more desperate.

His pace grew more erratic, his hips snapping into mine with an urgency that sent waves of pleasure crashing through me. His ministrations worked me mercilessly, every thrust pushing me higher until I felt like I might break apart entirely.

"Azriel," I gasped, my voice trembling as my nails raked down his back, desperate to ground myself against the storm building inside me.

His lips brushed my ear, his breath hot and uneven. "Let go, love," he rasped. "I've got you."

His words were my undoing. The coil inside me snapped, and I shattered, my body arching off the bed as the pleasure tore through me. I cried out his name, gripping his shoulders as the waves rippled over me, again and again.

"Fuck," Azriel groaned, his thrusts faltering as my body clenched tightly around him. I felt him tremble above me, his restraint slipping with every broken sound that left his lips.

Through the haze of pleasure, I reached for his wings, running my fingers along the sensitive ridges where they flared above us. His reaction was immediate—a sharp intake of breath, his entire body shuddering.

"Gods," he ground out, his head dropping to my shoulder as I stroked the base of his wings, teasing the place I knew would unravel him completely. His hips snapped forward, deeper this time, and the broken groan that spilled from him sent another thrill through me.

"Az," I whispered, pulling him closer, my lips brushing his ear. "Inside.."

His head shot up, his molten gaze locking with mine as he searched my face. His jaw clenched, his restraint hanging by a thread as he rasped, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I breathed, my fingers threading through his hair, pulling him down to me. "I want all of you, Azriel."

The last thread of his control snapped. With a low growl, he buried himself inside me to the hilt, his wings flaring wide as his release took him. His body tensed, a shuddering groan spilling from his lips as he gave me everything. I held him tightly, my hands stroking the base of his wings as he rode out his climax, his hips jerking with the aftershocks.

"Gods," he whispered hoarsely, his forehead pressing against mine as he struggled to catch his breath. "You're everything, love."

I smiled softly, brushing a strand of dark hair from his damp forehead. "And you're mine," I whispered, my voice steady despite the emotion swelling in my chest.

Azriel's lips found mine in a kiss so tender, so reverent, that it stole the breath from my lungs. He stayed inside me, his body pressed tightly to mine, as though he couldn't bear to let go just yet. And I didn't want him to.

Not now. Not ever.

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lalo0 · 10 days ago

Text

INSIDE AESPA EP. 5┃ A little more real

Male reader x Winter Word count: 6.8k Tags: squirting, sensory depravation, temperature play, dirty talk, teasing PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4

Ningning was still curled against me when the light started to change.

Just a thin stripe of gray through the curtains, but enough to make me realize how long we’d been lying there. Her breath had evened out, slower now, but her fingers were still resting over my ribs like she wasn’t ready to let go.

I wasn’t either.

I traced small shapes across her back—half-aware of the soreness in my arm, the ache in my hips, the smell of sweat and skin and sex still clinging to both of us. The sheets were damp. The room was quiet.

And Giselle was gone.

I didn’t hear her leave. But the door was closed.

Ningning shifted against my chest, mumbling something I didn’t catch. I pressed my lips to the crown of her head and whispered, “Go back to sleep.”

She didn’t. Just sighed and let herself go soft again.

It wasn’t awkward. Not yet. But the weight of everything we’d done last night was still hanging in the air. It was... complicated.

I wasn’t sure how long we stayed like that—wrapped up, still tangled in each other—but eventually Ningning stirred and whispered, “You’re warm.”

“You’re clingy.”

She smiled against my collarbone. “Not denying it.”

Her hand drifted down a few inches, fingers teasing along my stomach, and for a second I thought she was going to start something again. But then she stopped, let her hand settle.

"Guess it's morning," she murmured.

“Barely.”

She rolled onto her back, stretched, and winced. “Okay, maybe I overdid it.”

“You? Never.”

She looked at me, eyes still sleepy but sharp. “You should get cleaned up. You look like a crime scene.”

“Thanks.”

She laughed and threw the sheets off herself. Her body was marked in places—faint bruises, scratches, the ghost of red lines where restraints had been. She didn’t cover them. Just moved across the room with the casualness of someone who had nothing to prove.

I stayed in bed, watching her dress. Still naked. Still not sure what today was supposed to be.

When she was halfway through tying her hoodie around her waist, she glanced over her shoulder.

“You staying for breakfast?”

I hesitated. “Is that a thing here?”

“Depends on who’s cooking.”

“And who’s awake.”

She shrugged. “Come find out.”

Then she left.

I lay there for a minute after she left.

The room felt bigger without her in it. Too big. Too quiet. The sheets were still warm where her body had been, but the weight was gone. My body ached in good ways and bad. Muscles worn. Mind fuzzy. My neck still smelled like her perfume, and it hit in a way I wasn’t expecting.

This wasn’t regret.

But it wasn’t simple either.

I sat up, ran a hand through my hair, and took stock. Clothes scattered. Rope on the floor. One of the cuffs still clipped to the bedpost. A pair of panties halfway under the dresser—probably Ningning’s. I didn’t feel the urge to laugh. Just breathed.

It had been a night.

I got up and headed to the bathroom.

The mirror didn’t pull any punches. My hair was wrecked, lips still a little swollen, collarbone scratched. I turned the water on cold and splashed my face. It helped. Not much.

By the time I stepped out again, the house felt different.

Not quieter—just more awake. There was the faint sound of a cabinet shutting. A few distant footsteps. No voices. No music. But someone was up.

I followed the sound toward the kitchen and stopped just outside the doorway.

There she was.

Winter. Standing by the stove, back to me.

Hair tied up in a messy knot, wearing navy sweats and a cropped white hoodie with the sleeves pushed to her elbows. No socks. Just quiet movement, mug in hand, stirring something in a pan like she did it every day.

I blinked. Then I noticed the note on the fridge on the hallway.

“Company meeting. Left early. Winter wanted the place to herself. Don’t bother her. Eat something or I’ll make you.” — Ningning”

There was a little doodle next to the heart. A cat, maybe. Or a strawberry. I couldn’t tell.

I stayed in the hallway a bit longer than I needed to. Just watching. Listening.

Then I stepped inside.

She didn’t turn.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t act surprised that I was there.

I stopped near the doorway.

Winter lifted the pan and scooped scrambled eggs onto a plate like it was any other morning.

Then, without turning:

“Hungry?”

I hesitated. “Yeah. Kind of.”

She nodded once and reached for another plate.

She moved like she was alone.

No tension in her shoulders. No hesitation in her movements. Just a quiet rhythm to everything—lifting plates, sliding toast onto them, pouring coffee. Her hoodie rose a little when she reached for the mugs, revealing a sliver of skin above the waistband of her sweats. She didn’t tug it back down.

I stepped further into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. My body was still catching up to itself. The bruises. The weight of last night. The fact that I was still here.

She finally glanced at me, sliding one of the plates across the counter.

“Eat.”

It wasn’t a request.

“Thanks.”

We ate in silence for a few minutes. Nothing awkward about it. Just... space. She ate slowly, precisely, like every bite was thought out. Like she didn’t waste effort on anything she didn’t need.

“You always cook breakfast?” I asked.

She shrugged. “When I can. Usually it’s just coffee.”

“How domestic of you.”

Her mouth curved slightly. “Don’t tell anyone. Ruins the mystique.”

“You mean the whole ice queen thing?”

Another glance. “That what they’re calling me?”

“Not officially.”

She sipped her coffee. “You don’t strike me as the type who listens to rumors.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why bring it up?”

I held her gaze. “Because I don’t know anything else.”

That landed. Not hard. But it landed.

She looked away first. Not in shame. Just choosing not to play the game.

“I get it,” she said. “You’re still trying to figure everyone out.”

“Only when they talk to me.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Another pause. The kind that stretches because no one’s willing to break it.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” she said finally.

“You were quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Noted.”

She tapped her nail lightly against her mug, then looked over at me again. Her eyes weren’t soft. But they weren’t guarded either.

“You’re different,” she said.

“From what?”

“Most people.”

I didn’t answer.

Because I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

I watched her sip from her mug again, slow and deliberate. She never broke eye contact for long. Even when she looked away, it felt like her attention never actually left me.

“You say that like it’s a compliment,” I said.

“It might be.”

I arched an eyebrow. “You always this vague?”

“Only when I’m still deciding.”

“On what?”

She didn’t answer right away.

Just leaned back against the counter, holding her mug with both hands like it kept her steady.

“Whether or not you’re a problem,” she said.

I smirked. “And?”

“Jury’s still out.”

Her voice wasn’t cold. Not cutting. Just honest. Refreshingly so.

“I don’t think I’m a problem,” I said.

She gave a small shrug. “Neither did the last guy.”

Something in her tone sharpened. Just enough to notice.

I didn’t push.

But I remembered that. The way she said it. The edge that lived underneath her calm.

We stood in silence again, this one a little heavier. Not uncomfortable—just weighted. Like both of us were carrying something neither of us was ready to drop yet.

Then Winter broke it, setting her mug down and crossing her arms.

“You were with Ningning last night.”

It wasn’t a question.

I didn’t flinch. “Yeah.”

Her gaze didn’t shift.

“And Giselle before that.”

Another fact.

I waited for the judgment. Or the sarcasm. Or the obvious question.

It didn’t come.

Instead, she nodded. Once.

Then said, “You don’t act like someone who’s trying to get passed around.”

“Is that what you think is happening?”

“No,” she said. “If it were, I don’t think I’d be talking to you right now.”

That caught me off guard.

Not because it was harsh—but because it wasn’t.

Because it felt like something else.

Something closer to… curiosity.

“Why are you?” I asked.

Winter tilted her head slightly. “I don’t know yet.”

There was something honest in the way she said it. Like she wasn’t used to guessing, but didn’t mind being unsure. Not with me.

“You confuse people,” she said. “Giselle’s always been hard to reach. Ningning doesn’t let her guard down like that. Not for fun. And then you show up.”

I didn’t say anything.

“You’re not who I expected.”

“That makes two of us.”

She cracked the faintest smile.

It didn’t last long.

Then she stepped forward—slow, quiet, just enough to close the space between us.

Not touching.

But close enough for her voice to drop into something softer.

“You’re not trying to be anyone. That’s what they notice.”

“What do you notice?”

She looked at me for a long second. Like she was trying to solve something only half-built.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

She didn’t move away.

Didn’t touch me either.

We just stood there in that pocket of silence—her mug still resting behind her on the counter, her breath steady. I could see the way her chest rose and fell beneath the fabric of her hoodie. Unbothered. Except she wasn’t. Not really.

There was a flicker there.

A hesitation just behind her gaze. A breath she hadn’t taken yet.

“You always this blunt?” I asked.

“Only when it’s easier than pretending.”

“And is this easy?”

“No,” she said. “But it’s real.”

That caught me.

Something about the way she said it. Like it wasn’t meant for me, but for herself. Like she was giving herself permission to stop holding it all together for a second.

I nodded slowly.

“Real’s good,” I said.

Her expression didn’t shift much, but her weight leaned ever so slightly in my direction. A tilt of the hips. A fraction closer.

“What happens next?” she asked.

I tilted my head. “You tell me.”

She studied me again.

And this time, she was analyzing. She was watching the way I stood. How relaxed my shoulders were. How still my hands stayed when I wasn’t trying to push, or prove anything. Her eyes flicked to my mouth. Not long. Just enough.

Then—

“You’re not like the last guy,” she said again, softer this time.

“Less cologne?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “But he always needed to be the loudest thing in the room.”

I smiled, just a little. “Guess I prefer being noticed for different reasons.”

“Like what?”

I didn’t answer.

Not because I didn’t have one. Because I wanted her to fill in the space.

She didn’t.

But she stepped closer.

Bare feet on cool tile. A breath between us. The smell of cinnamon and coffee on her sweatshirt, faint traces of something floral clinging to her skin.

Her voice dropped lower.

“You said yes to breakfast.”

“I did.”

“Then why haven’t you touched your plate?”

I looked down. The food had gone lukewarm.

I looked back up.

Her mouth twitched. The faintest curve.

“Something more interesting came up,” I said.

She didn’t smile. But she didn’t move away either.

Instead, she reached up and slowly—deliberately—tugged the drawstring of her hoodie a little tighter.

“I’m not fragile.” she said.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“But people think it.”

“I wasn't.”

“I know.”

The silence shifted again.

Not tension this time.

Readiness.

She leaned in, not quite touching me, her voice dropping like it was meant only for my chest.

“Come find me when you’re done pretending to eat.”

Then she turned.

Walked out of the kitchen. No look back. No pause.

Just that soft click of her bedroom door.

I didn’t follow her right away.

Stayed in the kitchen, letting the coffee go cold, the eggs congeal. My hand rested lightly on the counter. The other rubbed a line down the side of my neck, where stress always lingered when I didn’t know what I wanted.

But I did know.

Eventually.

I crossed the hallway in near silence, bare feet brushing hardwood, passing framed photos I hadn’t noticed before. Staged smiles. Glamorous lighting. Versions of her that belonged to the world. Not the girl who just told me I confused her.

I stopped outside her door.

No sounds. No music. No movement. Just a soft, ambient hush.

I knocked once.

Didn’t wait for an answer.

The door creaked open and there she was—on the bed, back against the headboard, knees pulled to her chest. Her sweatshirt was gone. Just a soft black tank now. Her hair was still twisted up, but looser. Like she’d tried to relax and halfway succeeded.

She didn’t look surprised.

Didn’t look guarded either.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.”

Her voice wasn’t coy. Wasn’t cracked open either. Just a single syllable—quiet, even.

“Wasn’t sure if you meant it.”

“I did.”

She shifted slightly, letting her knees fall apart a bit, making room without making it obvious. She didn’t pat the mattress or motion me closer. Just waited.

I stepped in and closed the door behind me.

The room smelled like linen and lotion and something subtle that made me think of clouds—if clouds had moods. If they hovered heavy and close enough to touch.

I didn’t sit right away.

Just looked at her.

“I don’t really know what this is.”

Winter shrugged. “Then maybe stop trying to define it.”

That landed softer than I expected. Not a warning. Just a survival strategy.

I nodded.

Then sat beside her.

Close, but not too close.

“You always let strangers in?” I asked.

“You’re not a stranger.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She glanced at me sideways.

“Most people want something. You just… show up and don’t flinch.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Still deciding.”

We sat in that for a minute.

The kind of quiet that thickens if you don't move through it.

Then she spoke—calmer this time.

“You’re careful, you know.”

I looked at her. “Yeah?”

“Even when you let go. You do it in pieces. On your own terms.”

I didn’t answer right away.

“It’s not a bad thing,” she added. “It’s just… not how people usually are with me.”

I swallowed. “Maybe I don’t know how to be any other way.”

She nodded like she understood. Then tilted her head slightly.

“You ever think about walking away from all this?”

“From what?”

“This world. Everything that runs on attention.”

I frowned. “I’m not exactly famous.”

“Not yet.”

She held my eyes when she said that.

And I believed her.

Winter didn’t say anything after that. She just looked at me like she was still thinking it over—me, not the moment. Like I was a puzzle with one or two pieces missing and she couldn’t decide if that made it more or less interesting.

I leaned back against the headboard, legs stretched out. “Is that a good thing?”

“That you’re not famous? Or that you’re half-closed off even when you’re open?”

“Either.”

She gave the faintest shrug. “It means I can’t predict you.”

“That bothers you?”

“It scares me a little.”

There was no bite in her voice. No irony. Just honesty.

I looked down at my hands. “You’ve got control in most rooms, don’t you?”

She didn’t answer, but she didn’t need to.

I glanced back up. “So maybe that’s what this is.”

“What?”

“You’re wondering if you should let someone in who doesn’t play by your rules.”

Winter’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite disagreement.

“I think I just want to know you,” she said.

That hit deeper than it should’ve. Simple words. Big weight.

I didn’t know how to answer, so I didn’t.

She adjusted how she was sitting—legs stretched out now, side of her thigh brushing mine. Not dramatic. Not flirtatious. Just a shift in shape, in space.

A beat passed.

Then she asked, “Do you love Giselle?”

I blinked.

It wasn’t an accusation. Just a question that dropped into the silence like a pebble in still water.

“Do you always ask questions like that?” I said quietly.

She didn’t backpedal. “Sometimes.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “It’s complicated.”

Winter nodded. “That’s what people say when they don’t know if they’re in trouble.”

That pulled a small laugh out of me, and it seemed to soften something in her too.

“But no,” I said. “I don’t love her.”

“Not yet?”

I turned slightly toward her. “I’m not here to break anyone, if that's what you're worried about.”

“You don’t have to,” she said. “Some of us are already cracked.”

Neither of us moved after that.

I didn’t reach for her.

Didn’t ask what she meant.

But I wanted to know.

She was sitting so still, eyes forward, hands resting lightly in her lap. But her shoulders weren’t tense. Her spine wasn’t stiff. She looked… at rest. Which made the things she wasn’t saying feel louder.

“Are you always this open?” I asked after a while.

“No,” she said. “But you’re not trying to impress me.”

“Should I?”

She looked over at me again, her eyes slower now, a little warmer. “No.”

We both leaned back against the headboard, and for a few seconds, we just breathed.

Then she said, “You think I’m cold, don’t you?”

The question caught me off guard.

“Where’d that come from?”

“I see the way people look at me sometimes. Like I’m made of glass. Pretty, but cold. Untouchable.”

“Maybe they’re afraid to find out they’re wrong.”

Winter turned her head to face me. Her eyes were still sharp, but there was something soft behind them now.

“And are you?”

“Afraid?” I asked.

“Afraid to find out.”

I didn’t answer right away.

She shifted slightly—just enough for her thigh to press against mine. Not an accident this time. Her body language said she was letting me close. Or maybe testing if I’d flinch now that the air had changed.

“I think,” I said slowly, “you’re careful about what you give. But not cold.”

That earned me the smallest smile. “You’re not wrong.”

She picked at the hem of her tank for a moment, like her fingers needed something to do. Then she exhaled through her nose and said, “You keep your walls up too.”

“Maybe that’s why we’re talking.”

“Because of our walls?”

“Because neither of us is pretending we don’t have them.”

Winter nodded once, then turned toward me—closer now, just enough to shift the air. Her knees brushed mine.

Her eyes met mine.

No bravado. No coyness. Just a steady, unreadable look. She didn’t lean in.

She waited.

So I moved first.

The kiss wasn’t deep. Wasn’t fast. It was the kind that didn’t need explanation—soft, slow, just enough pressure to mean I see you. I felt her breathe in through her nose, then relax into it, just a little.

No one was trying to take control.

When I pulled back, her lips stayed parted, eyes still on me.

And then she said, quiet and steady:

“You don’t kiss like someone with walls.”

She didn’t speak again for a while.

Just sat there beside me, eyes half on mine, half on something behind them I couldn’t see. But her body hadn’t moved away. She hadn’t tucked her knees in or rebuilt the space between us. If anything, her shoulder was closer now. Her hand a little looser in her lap.

I waited.

Not to be polite. But because I was learning her rhythm. You don’t just pull open something that’s still settling. You give it time. Let it breathe.

Then, quiet—

“Do you like being touched?”

I turned to her. “That’s a loaded question.”

A flicker crossed her face. Not a smile. Not exactly. But something.

“I mean carefully,” she said. “Not to take. Not to overpower.”

I thought about it. Then nodded. “Yeah.”

Winter nodded too. Then let her hand drift between us, palm up, resting lightly on the mattress. Not touching me. Just there. An offer without demand.

I looked at it for a second. Then placed mine in hers.

Her fingers closed gently. Deliberate. Warm.

Then she stood, still holding my hand. Took a step to to the side without a word, and let her fingers slip from mine.

She didn’t tell me to follow. Didn’t have to.

I joined her.

She turned toward the dresser. Opened the top drawer.

I saw her fingertips move over the edge of something. A black blindfold. A small glass bottle. A candle, vanilla.

Her touch lingered on each, but she didn’t take them out. Not yet.

“I don’t like pain,” she said, eyes still on the drawer. “But I like contrast, control.”

Her voice was low. Steady.

Then after a pause-

"Sometimes the best way to keep it is to give it to someone who won't abuse it."

She turned and met my eyes. No blush. No teasing. Just calm honesty.

“I want to know what you’ll do with that.”

I didn’t answer right away.

Just stepped closer.

“I’ll be careful,” I said. “But I won’t be soft.”

Winter held my gaze.

Then slowly pulled off her tank, baring the long line of her torso. She wore nothing underneath. Her breasts high, skin soft and almost luminescent in the lamplight. She stepped toward me.

But didn’t close the gap.

She waited.

I reached for her pants.

Undressed her quietly. Nothing rushed. No show.

Just skin, smooth under fabric. Cool air rising around warm hips. She stepped out of them and stood still. Not posing. Not shy. Just… waiting to be seen.

When I looked up, her face was unreadable.

“I don’t know what this is yet,” she said. “But I want to feel it.”

And then she moved to the bed.

Laid down, one leg bent, arms loose at her sides.

“I don’t need you to be gentle.” she added.

I reached for the blindfold.

The blindfold was soft.

Fabric, not leather. Not for restraint. Just to take the edges off the world. I brought it to her face slowly, watching her breathe.

“You sure?” I asked.

She nodded once. “Yeah.”

When I slipped it over her eyes, her lips parted slightly. But she didn’t flinch. She adjusted to the dark like it was familiar. Like she’d chosen it before.

I let her sit in it for a second.

Just the blindfold, her bare skin, and the hush that filled the room like water.

Her hands lay flat against the sheets. Her spine gently arched, her knees relaxed. No tension, but no surrender either. Stillness with intent.

I leaned close, my mouth brushing her jaw. “Tell me if anything feels wrong.”

“Nothing does,” she whispered. “Yet.”

I left her like that.

Walked around the room slow, silent. Let her feel the absence, the anticipation.

The bottle on the dresser was oil—almond, vanilla. I warmed a few drops between my palms and moved back to her, quiet as breath.

The first touch was to her thigh.

She twitched, just a little. Not a recoil. More like acknowledgement.

I worked upward with my hands—slow, firm strokes, no rush to arrive anywhere. Just connection. Pressure and warmth and patience. I circled her hip, the curve of her waist, the hollow under her ribs.

Every time I touched a new part of her, her lips parted a little more. Her chest lifted.

I leaned in, kissed her neck just below her ear.

Her breath hitched.

Then I lit the candle.

The flame was steady. Low.

I waited, letting the heat build until a bead of wax gathered at the edge.

Then I tilted it.

A single drop.

It landed just beneath her collarbone, and she gasped—not pain, not fear. Just shock. Her hands gripped the sheets.

She didn’t speak.

I kissed the same spot, lips soft against the heat.

Another drop. This time lower. Just above her navel.

She arched. Whispered something that wasn’t a word.

I kept going. Wax. Mouth. Wax. Mouth.

Temperature and touch.

She was breathing harder now. Her body shifting, reacting to every change. No noise but the faint flick of the candle and her quiet, stuttering exhale.

I dragged my palm up the inside of her thigh. Not high enough. Not yet.

“Still good?” I asked, voice low against her skin.

She nodded. “More.”

The word came out cracked. Hungry.

I blew out the candle and put it on a shelf.

Then reached between her legs.

She was soaked.

I didn’t go straight for it.

I let my hands explore first—palming her thighs, brushing along the crease of her hip, slow enough to make her wonder if I’d ever get where she needed me. Her skin was warm, still tingling from the wax, the blindfold, the waiting. It felt like she was humming under my touch.

She shifted slightly, legs parting just enough.

I dragged two fingers along her slit.

She inhaled sharply.

“…fuck.”

I did it again. Slower. Let the wetness coat my fingers before easing them inside. She was tight—tense, not from resistance but from how hard she was trying to stay composed.

Her body opened for me in slow waves.

“Ahh…”

I pushed deeper, letting the angle adjust until I felt the right spot—then pressed up. Not hard. Just firm. Steady.

Her hips jerked.

“Shit—”

I grinned against her thigh and curled my fingers again.

She exhaled, long and shaky. Then whispered, “Mylo…”

Just that. No question. No plea.

Just my name.

I kissed her stomach. My thumb grazed her clit, light enough to tease. Her legs twitched.

“F—fuck…”

Her voice was breathy, high in the back of her throat.

Not desperate.

Not yet.

Just ready.

I built a rhythm. Nothing frantic. Just slow, thick strokes inside her, thumb flicking gentle circles, enough to make her lose her breath in pieces.

“Ah… ahh… mm—fuck—”

Her hands gripped the sheets. Her thighs tried to close, then spread wider. She was panting now, a little faster with every curl of my fingers.

“God—”

I felt her pulse start to race.

She wasn’t falling apart.

But she was unraveling.

Bit by bit.

And I didn’t stop.

She flinched a little when I slipped my fingers out, but didn’t say a word.

Didn’t pout. Didn’t beg. Just exhaled slow, shaky, as if trying to reset herself. Her hands were still open on the sheets, muscles flexing, resisting the urge to clench. She was unraveling carefully—measured—but I could see it.

“Don’t move.” I said.

She nodded once, tiny.

I moved to the small shelf by the window where the candle still sat—vanilla, half-used, wick unburnt. I struck a match. The flame hissed, then caught, spilling smoke and sugar into the room.

I let it burn.

Not for mood.

For heat.

While the scent bloomed through the air, I opened the mini fridge. Cold air rushed out. Inside—glass water bottle, already sweating with condensation. And on top of the fridge, a metal spoon. Clean. Light. Silver.

I grabbed both.

Then I waited.

Waited for the wax to pool.

She was already waiting for me from the bed. Breathing heavy, legs parted. Still flushed. Still damp. Still trying not to look like she was waiting for the next wave to hit.

I knelt again, one hand on her thigh.

She twitched.

Not from surprise—from anticipation.

I lifted the spoon and held it over the flame.

A few seconds.

Then touched it with my fingers.

Too hot.

Perfect.

I didn’t warn her.

Pressed the back of the spoon to the inside of her thigh.

She jolted like I’d shocked her.

“Shit—!”

No playacting. No noise for attention.

Just a raw sound, torn from somewhere deep in her throat.

Her thighs flexed. Her fists clenched into the sheets.

I waited a beat, then moved higher. Pressed again.

She exhaled through her nose, sharp and ragged.

"You’re okay," I murmured.

Her head nodded once. Tense. Silent.

I reached for the water bottle.

This time, no fingers.

I pressed the mouth of the bottle directly against her folds—slick and hot and swollen—and let the cold pour out.

She gasped like she’d been punched in the gut.

“F-fuck—!”

The water ran down her pussy in clean rivulets, spilling between her thighs and onto the mattress. She squirmed but didn’t close her legs. She was trying to outlast it. Pretend it wasn’t breaking her.

But I saw it.

The quiver in her abdomen.

The way her lips parted without sound.

She was slipping.

I leaned in. Let my mouth follow the path of the water. Licked the cold from her skin, then the heat underneath it.

Her back arched immediately.

“Fuck—”

I sucked gently on her clit, just once, then again—slow, rhythmic pressure—and her whole body stuttered.

She was coming apart one edge at a time.

Then I reached for the spoon again.

Pressed the warm metal against her mound. Just enough to make her twitch.

Then: the wax.

It had started to pool in the base of the glass.

I tilted the candle.

Let a drop fall.

It landed just below her navel.

She flinched—hard.

Her mouth dropped open, but no sound came.

Another drop.

Lower.

She jerked and gasped.

“Fucking—fuck—!”

I moved my hand between her legs. Slid two fingers inside. Curled them.

She clenched—tight and sudden—like her whole body had been waiting for that.

I worked her slow. Purposeful. Every curl hit deep, every twist dragged tension higher.

Then: one more drop of wax.

Right above her clit.

She didn’t scream.

She moaned like her voice cracked under the weight of it.

“M-Mylo—”

Her fingers clawed at the sheets.

I sucked the waxed skin clean. Kissed it like worship. Then dropped my head again, tongue circling her clit while my fingers pressed and curled and coaxed.

She whimpered—fought it.

Fought me.

I didn’t stop.

Didn’t speak.

Just kept her right there—pinned between heat and cold and need. Until finally—

She snapped.

“FUCK—oh god—I’m—ohhh—!”

Her hips jerked off the bed. Her thighs locked. She came like her body was trying to fight it off, like she didn’t want to be undone again so soon.

But it didn’t matter.

She was.

She ground herself against my mouth. Cried out. Shook. Her voice cracked as her orgasm rolled through her like a second storm breaking the first.

When she dropped back to the mattress, she was boneless. Wrecked.

I thought she might be done.

But then her voice broke through the silence—hoarse and shaking.

“…more.”

I looked up.

“What?”

Her eyes opened, glassy.

“I said more.”

I leaned over, kissed the inside of her knee, and smiled against her skin.

“Good girl.”

But this time, it wasn’t about praise.

It was a promise.

Her legs were still shaking when I dragged her back on the bed.

She didn’t resist.

Didn’t say a word.

Just let herself be pulled, back flat against the sheets, her breath still uneven and eyes dazed. Her lips were parted, swollen from kissing, from moaning, from everything we’d already done. But that look—the one that dared me to keep going—was still there, hidden in the fog.

I slid between her thighs.

She blinked up at me, lashes heavy.

“Don’t hold back,” she whispered.

I didn’t.

I lined myself up, gripped her hips, and pressed in slowly—inch by inch—until I bottomed out. No barriers. No pause. Just the heat of her wrapped around me, wet and trembling.

Her gasp was sharp.

“F-fuck—”

“You feel that?” I breathed against her neck. “That’s how far you came for me.”

Her hands found my shoulders. Then my back. Then dragged down, nails biting as I pulled back—slow—and drove in again.

She choked on her breath.

I locked my arms around her and started to move. Deep, hard thrusts that knocked the breath out of her lungs, knocked soft whimpers out of her throat. Her legs wrapped around my waist. Her hips rolled up to meet mine.

There was no rhythm at first—just hunger. Raw, greedy friction. Her heels pressed into my back. She wanted more. Needed more. And I gave it to her.

Faster.

Rougher.

Her head tipped back into the pillow, mouth open, hair sticking to her cheeks.

“You like this?” I growled.

“Yes—yes, fuck, Mylo—”

Her voice cracked on the last syllable, but she didn’t stop moving. She clung to me, took every thrust like she was trying to pull more out of me. Her body was on fire. Slick. Squeezing.

“Harder,” she begged. “Please—fuck me—harder—”

I pinned her wrists above her head and gave it to her.

The bed groaned.

The air was thick with breath and skin and sweat.

And she was close again.

I could feel it in the way she clenched.

In the way her breath stuttered.

In the high, trembling pitch of her moans.

“You’re gonna cum again,” I said, barely able to keep my voice steady. “Aren’t you?”

She nodded. Desperate. Mouth open.

“Say it.”

Her whole body shook. Her legs spasmed.

“I’m—fuck—I’m cumming—!”

And she did.

Hard.

Her back arched. Her pussy clamped down on me, tight and slick and pulsing. She moaned loud and broken, riding it out with everything she had. She didn’t care about noise anymore. She didn’t care about anything but the orgasm tearing through her like it owned her.

I fucked her through it.

Fucked her until she was twitching.

Until she couldn’t moan—just gasp.

And then I followed.

Buried deep, head dropped against her shoulder, jaw tight as I spilled inside her. It hit hard. Deep. My whole body locked as I groaned her name low against her skin.

I didn’t pull out.

I stayed inside her.

And she didn’t let go.

Her legs were still around me, locked tight.

Neither of us moved for a long second.

My breath was in her ear, shallow and ragged. Hers was all over the place—tiny, gasping inhales like she was trying to remember how lungs worked. Her nails were dragging light lines down my back now, not scratching anymore, just touching. Feeling.

“I didn’t say you could stop,” she murmured.

My lips curved against her shoulder. “You’re shaking.”

“So?” Her voice was wrecked. Throat dry. Defiant anyway.

I shifted, starting to pull back—slow, careful, overstimulated skin dragging against overstimulated heat.

She groaned.

Her thighs twitched.

And then her teeth were on my lip.

Hard.

A sharp, claiming bite—not enough to draw blood, but close. Enough to make me flinch.

My hand gripped her throat in return—not squeezing, just reminding her.

Her eyes fluttered open.

Still wild. Still hungry.

“Don’t think this means I'm yours now,” she whispered. “You didn’t win anything.”

I leaned in, lips ghosting across hers. “I didn’t know it was a competition.”

She grinned—exhausted, sated, but still her.

And then her body finally slumped.

Completely.

I eased out, slowly, holding her hips while she whimpered—high and soft and broken.

My cum trickled out between her thighs, wet and warm.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t close her legs. Just lay there, staring up at the ceiling like she’d been wrung out and left to dry.

“You good?” I asked, brushing hair off her cheek.

“Mmm,” she hummed. “Define good.”

“Still alive?”

“Barely.”

I smiled. Then bent and kissed her—slow, no tongue this time. Just pressure. Just closeness.

She kissed me back like she wasn’t ready to let the moment go.

When I pulled away, she sighed. One arm stretched above her head, the other lazily traced lines along my arm.

I didn’t say anything. Just shifted to lie beside her, one leg tangled with hers, hand still resting against her stomach.

The room was thick with the smell of sex.

Of her.

Of us.

And for the first time all night… we were still.

Quiet.

I didn’t say anything at first. Eventually, I leaned up, peeled myself out of the tangle of limbs, and crossed the room to grab the a towel—clean, soft, folded by the closet. I soaked it with warm water from the bathroom sink, wrung it out, then came back.

She watched me through heavy-lidded eyes. Didn’t move.

I started with her neck. Gentle, slow. Then her stomach. The insides of her thighs. I traced every spot the wax had touched, cleaning carefully—pausing when she flinched again, then going slower. Her skin was flushed in places, but not red. Not burned.

She didn’t speak until I reached the curve of her hip.

“I liked it,” she whispered.

I didn’t answer right away. Just nodded and kept going. The towel moved with care—across the spots I’d dripped heat, and the ones I’d cooled down with water, and the places I’d touched like I was memorizing them.

When I was done, I tossed the towel into the corner and lay back beside her.

My throat was dry. My hand found the water bottle on the nightstand and twisted the cap off, but I didn’t drink it.

I brought it to her instead.

Winter was still stretched out across the sheets, one arm thrown over her eyes like she couldn’t bear the overhead light, the other resting loosely over her stomach. Her chest rose in slow, shallow breaths. Her lips were parted.

She looked wrecked. Stunning. Real.

I touched her knee gently, and her arm moved just enough to peek up at me.

“Drink,” I said.

She blinked. Groggy. But took the bottle. She sat up slow, shoulders rounding forward, and drank without a word.

I stayed standing for a second. Just watching her.

Then grabbed my shirt from the floor. Not to wear—just to wipe the sweat from her collarbone, the back of her neck, the curve of her side. She let me.

“You alright?”

“Mmhmm.”

“You sure?”

She looked up, hair sticking to her cheek. “That wasn’t what I expected.”

“No?”

She smirked, sleepy. “You’re kind of dangerous.”

I grinned. “You’re kind of insane.”

“Fair.”

She handed me the bottle again, and I drank this time, then sat beside her on the edge of the bed. She leaned into my side without being asked, her cheek pressing against my ribs.

“I don’t usually like being… touched after,” she murmured.

I pulled my hand from her hair, just in case.

But she reached up, stopped me. “No. This is okay.”

We sat like that for a while. Breathing.

The room smelled like sex. Wax. Skin. Vanilla.

Eventually, I stood again. “You should eat something.”

She made a soft noise. “I’d rather melt.”

“You can melt later.”

I walked barefoot down the hall to the kitchen. It was still warm from earlier. Light from the fridge caught the edge of a note still taped to the cabinet—Ningning’s handwriting, bubbly and quick.

Don’t forget to eat something.

I found a leftover croissant in a bakery box near the counter, along with some juice. A ridiculous price tag was still half-peeled on the side—$19.50.

My mouth went dry.

A flash. Another tag. Another room. “Just smile, baby. It’s for all of us. He paid. That’s what matters.”

I blinked. Swallowed.

Took a breath.

Then turned back toward the hallway.

Winter was sitting up when I got back, wrapped in the top sheet now, arms resting over her knees. I handed her the croissant and juice. She took both.

Then broke the croissant in half and offered me a piece.

I shook my head.

She paused. “You’re not hungry?”

“No.”

A beat.

Her eyes lingered. Not in suspicion. Not even concern. Just… noticing.

I sat beside her again, slower this time.

She didn’t eat right away. Just leaned into me again. My arm slid around her waist. Her head found my chest.

And we stayed like that.

Breathing.

Grounded.

Safe.

After a minute, she shifted—just slightly—and looked up at me. Her brow furrowed. Like she was seeing something she hadn’t seen before.

“What?”

Her voice was soft. Almost hesitant.

I didn’t answer. Just met her gaze.

She didn’t press.

But she kept looking.

Longer than before.

PART 6

#winter smut #aespa #aespa smut #girl group smut #kpop smut #male reader

713 notes · View notes

shouyuus · 5 months ago

Text

to kiss the sun

violet; 5,574 words; fluff and smut, no "y/n", wlw, tribbing, oral (r!receiving), face-riding, fingering (both receiving), switch!vi supremacy, service top!vi, p0rn with feelings (many MANY feelings), morning after vibes, gratuitously fluffy sex, popstar!reader x vi au

summary: the morning after vi shows up at your penthouse, you make good on your promise to show vi a few things you picked up at the brothel; sequel to counting stars

a/n: i didn't know writing smut could make me so soft. vi is needy and we must do our duty to give her everything she wants. thanks for coming to my tedtalk.

─── Ⅵ SHE'S SO USED TO WAKING UP alone that for a second, the empty bed doesn’t feel unfamiliar. and then — flashes of the night before flicker like frames of a still-remembered dream behind her eyelids — your steady, delicate hands, the trickle of bath water like piano music against her skin, the gently perfumed mist that had hung in her chest for hours after that bath had ended.

your lips, her tongue, the promise of a morning just far away enough to forget.

vi shoots up, blinking sleep from her eyes. all her muscles feel sore, but there’s a warmth pulsing beneath her skin that she hasn’t felt in… years. her limbs are heavy, thick still with the honeyed dregs of dreams but the space next to her on the oceanic bed is vast, and the only sign that you’d been there the slightest ruffle of your silken sheets.

she wraps her arms around herself, her mind still swimming with memories of last night, even as a frown creases her forehead.

“don’t worry, i’m not going anywhere. promise.” that was what you’d said — and yet.

a hard-lined prickle works up the back of her throat and vi slumps back to bury her face in a large, fluffy pillow, letting out a groan. she feels like a child, petulant and wanting. but it doesn’t stem the clench in her stomach, the old, viperous voice in the back of her head that whispers —

see? everyone leaves you. always.

and then, from somewhere beyond the closed bedroom door, she hears… singing. and she’s tumbling out of bed before she can stop herself, her toes curling into the soft pashmina carpet, her fingers cold against the doorknob as she pushes through.

she finds you in the open kitchen, your back to her as you prod at something on the stove. the delicious smell of cooking meat hits her nose and immediately makes her mouth water. but she’s held still by the sight — you still wearing the large nightshirt from last night, your pink lace robe slipping off your shoulder as you sway back and forth on your tiptoes.

the lemon-yellow light spilling through your massive windows gilds you in morning-glory gold.

vi lets out a breath she doesn’t remember holding and pads her way towards you, looping both arms around your middle and burying her face in your neck.

“oh!” you gasp, turning slightly, your eyes wide, “i didn’t hear you —”

“i thought —” vi’s voice is cracked and gravely from sleep; she clears her throat and takes a breath, “you weren’t in bed when i woke up so —”

you let out a sound like a tiny laugh, setting down the spatula in your hand as you twist around in her arms. behind you, three fat sausages and a few eggs are cooking on a large flat pan.

“i didn’t wanna wake you up,” you say, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips, “you looked like you were sleeping so well.”

vi sighs, trailing a knuckle along your cheek, even as she tugs you back for a longer kiss, a deeper kiss. one that has you gasping against her.

you giggle as she pulls away, a bit breathless. “and… you were snoring up a storm so —”

vi leans down to bite at your neck, fingers fisting in your hair to tug your head back for more access.

“i don’t snore.”

“wanna bet?”

vi pulls back with a crooked grin before her eyes flicker back to the pan. she swallows.

you turn, reaching for the spatula again.

“how do you like your eggs?”

“uh… not raw?”

you roll your eyes, bumping her with your hip even as she settles herself against your back, her chin resting on your shoulder again.

“i like mine over-easy, but i can make them scrambled too, if you want.” you scoot the sausages towards the side and flip over one of the bubbling eggs, the sizzle of the oil making vi’s stomach grumble loudly behind you.

“i’ve…” vi pauses, ghosting her lips over your shoulder, “no one’s ever really asked me that before so… i don’t… i don’t know.”

your hand pauses as you shuffle the sausages around the edges of the pan. and then —

“okay, then i’ll make one of each, and you can try both! then maybe tomorrow, i can poach a few — those are the really good ones where the yolk is all runny —”

“hey.”

vi twists your chin towards her; the kiss is sweet, but you can taste the fluttering desperation beneath her tongue, as if she’s searching for something within the warm caverns of your mouth, and that if she can just kiss you hard enough or long enough, she might just find it. when she pulls away this time, there’s something flickering in the pre-dawn blue of her eyes.

“vi?”

she shakes her head, her gaze skating along the contours of your face as if you were a painting she’d been trying to memorize.

“i just —” she swallows again, “this… all just feels too good to be true — like… like the whole thing’s a dream and i’m gonna wake up one day alone and —”

you smile as you press a hand to her cheek. “hey, hey — none of that now. the eggs are gonna overcook —” you turn back around to tend to breakfast, even as vi groans and digs her face into the nape of your neck, her fingers biting into the plush of your hips.

“and, it’s not a dream. but even if it were, what makes you think i wouldn’t just find you again after we both wake up?”

vi frowns as she lifts her head, watching as you plate the sausages and eggs, lifting up onto tip toe for the salt and pepper shakers on the shelf. she grins, loosening her arms ever so slightly to let you grab them before she’s pulling you into her again and you’re laughing in her arms.

“ugh. i’m never gonna win with you, huh princess?”

“nope — now help me carry this to the bedroom. i’m gonna pour us some drinks.”

vi watches in muted fascination as you lay out a breakfast tray on your pristine sheets and slot two bubbling glasses of what she’s sure is champagne into the carved out glass holders, and then motions for her to put down the large plate of food. she does, her expression both reverent and amused as you flop down onto the bed and tug the blankets up around your lap, patting the spot next to you.

“c’mon — before it goes cold!”

she slips beneath the covers again, crossing her legs as she watches you reach for your glass, the liquid inside shimmering with pale gold bubbles.

“bon appetit!” you say, grinning at her as you reach for a sausage with your hands. vi’s eyebrows hike up as you bring it to your lips, taking a bite, moaning around it as hot oil slicks down the side of your hand and you lean down to lick it back, the pink flash of your tongue making her stomach twist with an entirely different kind of hunger.

but, she decides, one indulgence at a time — and reaches for a sausage of her own, foregoing the knife and fork just as you had.

it’s delicious, sweet and salty, the fat bursting in her mouth making her shiver as she swallows. she’s never had anything so delicious, anything so truly indulgent. she scarfs down one sausage, and then reaches for another, pausing only to glance up at you. she finds you watching her with a smile and a sparkle in your eyes that looks so dangerously like love it makes her gut clench.

how long has it been since someone’s looked at her like that? like she was beautiful, like she was —

“someone worth looking at?” your words from the night before echos in her ears as she takes the second sausage with a sheepish grin, licking her lips of the oil.

“i can make more if you want,” you say, leaning back and sipping at your drink, “there’s plenty in the fridge, and i’ll make as many as you want.”

vi shakes her head, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, “no, this is —” she reaches for her own glass, gulping down half in a single swig, coughing as the bubbles fizzle up her throat, “this is good —”

by the time she finishes the second sausage, you’re splitting the eggs with a knife and fork, your movement precise, as if she hadn’t just watched you lick sausage fat from your own wrist.

“here, try the eggs. this is the over easy, and this —” you push two piles of eggs towards her, one bleeding yellow yolk over the fine white china, the other a pile of fluffy sun-colored scramble, topped off with flecks of black pepper and large flakes of white seasalt.

vi scoops up one, moaning around the runny yolk, before shoveling a bite of the scrambled egg into her mouth.

“holy shit — i mean, they’re both really good —” she leans down to scrape up some more, licking the fork clean with a happy little hum.

“is there one you like better?” you ask, and vi looks up, a final bite of egg poised halfway to her mouth. she grins as she sets down her fork and pushes the breakfast tray gently out of the way, tugging you towards her.

“yeah well, sure but… ‘s not like i can focus on that when you’re sitting right there looking like breakfast, lunch, and dinner —” she grazes her lips along the length of your neck, nuzzling into the soft spot right behind your ear, breathing you in like a woman lost. and she is — isn’t she? lost in this paradise you’ve built for her, lost in the feeling of you, the irrefutable knowledge that you’re here, and that you’re here to stay.

“y-you seemed pretty focused c-cleaning that plate just a second ago — o-oh —!”

you gasp as she pins you beneath her, your leg knocking against the breakfast tray, her mouth hot along your collarbone.

“v-vi — the china —”

“mm — fuck — fine —” she pulls away from you, keeping you pinned beneath her with her thighs, thick and strong, clamped on either side of your hips as she twists around to set the breakfast tray on the floor before turning back with a smirk. “there. happy now, princess?”

you nod, smiling up at her as she returns to her single-minded task of kissing your throat, sighing against your skin as she tugs your robe from your shoulders and inches her fingers beneath the hem of your nightshirt.

“c’mon princess — didn’t you promise me you were gonna show me all the other things you learned at the brothel, hm?”

you gasp as she tugs your nightshirt up off your torso, leaving you in nothing but your lacy pink panties, your cheeks flushed, your nipples pebbling in the sudden chill.

“mm… never gets old…” vi says, reaching down to tweak at one of them, grinning as you whine.

“vi… vi, please —” you reach out for her, fingers gentle against her tensing stomach as she groans and leans down to kiss you. but before she can, the world flips and she’s hissing out a breath, blinking in confusion as you rock your hips, sitting astride her now, one palm laid flat against her sternum, the other cupping her cheek.

vi stares up at you, her eyes wide but you can see the way her pupils dilate, her gaze going hungry.

you offer her a tiny, knife-flash grin, trailing your thumb along her skin till it grazes her bottom lip.

“there… that’s one trick they taught me… would you like to see some others?”

vi moans, her head rolling back as you rock your hips down over hers again, her hands shooting up to grasp at your waist, her eyes fluttering shut.

“holy fuck, yeah —” she helps ruck your hips down, fingers digging into your flesh as you reach down to gently tug her chin back down, whispering against her lips —

“eyes on me, violet…”

her eyes flicker open, a soft whimper curling up her throat as you shift your hips down and your clothed cores meet through the layers of fabric.

“want you to watch me when i’m making you feel good.”

“sweet jesus…” vi breathes, her brows furrowing ever so slightly as you reach down to inch her shirt up as well, tilting your head slightly as you wait for her to lift her hands. you toss the shirt off the other side of the bed, breathing out as you feast your eyes on the sight of her, splayed out beneath you, a classical artist’s dream of solid muscle and ink-kissed skin.

“you know, they used to carve statues to immortalize bodies like yours…” you say, pressing a line of unhurried kisses to her shoulder, trailing across her collarbones, down the divot of her breasts, pausing over each nipple, laving your tongue over the tiny metal rings there, warming them on your tongue before popping off and making your patient way down the length of her torso. you trace the shape of her stomach muscles with the tip of your tongue, graze your teeth against the delicate skin right above the waistband of her shorts, eyes always cast up at her face, watching for the minute reactions that she’s always been so generous to give.

“eyes, violet,” you remind her gently as you suck a hickey over her hipbone and her entire pelvis jerks up towards you. she huffs out a breath, forcing her eyes open to look down at you, a pout threatening her mouth even as she chews on her bottom lip.

“shit princess — you can’t — i — it feels too good, i —”

“i know,” you shush, holding her gaze as you shift to slip the shorts from her legs, discarding them over your shoulder with a cock of your head like a curious little bird, looking her over with bright eyes.

“but i’ll stop if you look away again, okay?” you chide, grazing a thumb along her already slickened folds, circling her clit once just to see the way her jaw drops open, her eyes rolling back. you pull your hand away and she jerks up, a hand shooting out to grab your arm.

“sweet fuck, mm — c’mere —”

you hitch an eyebrow, watching her as she tugs you towards her, melding her mouth with yours, the self-same desperation you’d tasted earlier blossoming behind the tombstones of her teeth like words she’s never had the courage to say aloud. all her needs, all her wants, pressed there like flowers between the pages of her story, and you — leaning in, opening your mouth, kissing her back like you’d love nothing more than to see them, to read them, to listen, to learn.

you let her kiss you, and you let yourself be kissed. you let her pour herself into you with her fingers in your hair, and your hands soft against her neck, running soothing circles into the pulse beneath her jaw. when she finally pulls back, your lips are wet, her chest is heaving. there’s a strange, fractured light in her eyes as she presses her forehead against yours and breathes out, long and deep.

“you okay?” you ask.

“mm. yeah… i just…” she sucks in another breath, “i — uh — i’m not the best with patience —”

you laugh, “you don’t say.”

she chuckles, allowing herself to be pressed back into the sheets. you shift your legs, hooking one of her over one of yours, shifting till your clothed cunt presses against her bare one. she hisses, her head tipping back. a second later, you roll your hips down, the friction making the coil in your stomach knot over itself, but your eyes are still fixed on vi, on the trembling expression painted across her features.

“violet… c’mon, eyes…” is all you say, your voice patient hush as you slowly work yourself against her.

she lets out a pitched whine, but she forces her eyes back onto you, the gentle curve of your body as you grind your pussy to hers. she bites her lips at the wetness she can feel collecting there — hers and yours, the way you don’t hide your pleasure from her, the little hitches in your breaths, the pink flush of color washing into your cheeks, even as you swirl your hips, your eyes never wavering from her face as her mouth falls open around a moan.

“shit — god, that’s —”

“good?” you ask, leaning over her, your hair a liquid spill across your shoulders.

she nods, her mind too blissed out to really speak as you reach down to tweak at one of her nipples, tugging lightly on the ring, your other hand splayed out on her stomach, keeping you steady.

“y-yeah — really — really fuckin’ good —” she says, nearly keening as you pull back to tug your panties from you, the sight of your wetness gleaming on the lace making her skin prickle with heat. she lets you wrap your hand around one of her wrists, pulling it up towards you, brushing your lips over her knuckles before pressing two of her fingers into your mouth.

you moan around them, even as she bites her lips, her eyes half-hooded, but she heeds your earlier warnings and doesn’t look away, doesn’t let them drop shut even as you pull her fingers from your lips with a soft pop and bring them to where your still slowly grinding against her.

“show me what makes you feel good.”

“n-ngh — fuck fuck fuck —” vi chants, canting her hips up to meet yours, even as you cup one of her hipbones in your palm to steady her, watching as she presses her fingers to her clit and draws them in small, quick circles, her thumb flicking up to graze against yours.

your hips stutter and you let out a gasp, the heat in your abdomen solid and familiar.

“look so good, princess — mm —” a tiny frown creases her forehead as she quickens her pace, but you tug her fingers away, swallowing her momentary whine with a kiss, replacing her fingers with your own. you mirror her movements, relishing in the way she works her hips up against you, her movements threaded with urgency, her tongue pressing into your mouth as you slip your fingers down the seam of her cunt to dip inside her.

immediately, she keens, jerking you down as her hips ruck up.

“mm… we’re making a mess,” you say, your voice almost teasing as you pull back to smile at her, your fingers still teasing her sodden folds, “but that’s okay — i was going to do the laundry today anyway.”

you dip down, sucking gently at the skin of her neck, slowly fucking two fingers into her, feeling her clamp down around you, her head tossing back into the pillows as you sit back up and cluck your tongue, fingers slowing ever so slightly.

she peers up at you, her gaze hazy and unfocused, her lashes fluttering.

“there’s those pretty eyes,” you say with a grin, before pushing a third finger into her and curling them up.

“f-fuck!”

you press your palm against her clit, working your fingers inside her till she’s scrabbling at your arm, pulling you down roughly to mouth at your lips, whimpering and panting, her breath fanning hot as she holds you to her by the back of your neck.

“fuck, sweetness — i’m gonna — i’m gonna cum —”

you allow yourself a soft moan, nodding, quickening your pace as you dig the fingers of your free hand into her hip, a dull ache building between your own thighs as you watch vi’s lashes flutter.

“good,” you breath, “cum for me, vi — lemme see you cum for me —”

“oh — oh fuck — princess, i — a*-ah — ah — ah!*”

you fuck her slowly through her orgasm, kissing her slow and languid, swallowing around her whimpers and moans, her hips kicking as you tease your thumb over her oversensitive clit.

“holy shit…” she laughs, letting her head thump back into the pillows as you pull your fingers from her and lick them clean. “that was —” she licks her lips, swallowing thickly.

“the girls at the brothel taught me well,” you say, giggling when she tugs you into her arms, nosing against your cheek.

“they sure did but —” her fingers trail down the length of your body to cup your cunt, “i wanna make you feel good too, pretty girl.”

your breath hitches; your lashes flicker.

“mm… so damn wet, and all for me…” she says, tugging you over her shoulders, spreading your pussy lips with two fingers, groaning at the sight of your slick folds.

“c-can you blame me?” you ask, gasping as she pulls you down over her mouth, her fingers caged around your thighs. you let out a soft whimper as you feel her lick a long strip over your cunt, her nose nudging your clit as she moans into you. “o*-oh —*” you squeak as her tongue pushes into you, and you feel her rocking you down, pressing you against her so hard you’re afraid she might suffocate.

you steady yourself against the wall, reaching down to card your fingers through her hair, the color still darker than it used to be, the roots still inked in black.

vi’s cocks an eyebrow up at you from between your legs, and you can almost feel her smirk before you feel her wrap her lips around your clit to give it a hard suck. you yelp, hips jumping even as she yanks you back against her, fucking her tongue into you so hard your stomach clenches with the pleasure.

“oh — oh — ngh — violet —”

“th-that’s it, princess — so hot riding my face — mm — mmph —”

you rock your hips over her mouth, the bright tingle of heat circling through you, coiling tighter and tighter as she eats you out with a wolfish hunger, groaning into your folds as your pace goes jerky and the pin-prick of pleasure stretches inside you, ballooning out till you’re clenching over her face, fluttering around her tongue as she licks eagerly at your wetness, pooling out of you onto her chin and cheeks.

“fuck, you taste — taste good —” she mumbles, lips chasing your cunt even as you try to lift yourself up, her arms flexing as she pulls you back down.

“w-wait — vi — it’s too — too much —”

you squeak as she sits up, flipping the pair of you to finally pin you beneath her, a lopsided grin on her face, a dark, dangerous look in her eyes as she wipes her lips on the back of her hand.

“yeah? but, i’m still hungry, princess —” she wastes no time in prying apart your legs, swearing under her breath as she sees your pussy fluttering around nothing, her fingers shoving into you a second later, “and i mean — i haven’t been trained at a brothel but — been to babette’s enough times to know a thing or two —”

her smirk is sharp, even though her eyes are soft as she watches you writhe beneath her, the remnants of her orgasm still warm in her veins. a furious, ticking urge is pressing up the back of her throat as she fucks you open on her fingers, a savage want blooming inside her chest.

she wants to see you fall apart for her, over and over and over again, wants to make you scream till your voice gives out, wants to swallow around all your pretty little noises — she wants, she wants, she wants —

and then, a softer, deeper desire creeping up, up through her ribs to pool at the base of her tongue, slick as poison —

she wants you to do the same to her, just as you’ve already done.

the want is so huge it terrifies her, makes her chest squeeze even as she leans down to kiss you again, reveling in the taste of her own name on your tongue, dripping from the corners of your mouth like a hymn or a prayer.

it’s a want so vast it won’t fit behind her ribs — that she wants you. in every single way it’s possible to want a person.

and, she wants you to want her too.

“fuck, princess —” she grits out, pulling away just far enough to watch the pleasure crease your forehead, “you want it? tell me — tell me what you want —”

you’re breathless, exhalant, your fingers curling in her hair as you jerk up against her.

“w-want — want this — want you — violet — vi — vi —!”

she groans at the way you say her name, letting her head drop into you shoulder for a second before she curls her fingers and fucks them into you so hard she feels her forearms strain.

“yeah? tell me again, pretty girl —” she lifts her head to find your eyes, and for a split second, she sees herself as you might — disheveled and wild-eyed but the softness of her features is unmistakable, the way her lips are parted, her brows furrowed as she watches you.

your eyes find hers, and your breath is trembling when you say, in a voice that’s so much sweeter than the harshness of her movements, than the toe-curling sound of your wetness as it squelches around her hand, your slick dripping down her wrist and onto the sheets.

“i — i want you, violet — a-all of you — please —”

“fuck, cum for me princess — i — i want — i need to see you cum for me — please, god —”

there’s a whine high in her voice even as you spasm around her, the feeling of your cunt milking at her fingers making her shiver. her movements slow as time itself seems to unspool around you both, your bodies so much more than the sums of their parts — so much skin and breath, so much honey and rest.

you laugh, an indulgent, tickling sound, bubbling up from you as you breathe, running your fingers through her hair as she slowly tugs her fingers from you.

“shit… you came a lot,” she says, laughing with you as you nod and reach for a tissue on the bedside table and hand it to her. she wipes at her hands first, and then her face. and then, she leans off the bed to grab the plate with the leftover eggs, shoveling them into her mouth.

you lay there, watching her with a bitten-back smile. she pauses as she catches your eye.

“sorry — oops —” a bit of scrambled egg nearly tumbles out of her mouth. she licks it back and swallows, setting the plate back down to collapse next to you. “just… didn’t wanna waste it, y’know?”

you giggle, curling onto your side and resting a hand on her chest, flicking at one of her nipple rings.

“hey. quit that.”

you grin, shifting your hand down to rest against her stomach. she reaches up to cover your hand with hers, your fingers lacing easily as she turns to face you.

“still hungry?”

vi smiles, shifting closer to you on the sheets, the pair of you lying face to face, bodies curled in towards one another like mirrored images.

“nah. think i’m good now. that was a good breakfast.”

you laugh, walking your fingers along the bend of her waist, pulling yourself forward till you’re nuzzling into her collarbone. she opens her arms and loops them around you.

“yeah? good. so, have we got a verdict on the eggs?”

vi hums, considering.

“i like the scrambled ones. but… i thought you said you were gonna make something else for breakfast tomorrow?”

she hooks an ankle over yours and you shift against her, softening into her chest.

“yeah, ‘m planning on making a few soft boiled ones, and a few poached ones. they’re kind of similar, but also super different.”

“yeah? how so?”

her fingers trace soft circles into the bare skin of your back; yours trail absently over the dark lines of her tattoo, outlining the cogs and wheels and puffs of tinted clouds.

you try your best to explain the differences between a soft boiled egg and a poached egg, and it ends with the pair of you laughing, vi shaking her head even as she edges closer to you, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“i could listen to you talk all day, princess.”

you crinkle your nose, “careful what you wish for.”

“mm,” vi hums, leaning in till your foreheads touch and her eyes flutter shut again, “thanks, though.”

“hm? for what?”

she breathes in, then out.

“for… all this. for breakfast, for…” she lets her voice trail off as her eyes blink open to find you watching her.

“you don’t need to thank me,” you say, inching ever closer, so close now that she can feel the heat of your words over her skin as you speak them, “i meant what i said last night — whatever’s mine is yours and…” you reach up to cup her cheek, “that i want all this because… i want you.”

vi closes her eyes, squeezing them shut as that soft tendril of desire once against pushes up against the back of her throat. she makes a sound caught between a sigh and whine, pulling you into her, wrapping both arms around you and burying her face in your hair.

“gods… you drive me insane.”

you chuckle against her collarbone, blowing an errant strand of pink hair from your mouth.

“if it’ll make you stay with me then…” your voice is slightly muffled, but vi hears it all the same, feels the rumble of it from your chest to hers, the honesty in them shaking her to the core.

she squeezes you once, long and hard, before letting you go.

“careful what you wish for,” she says, echoing your words back at you.

you smile, a simple thing, leaning up to brush your lips to hers. it’s a soft kiss, one that’s devoid of the pulsing, urgent want of your kisses prior, but for some reason, this one lingers like a prickle on the tongue, champagne bubbles as they filter down your throat, fizzling warmth through both your chests even after you pull away.

“didn’t i already tell you?” you say, bumping your nose to hers, “i’ve been praying for this since the day we met.”

vi lets out a small laugh, nodding, “yeah… you did, huh.”

you tangle your fingers in the long hairs skimming down her back.

“you don’t have enforcer stuff you need to report in for?”

vi groans, rolling her eyes, “i mean… i probably do but…”

you shake your head, “give them a call, ask for a few days off.”

vi’s eyebrows hitch at your words, “and… what do i tell them?”

“that you’re taking a few days off — call it a vacation if you want.”

“huh,” but her lips are already tugging into a knowing smirk, “and what do you propose we do on this so-called vacation of mine, hm?”

you shrug, giggling as she leans down to nip at your collarbones.

“mmm… how does staying here, sleeping in, and eating through my favorite recipes sound?”

vi pulls back, her expression flickering through several channels before settling on a mix of cautious and hopeful.

“are… you sure? you — you don’t have like… famous-person stuff you have to do?”

you laugh, “nope! not for a week at least. and… i’ve got a few really good bottles of wine in the cellar i’ve been meaning to try.”

“the cellar?”

you grin, “go make the call.”

vi pushes herself up, carding a hand through her hair and rubbing at her temples. but she glances back at you, her fingers still linked with yours. you glance down at your hands before giving her a squeeze.

“go on, i’ll still be here when you get back. i promise.”

vi leans back down to press a kiss to your cheek.

“promise?” she asks.

you nod, leaning up to kiss her properly, pulling away only when she tries to push you back into the mattress. you shoot her an exasperated look as she tugs on a shirt and nearly trips over the breakfast tray, glancing back at you from the bedroom door.

“go. i’ll be here,” you say again. and vi gives you one last lingering look before slipping through the door, leaving it swinging behind her.

a few seconds later, you hear her voice as she says —

“uh hey, it’s me. can you connect me to the warden?”

taglist: @traiitorjoe @rizzscary @wetcat020 @alex-thegiraffeboyy @nanasemo @saturnhas82moons @unear7hly @drsnowrose @grantaires-waistcoat @isab3lita @ally-all-around @starrysetup22 - join the taglist!

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solsticescribe · 6 months ago

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Simon Riley x reader one-shot

Simon came home from a long deployment last night. You had no idea where he was during that time or what happened, you knew you were not supposed to know anything. You were just glad that he was back and safe.

After a great struggle of getting out of his hold this morning, you started unpacking his bag that he left on the floor right in the middle of the hallway (he was too busy thinking about getting into bed with you to care about where he left his stuff).

As you took out his dirty clothes, you noticed what looked like a plastic bag on the bottom. After starting the washing machine and getting the rest of his stuff out, you took the beige package into your hands to examine it.

What you were currently holding in your hand was an MRE. You’ve seen people all over Tiktok reviewing these meals and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious about what they were like. Looks like this could be your chance to find out.

As you were examining the packet, you felt two bulky arms wrap around you and a face nuzzling your neck. “Mhh morning love” You heard Simon’s voice grumbling, still heavy with sleep. “Morning. Isn’t a bit too early for you to be up? You should sleep some more” You kissed all over his face and neck where you could reach. Simon shook his head. “ ‘s not as good without you in bed” “Are you hungry by any chance? I have some breakfast ready” You pointed to the pan sitting on the stove, his favorite breakfast, that you made earlier, just waiting to be heated up.

“Maybe later” He cupped your cheeks and pressed multiple little kisses to your lips. He had his eyes closed, fully emerged in the feeling of having you close to him and finally being able to love on you properly.

“What do you want to do with that?” He asked in between kisses, referring to the bag in your hands. He still had his eyes still closed and not showing any sign that he wishes to stop with the kisses.

“Well, can I try it? If you don’t need it” You held his face in your hands, stopping him so that you would have enough time to speak. “Whatever you want sweetheart. I was planning on throwing it out. Don’t expect anything gourmet though”

He left you at the counter to unbox everything from the MRE packet while he turned on the stove to heat up his breakfast.

Simon fixed himself a plate and sat next to you, watching your expression as you tried the different snacks and meal included in the bag. He smiled to himself, thinking about just how adorable you looked, eyes lighting up when trying things you liked and furrowing when you didn’t like something.

His own meal was soon forgotten, leaning on the countertop, he watched you fumble around with the small packets with a barely noticeable smile on his face. He found this quite amusing.

Trying the last thing included, you were disappointed by the blandness of it. You put everything in the bin and sat on Simon’s lap. “I’m sorry you have to eat that so often” You said while wrapping your arms around his neck. He just hummed, one arm around your waist to hold you closer, with the other, he held up a bite from his left-over breakfast to help wash away the taste in your mouth. You eagerly took the fork in your mouth. “Wanna know why isn’t it so bad?” He asked while preparing another bite for you “I know that I get to come home to you and your cooking. Makes it all worth it to keep you safe”

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you

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nanivinsmoke · 8 months ago

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❥ Make U Love Me

logan ‘wolverine’ howlett x mutantfem!reader

♪ you’re tired of going places where you can’t scream and shout ♪

tags: featuring the biggest asshole, scott! cheating, a little angst, violence, mentions of blood and death, slight exhibitionism, kissing, edging, dom logan, sub reader, creampie, pregnancy, oral, multiple orgasms, falling in love, etc…

note: heavily inspired by robin thicke’s song with the same title. wc: 4.7k — put my heart into this.

you were scott’s girl. nothing more, nothing less.

it wasn’t what you thought it would be, well back then at least.

scott was loving when you two first started dating. he would take you out, treat you like a queen, and was very attentive. but, that all started to change when his first love died in the midst of battle. jean grey.

the day she died, is the day your relationship did too. that same guy you fell in love with, turned into the guy you hated. everything stopped. he was no longer the perfect boyfriend, he was more of a royal asshole.

he wouldn’t make love to you, he wouldn’t put you on missions with him and when you confronted him about the change—it would always end in a fight. you didn’t deserve this, you knew you didn’t. but, you couldn’t break up with him. that small piece of your heart wouldn’t allow you.

you knew there was a part of him that still loved you. well, you thought he did. that all changed when you and the crew got the news. jean was alive.

“i don’t want you going after her, scott! what’s so hard to understand about that?” you raised your voice, brushing past your boyfriend and putting the onions you just chopped into the hot skillet—continuing your recipe for tonight’s dinner.

when the professor told everyone that she was alive, scott’s ears perked up and practically begged the professor to let him be the one to go and find her. charles urged scott that it wasn’t a good idea. something could go wrong and she might no longer be the jean we all knew….she could be possessed by an evil force. the dark phoenix.

but, of course scott wasn’t trying to hear that. his mind was clouded with thoughts of the red head. he was still deeply in love with jean. just the thought of her had him going crazy. you knew it and it pissed you off, which brought upon the current argument you two were having now.

“what i don’t understand is why not? she’s one of us! i have to bring her back, with or without your permission!” you turned to him, eyes slowly turning into a deep red; the flames from the stove started to rise—searing the vegetables that sat in the iron pan.

scott started to slowly back up, swallowing thickly as you inched closer to him; afraid of what you might do next. he locked his visor onto the burning food, which he tried to pull your attention on to, but you didn’t budge. that is until you heard someone clearing their throat.

your eyes went back to its normal state and you calmed down once you took a look at logan, who stood there watching the whole ordeal. you looked back at the food and turned the stove off before looking back your boyfriend, “come back with her and see what happens, scott.”

———

you didn’t come out of your bedroom for dinner that night and neither did he. hell, you barely got any sleep last night—too busy tossing and turning in your bed, thinking about scott and jean together. and when you finally did get some sleep, the sun started to peak over the horizon—a beautiful hue of orange painting the sky.

when you finally woke up, you pulled yourself into a much needed hot shower, before putting on your favorite pair of flare jeans and a cute top paired with some leather boots—heading downstairs to see what was happening for today. the children passed by, running and walking to hangout after class, while you made your way down the wooden stairs—looking for your boyfriend.

you wanted to talk to him about yesterday, hopefully to make peace with what transpired—but it seems like he had other plans when you spotted him holding hands & walking with the newly resurrected jean. and to top it all off, he was wearing a big toothy smile like he was kid in a candy store. oh you were pissed.

they disappeared further into the mansion as you stormed downstairs—eyes darkening while you were hot on their tails, ready to confront them; that is until you were trapped between two big muscle bound arms. “let me go logan!” you tried to free yourself from his grasp, but there was no use. he wasn’t letting you go.

“need you to cool off. don’t need you to go all ‘flame on!’ on them today.” he chuckled and ushered you towards the front door, both of you going towards the academy’s garage and pulling off in his car.

you tossed back your shot of vodka, grimacing at the strong burning sensation, before tapping your glass for more. logan had took you to a bar, so you could drink to your hearts content and stop that flame from igniting within you.

“he’s a fucking asshole.” you spoke, downing your drink again then turning to look at the male sitting right next to you. he nodded in agreement and sipped on his whiskey, letting you vent to him.

“I feel like such an idiot, falling in love with someone who doesn’t love me.”

“his fault he couldn’t see what right in front of him.” you passed, wide eyed, looking at the side of his rugged face while he finished off his drink. what did he mean by that?

“pretty lil thing like you deserves to be treated like a princess, not by someone like him.” his compliment made you press your thighs together and shift in your seat.

“and who’s gonna treat me like one?” you hummed, placing your hand on his arm, pressing against him. it might been the liquid courage that had you feeling so bold, but you knew exactly what you were doing.

logan grunted and smirked, shaking his head before his pretty hazel eyes locked on yours, “careful, doll. don’t know what you might be getting yourself into.”

“maybe i do~” you flirted back, lips ghosting his ears, making goosebumps rise on his skin. you wanted him badly right now. you didn’t care that the two of you were out in a bar, it made no difference. you wanted to take him right here and now.

“let’s play some pool.” he got up from his seat and grabbed your hand, making you sigh in response. maybe you were getting ahead of yourself?

———

the two of you played pool for the next couple of hours. logan was surprised to see that you were really good at the game, even more shocked that you had him on a losing streak. “good thing you didn’t put money on it.” you teased, striking the 8ball into one of the holes, winning your fifth game for the night.

“would ask you to play another game, but it’s time we get back to the mansion. bar’s bout to close.” he pointed out and you took a look around, seeing only four patrons left and the bartenders cleaning their glasses. you pouted and racked the balls back into the middle of the table, before grabbing logan’s hands and leaving the bar.

the two of you stood outside of the car for a bit, logan puffing on his cigar while you enjoyed the night’s cool breeze—mind running rampant with what happened in the bar between you and him.

“lo—“ you began, making him turn his attention towards you—the sight of him blowing out smoke did something to you; everything about the male aroused you. why didn’t you see him like this before? maybe you would’ve been happier with him.

“can i kiss you?” you breathed out, stepping closer to him; body heat overpowering the crisp air outside. “doll….” he began, but you stopped him—not ready for him to reject your feelings just yet.

“I know you felt something in there with me. if i felt it, i know you did. so, kiss me. prove me wrong….” you pulled him by his flannel, eyes sparkling with hope and desire; as they flickered to his lips. he searched your face, before he flicked his cigar on the ground and pulled you in close—his lips melting on yours.

you wrapped your arms around his neck while his hands moved to the middle of your back, before falling to your ass—squeezing the plump flesh through your jeans. as much as he wanted to pull back, he didn’t—you were so addictive, he just had have all of you.

his tongue slipped into your mouth and he picked you up and placed you on the hood of the car—kiss becoming passionate by the moment. the taste of the cigar he just smoked and traces of his whiskey had your mind spinning, and your cunt throbbing. “logannn~”

“i know, princess. smelled how bad you wanted it inside of the bar.” he grunted and his thick fingers quickly unfastened your jean’s button, tugging them down slightly—before he slipped his hand into your pants, rubbing your throbbing clit through your yellow panties.

“shit you’re soaked. he’s never made you feel like this, right?” he grunted in your ear, pulling your panties to the side and finally connecting the tips of his fingers to your aching clit, rubbing it slowly.

“no never, he never made me wet like this—fuck—only you lo~” the sweet moan you let out drove him insane, it fueled him and he couldn’t help but to quicken his pace; making your back arch off the hood of the car. gasping, you reached down to hold onto his wrist, trying to stop his pleasurable torment—but it did nothing. he kept going, making you buck your hips up into his palm.

“so needy. summers is such an idiot for letting this go.” logan moves his fingers down to your sodden hole, palm pressing right down onto your clit, making your body jolt in response. despite the tight confinement of your pants, his hand was able to work wonders on your lower half—pumping in and out of your cunt.

you gushed over his fingers each time it hit your spot. the pressure that was building up in the pit of your tummy was becoming unbearable. you desperately needed to let go, show him how good he made you feel.

“gonna cum—all over your fingers!” you warned, eyes starting to roll back into your head as you felt that feeling you loved so much start to burst. that is, until he pulled his fingers away. your eyes shot opened and you watched him suck your juices off of his digits.

“gotta get you home, doll” he fastened your pants and helped you off the hood of the car; before going to the passenger side, opening the door for you. shooting daggers at him as you stomped your way to the car, you watched as he hopped in the driver seat—ignoring your stares.

you didn’t bother opening your mouth to speak either. too frustrated, tired and horny to talk. so, you opted to lay your head against the window and watched as the trees became blurred on the way back to the mansion.

as logan pulled the car up the school’s drive, you could see the resurrected red head and scott standing outside—their lips glued on one another. you shared a look with logan and shook your head. you didn’t have the energy anymore, it was obvious where his heart lied.

getting out of the car, the two pulled back once they noticed the both of you approaching—scott looking like he had seen a ghost. “baby! i-i—“

“go to hell scott” brushing past them, you slowly made your way to your room—logan a few feet behind. logan looked at scott and just shook his head. idiot.

he just planted you right into his hands, and boy was he going to keep you there.

———

the following weeks started to get better and better for you. getting closer to logan was the best thing to ever happen to you. the two of you would spend almost everyday together, most of the days ended with you finally getting to cum around his fingers and all over his face. you were happier, almost like you were in the beginning before scott ruined it. and he noticed it to.

but, you didn’t care what he thought about what you were doing. he ruined his chances of being happy with you ever again and he knew it.

currently you and logan were in an empty class room, with him between your plush thighs; working a third orgasm out of you for today. small hands were tangled in his soft brown locs—tugging them as you grinded your orgasm out on his face. logan pulled away once you calmed down, his beard and half of his face being covered in your slick—which he happily licked up; well what he could.

he helped you off the table and pulled your skirt up while peeling your cold wet panties off. “these? are for me,” you blushed, watching him put them in his pocket before pulling you close. his hands fell to your rear and those eyes that you loved to get lost in, stared right at you; before he pressed his lips against yours.

you melted in the kiss. your body relaxing as the two of you moved in sync, hands moving across each other’s bodies. ever since that day at the bar, you noticed a change in yourself. a change you slowly welcomed. love. you were falling deeply in love with the wolverine. it was different type of love you and scott had. this one felt like one of those love’s where you could see the two of you grow old and have a bunch of mutant babies.

you wanted to tell him how you felt, how he made you feel, but you were scared. scared that he might reject you. so, you opted for the latter. being his friend with benefits.

“logan, I wanna suck your dick~” you pulled back, eyes traveling down to his noticeable bulge, then back up at him.

“don’t wanna hurt you princess. plus ive got a class in fifteen minutes,” he warned and you smirked, slowly sinking down to your knees. “so? ill make you cum in ten~”.

the clinking sound of his belt being dropped to floor, along with his pants, filled the room. he watched with low eyes as you pulled his fully erect length out—cock twitching when he heard you gasp. you now understood why he never fucked you, he was way too big. there was no way your walls would survive that, right?

your mouth salivated at the sight and you could slowly feel yourself becoming even more aroused. gripping his cock and swiping your tongue over the tip, you moaned at the taste of his sweet precum, before you took him into your mouth. he tossed his head back, loving the feeling of your warm wet mouth around him, while you slowly started to take him even deeper.

his big hands practically flew to the back of your head when he felt you gag around him, once he hit the back of your mouth, slowly creeping into your throat.

“did you just cum? hm, princess?” he locked eyes with you, smelling the familiar scent of your arousal—knowing exactly how you smelled when you came.

you whimpered, still slobbering all over his cock before the grip on your head got tighter and he pressed your pretty little head down harder; nose nuzzled in his bush of brown hairs.

you gagged, but he didn’t give you time to adjust as he continued to repeat his actions—pulling you off of his cock by your hair before forcing you right back on; fucking your mouth to his liking. the more he moved the more arousing it became for the both of you, causing you to relax your throat, letting him fill it with his thick cock.

the sound of you gagging and sucking on his cock along with the smell of your cunt dripping with excitement, had the six foot two man going feral. his pretty eyes fluttered in the back of his head and he forcefully pushed your head deep in his bush— letting out one of the sexiest growls you ever heard as he poured thick ropes of cum down your throat.

the warm sensation had you dripping right onto the classroom’s wooden floors, moaning at his taste before you swallowed. his grip loosened and you pulled back, gasping for air.

“told ya i could make you cum~”

———

finding yourself back into your room, you were scared by the dark figure sitting on your bed; making you jump out of your clothes like a cartoon character. flickering on the light, scott sat on your bed wearing a plain look on his face.

“the hell you doing in my room, scott?” you kicked off your shoes, glaring at the brunette. he adjusted his visor before getting up, towering over you a bit.

“you and logan been really close lately. what’s up with that?” you stared at him before giggling. he wasn’t possibly serious? you ignored him and tried to move around him, only for him to grab you and pull you back.

“grab me again and that’ll be the last thing you’ll ever do. get out of my room and go be with jean. me and you are finished.” you stared into his ruby red colored visor, making sure he got the point. the mutant scoffed and shook his head, “fine. go be a whore for logan, sure he’d love that.”

you didn’t even give him time to react before sending a fire induced smack to his face, causing him to yell out from the painful sensation. he was quick to recover, ready to aim his optic lasers at you; until a fist came flying at him—knocking him to the ground. logan stood there for a minute, taking a look at you to make sure you were alright, before pouncing on scott.

you watched as logan nearly beat him bloody before stepping in, tugging on his black button up—begging him to stop. however, the raspy voice of the professor entered all of your minds, stopping everyone’s movements.

‘the dark phoenix has risen and attacked me. jean grey is no longer with us. teachers, meet me in the infirmary’

logan looked at you and grabbed scott, slinking him around his shoulders, “go meet me in the infirmary. im gonna take him to his room and have hank look after him.” you nodded and practically raced to the infirmary, meeting the rest of the x-men. they surround xavier’s comatose body, talking amongst each other about what was going on, until ororo started speaking.

“the professor was attacked a few minutes ago by the x-men we once knew as jean grey. however, the friend we knew and once loved is now gone and is being possessed by a dark entity. this being is catastrophic and we must stop it before it’s too late—” she paused and took a look at her fellow mutants, before raising an eyebrow.

“where’s scott?”

“he’s out of commission for a while. ill catch him up later.” logan’s arm snaked around you waist, appearing behind you and answering her question. she nodded and continued with the details of the mission, before listing out names of those who would be on it.

you and logan were the main frontmen for this mission. storm had converged a plan on how it should go down, along with a plan b; warning you guys that there’s a slight chance it might end bad. she put her faith in you and the team, before dismissing everyone. the mission would take place tomorrow.

———

sitting on logan’s surprisingly soft bed, you relaxed while he was in the shower. your mind was running rampant about what could possibly happen tomorrow. being that this could possibly be the end, frightened you, especially since you haven’t told him how you felt.

“logan?” you called out, listening to the calming sound of the shower running.

“yeah?” he responded and you got up from his bed and stripped out of your clothes, joining him in the shower. the sight of his nude, wet body was breathtaking. so very breathtaking, that you couldn’t help but break down and cry—sobbing as the warm water painted your face.

those thick eyebrows raised and he immediately pulled you close, rubbing circled on your back; along with rubbing your head. “hey, talk to me. won’t be able to understand you when you’re crying like this, princess.”

you nodded in his hairy chest before pulling back, sniffling. this was the time to let it all out, let him know how you feel.

“i love you. i love you so fucking bad, logan. you’re all i think about. i think about us getting married and having a litter or two of kids…” he laughed at and kissed your temple, before urging you to continue.

“you’ve been there for me for a while now. you uplifted me and showed me what true love is. and it pains me to know that there’s a possibility that tomorrow could take this away from me.” more tears poured out of your eyes and he cupped your face, kissing away your tears.

logan honestly felt the same. he fell in love with you the moment you joined the x-men. even when you got with scott, he still loved you. he just knew it was fate that the two of you were meant to be. he moved his lips down to your soft plump ones, making you melt on the spot.

the kiss the two of you shared held such passion, that you wished you could stay like this forever.

“i love you too, princess. but, you will tell me this tomorrow; when we win.” he kissed from your lips down to your neck before stopping at the middle of your chest—kissing one of your mounds and holding the other; earning a moan from you.

“in the meantime, how about we get started on that litter?” you giggled and nodded your head, before your back was against the wall with his cock in between your legs—warming up from your heat, while he pinched one of your perky nipples and sucked on the other.

slick started to pool and drip onto his cock as he continued to tease your sensitive breasts, fueling your arousal. “please, baby….don’t tease me—wan’ you inside of me~”

he pulled away from your nipple with a ‘pop’ echoing after, still teasing the other one with his rough hands, a smirk painted on his rugged face. “you sure you’re ready for that, doll?” he asked and you nodded profusely. lifting up your leg, he rubbed himself on your slick coated slit, using your essence as lubricant and then pushed himself into your tightness.

he threw his head back from how you felt, and your walls clung to him; clenching and unclenching around him. the pressure he was putting on your clit, had you cumming prematurely. he smirked and pulled himself out, making you whimper; already missing how he filled you up—even though it was just the tip.

he repeated that process, pushing his cock in and pulling you out, earning more lewd noises from you and your pretty pussy. “logannn, please fuck me already!” he grunted in response and slammed himself inside—filling you to the brim with his cock. you squealed from the pleasurably painful sensation that coursed through you, kissing him to distract you from the pain.

the grip on your leg tightened as he started to pound your sweet little pussy, walls stretching past its normals limits. the more he fucked you, the more your cunt became molded to the shape of his cock. it was evident that you were made for him.

by now, the water had gotten cold and he continued to rut inside of you—cunt coating his cock with your creamy white fluids. he was drowning in your sweet fluids and he didn't need a floatie—he had reached nirvana.

in one swift motion, the shower was off and you were in his arms—legs wrapped around his waist while he was still inside; carrying you out of the shower & over to the bathroom sink. he pulled out momentarily as he placed you on your feet and turned you around, your fat ass facing him; while he plunged right back inside of your middle.

pushing your arch down, placing his hands on your hips—he reached deeper than before, causing you to scream. “dick too big for you baby?” you nodded and he chuckled, grinding himself against you until he started to pound you silly.

you tried to open your mouth to speak, to warn him that you were going to cum, but your mind was too fucked out to process anything; so you let out a sweet moan. “go ahead and cum for me princess. could feel her twitching around me.”

it was amazing how he knew your body so well already and it didn’t take long for you to heed his words, cumming hard on his dick while he continued to make your cunt his. the tightness of your walls squeezing him, broke him and he couldn’t help but to cum buckets inside of you—filling your tummy up with his kids.

the two of you panted, bodies shaking as your orgasms came over you—your head being pulled back so he could press a kiss to your lips.

“i love you, princess.”

———

blood covered the blue and yellow suits the team wore as the dark phoenix made paint out of their blood. the fight wasn’t going so good. some of you were gravely injured, possibly on the brink of death, while some of you tried to catch your breaths; still able to fight.

you looked over at a bleeding logan, worried about the wounds he had received, catching his eyes. “don’t worry, it’ll heal.”

he charged towards the being, claws fully unsheathed, with you and few others following suit; only to be tossed away like peons. you laid there in pain, ready to accept defeat, until you heard the crunching of the dirt nearby. turning your head you were shocked to see scott, staring down the possessed body of his old lover.

scott turned to look at you and logan, and smiled before inching closer toward them. your eyes shot open, you knew exactly what he was going to do. “scott! wait,—“ but it was already too late.

with the help of colossus, the leader of the x-men was tossed over to jean—grabbing onto her before a red flash of light blinded you all. once it cleared, the two were gone. the only thing that stood where they once were, was scott’s yellow & red custom visor.

you sat there in disbelief. you never expected this to happen. yeah, you his guts, but you never expected him to sacrifice himself. better yet, die.

“c’mon doll, let’s go home~” logan’s raspy voice pulled you out of your thoughts, holding out his hand which you gladly accepted. you turned around, looking at where he was one last time, before turning around heading back to the jet.

——

5 months later.

“and here lies the visor that was once used by our leader and hero of the x-men, cyclops. he will be missed.” logan spoke to the new students joining the academy—giving them a tour, stopping at scott’s memorial.

“logan~” your voice called out to him, making him turn his attention over to you—his beautiful pregnant wife. “alright kids, gonna turn this over to our new teacher; ms. frost,” the blonde stepped up with a smile and took over while your husband jogged over to you—kissing your growing belly before moving up to your lips.

“we’re gonna be late! this is the appointment where we get to see the baby’s gender!”

it might’ve started off rough, but you were finally happy and in love.

#logan howlett #wolverine smut #days of future past #days of future past logan #Wolverine #wolverine x female reader #wolverine x mutant reader #wolverine x you smut #logan howlett x mutant reader #logan howlett x reader #x men wolverine #logan howlett x you #logan howlett smut #james howlett #scott summers #jean grey #wolverine x reader #wolverine angst

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httpuckdrop · 30 days ago

Text

PANCAKES – QH43

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x reader

Genre: fluff, suggestive

Warnings: mentions of sexual activities

Author's note: tried something new here with the style aaaaa I think I might be growing out of the lower caps and tiny letters vibe! Not sure! Either way, hope you enjoy this :)

Last night was… definitely something.

It usually did end up like this, to be fair. Whenever Quinn had been away for too long on a road trip, with only pictures and videos of you to satisfy his needs, it was common for him to get like this. Needing to take his time, savoring every moment, feeling every inch of your skin under his palms before he got anywhere close to content.

Not that you minded; you would do anything and everything for him to feel good, especially after such a long period of work. You assumed he would be worn out and sore from all of the games, and yet, surprisingly enough, he had all the stamina and strength to go the whole night if that had been what he wanted.

However, he enjoyed it just as much when he got to pull you up to his chest, nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck and cuddle you close for hours.

The following morning, apparently you were the sore and tired one, seeing as you were the only one left in Quinn's big bed at 10am. You didn't want to properly wake up, but you also wanted to spend every second of the day with your boyfriend before he was swept up by his work again. Therefore, you pushed yourself out of bed, tiptoeing over to the drawer by the wall and picking out a pair of boxers to step into. Then, you slipped on the black Canucks shirt Quinn had worn the day before, the fabric covering every love bite he'd scattered from your chest to the insides of your thighs, before making your way through the apartment.

You found your lover in the kitchen, his lean back muscles twitching with his every move. Your nose filled with the aroma of those vanilla protein pancakes he insisted on making instead of regular pancakes – even on his off days, he was so insistent on keeping up his dietary goals – and hunger rumbled in your stomach instantly.

You made your way over to his side in just a few quick strides. "Good morning," you hummed, smiling up at him.

"Morning, sleepyhead." One of Quinn's hands reached for your side as he leaned down to capture your lips in a lazy kiss. Maybe he was just as tired as you, after all. "You slept like a rock," he commented once you parted.

You chuckled, leaning into his side. "Well, what can I say? You wore me out."

"Don't say it like it's a bad thing," he said with a shake of his head. "You enjoyed it."

"Confident, are we now?"

Quinn merely shrugged, flipping the pancakes in the pan before answering. "You sure sounded like you enjoyed it. Think the whole neighborhood can attest to that."

Your cheeks grew so hot they were practically burning, and you turned your face to hide it in his bare chest. "That was foul," you mumbled, letting out a groan against his skin when your boyfriend chuckled. "I don't want your neighbors to know that kind of stuff about me."

You felt a pair of lips against the top of your head and an arm drape around your waist, holding you close. "At least they know you're well taken care of."

After a few moments of comfortable silence, with only the crackling of the pancakes filling the room, you parted from him and instead turned your back to the counter next to the stove. After hoisting yourself up on top of it, Quinn didn't waste any time before stepping between your legs, one calloused palm finding your knee. The other hand reached for a can of whipped cream by the bowl of pancake batter.

"Have you tried this one before? I've never seen it before," he said, popping the lid off and shaking it a couple of times. Then, he tapped your lips with the nozzle. "Open up."

Your lips began curving up in a grin, yet you leaned back slightly and shook your head. "You’re too cheesy, I swear to god," you mumbled back, but Quinn wasn't giving up.

"Come on, just play along with me." He sprayed a little bit of cream on his index finger, quickly spreading it down your nose. You were just about to complain when he added: "It's not usually this difficult to get you to open your mouth for me…"

You gasped. "Quinn!"

"It most certainly wasn't this hard last night." He chuckled at the sight of you wiping your nose clean, reaching forward to give him some payback, but he reacted quickly, grabbing your wrist in his hand and holding it still. "In fact, you were quite eager to get your mouth on me, if I remember correctly."

Your cheeks were tinged with a deep red color now, either from frustration or embarrassment. "I swear, I'm going to kill you if you don't-"

You weren't even allowed to finish the sentence before your boyfriend had leaned down to crash his lips against yours. You sighed involuntarily against his lips, feeling some of the tension leaving your body already. You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down to your height as you kissed him back.

The kiss was sweet and slow, a complete contrast from the heated way you'd kissed just a few hours ago. He tasted like mint from his toothpaste and his mouth was warm, just like his bare shoulders when you brushed your hands along them. He ran his tongue along the seam of your lips, his hands reaching for your hips to pull them up against his, and a small moan escaped from your lips as a result – a sound that went straight down to his core. He nipped at your bottom lip before gently sliding his tongue into your mouth, humming contently when your tongue battled with his.

"Wait, no, don't tempt me," he mumbled eventually, pulling away ever so slightly to instead trail his kisses down your jaw. "You're making me want to go back to the bedroom and..."

You chuckled, hooking your legs over his hips and caging him in. "Doesn't sound too bad," you answered, head tilting back slightly to give him better access. "Think we might need to fuel up, though."

His answer came in the form of a groan, your words making him suddenly remember the pancakes he had been focused on before you arrived. "You know you're eating yours without whipped cream, though. Just because you acted like an ass."

"Hey!"

#nhl #nhl fic #nhl fluff #nhl x reader #nhl x you #hockey #nhl x y/n #quinn hughes #vancouver canucks #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes fluff #quinn hughes suggestive #quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes fic #nhl smut #nhl suggestive #vancouver canucks fic

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brailsthesmolgurl · 10 days ago

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VISAGE

PREVIEW: She thought she had it all within her grasp, with Sylus by her side, she is practically untouchable. However, there had always been a thought lurking in the back of her mind ever since Sylus had gotten himself acquainted with a deepspace hunter. For someone who is as mundane as y/n, with no skills and power, what would happen if she were to allow those fears to manifest? It burrows, it festers, rots her from inside out and perhaps, just perhaps, Sylus will no longer be her safe haven anymore.

WARNINGS: Heavy angst that makes your blood curdle, reader is not mc!, suggestive themes, heavy gore.

P.S: Yes I know darlings, it has been a long time since I have been updating my works on here. Work and a lack of motivation got to me T-T. Introducing the debutante for this piece, the daddy himself Sylus! This piece is heavily inspired by those storylines that involves romance and also somewhat slightly related to Howl's Moving Castle vibes? I dunno heh I have some weird ideas cooking in my brain sometimes, hence the lack of frontal lobe growth I guess :,) And yes, there shall be a part two to this but I needed to get this spat out first! Dividers sourced from here!

There is always a saying that whenever one wakes up to the sound of birds chirping in the morning, thus marks the start of a beautiful, sunny day ahead. However, that is not the case for y/n when she wakes up to Mephisto trying his best to do 'chirpings' but ends up cawing like a dying bird. Y/n sighed, pushing herself off of the plush bed to invite whatever the weather has to offer to her. Mephisto is not a bird and it cannot sing, so it sure as hell cannot predict the weather. The curtains are drawn close, a reminder of her intimate sessions with her lover in the bed last night, privacy shielded behind two drapes of heavy fabric.

Yawning, she waved her hand in the air and Mephisto leaves the room as if on cue, not wanting to be punished by his master for having a peek at what belongs to him. Y/n pulled on her silk nightgown, the material cooling to her skin and touch and she waddled out of the room. The smell of breakfast immediately wafts into her nose, it smells like buttermilk pancakes and she is sure that he is the one that is preparing the breakfast as there are times when Sylus would cook himself rather than having the chef prep the meals.

The man himself owns a big kitchen, but his sheer height and built makes the kitchen feel mid to his size. Y/n quietly sneaks up behind him, watching him humming while manhandling the pan, flipping the pancakes with ease. As she was about to attack him with her hands, the man had already beaten her to it, his evol stopping her hands from touching the sides of his torso and he turned, hair messy from waking up but still as good looking as ever. "Good morning, y/n." Voice still raspy, he retreats his evol and leans down to peck her lips softly. "Your sneak attacks are too predictable."

"How did you even heard me coming? I made sure I am extra secretive this time." She pouted, bottom lips jutting out and arms crossed over her chest. She watched as the man turned from the stove to the counter, serving the slices of pancakes onto the plain white plates. The image of soft, jiggly pancakes set onto the dark marble countertop, framed within the kitchen of mostly dark colours made it stood out awkwardly. But given the opulent kitchen exhales nothing less of elegance, perhaps, a plate of pancakes is all that it needs to breath a sense of life and humanity within this nearly aphotic abode of Sylus'.

"The moment you stopped snoring is the moment I knew you were going to wake up soon enough." His taunt got her gasping in return, embarassment littered all over her face. Offended, she slapped his taut arm and he chuckled in return. "I admire your effort, but next time, it would just be better if you were to greet me normally and lessen your failure rates." He swiftly wrapped his arms around her small waist and carefully guided her towards the dining table, with a plate in his other free hand. "Here, have some of your favourite."

He walked back towards the kitchen to grab his plate and seated himself next to her. "Did you taught Mephistos on how to chirp?" She asked him as she was cutting into the pancake. Then, that marks the start for their seemingly mundane daily conversations. Chuckles and teasing jokes filled the atmosphere of the once sterile looking kitchen.

Back in the days, this man would never be the type to say yes to making meals of any kind for nary, let alone waking up at the crack of dawn to make breakfast, Sylus yields to nobody. One might also wonder how did she even got associated with him in the first place? As she is only a mundane and the furious leader of the N109 zone was never the type to lay eyes on someone who poses no utility to him. Or so that was what he had once strongly believed in.

Since the day he had laid eyes upon her, in the basement of another clan, tied up against a pole in a mangled fashion, his aether core ached, a cord so tight that it tugged against every fibre of his being. He had never felt this way about anyone, let alone a hostage like y/n. She looked frail, sick and is scared of everything and anything except for the darkness. Sylus recalled the time when he grabbed her arm and she started kicking with all of her might, her wails coming out in low moans, kicks that barely does any damage to insects. She is dying, but Sylus felt like he could not leave her alone. The undulating thumps of his aether core in his eye, was a rare occurence that it overthrew his logic of killing her to ease her of her pain.

The initial idea of bringing her back to nourish her back to health was perished when Sylus realised that he had slowly started to be smitten with her. Within the hollow and scrawny shell of hers, she still possesses a fighting spirit and it is only applicable when she thinks that her life is hanging off of the balance. Although at first Sylus had detested her, warning her multiple times that he only took her in out of pity. However, she had only thanked him, either it would be via verbally or physically, no snap backs, no retaliation, she is just plainly grateful to be alive even if she were to be held up in another unfamiliar place. She would prefer anything else than to be tortured back in that dank basement.

With a little digging, Sylus had only retrieved information about her lineage and everything about it seemed all too mundane for him to be suspicious of anything. On the day he had fished her out of that hell hole, he brought her straight to his handyman to get her checked out for any core abnormalities. There must be a reason why she would be held hostage, kept alive only to be tortured. Sylus likes a challenge, but this challenge holds a mystery that remains unraveled when the handyman came back with a reading that denotes her to be nothing special. When asked about how she was kidnapped, her pallor suggested that she probably had her memory wiped clean amidst the torture or due to extreme post traumatic stress disorder.

After a couple of weeks being around his abode, she had found out a method to thank him and it involves cooking. However, her cooking is absolutely horrible, but Sylus still eats it to uphold his sense of politesse. It took some courage and serious toilet trips for him to finally decide that it is time to get an in-house chef for meal preps. The chef's first day to work was met with a confused y/n, standing at the front of the door with a big kitchen knife aimed towards him.

After explanations were given from the threatened chef, she realised that Sylus did not enjoyed her cooking and that led her to sulk. It went on for days, masked behind her dull appearance and it forced Sylus to use his evol on her only then he realised that this girl had already gotten a grip on him. The leader of the N109 zone had softened up a lot, wanting to know what she has to think, what was going on behind her blank expressions.

The pity for her faltered day by day, and it was slowly replenished with infatuation towards this mundane that he had stayed with for months. Luke and Kieran also teased him sometimes, stating that the unwavering leader of theirs now has a soft spot. Sylus had stopped denying it to a certain extent, it was like the man had lost all sense of rationale when it comes to discussing about her. "Boss, you do like her don't you?" One of the twins would urge, Sylus can clearly imagine their wriggling eyebrows underneath those masks.

"That is none of your business." The leader would scoff, feigning ignorance towards his underlings when they would boo him for not being truthful to himself. As much as he enjoyed their curiosity, he does not feel the need to continue this conversation, as he is a man of few words. "I suggest you both find something to do before I lose my patience." And that sent the both of them careening out of his room in full speed.

"You said you have something to tend to tonight, so I suppose I will not be expecting you for dinner?" Cocking her head aside, a small, curious smile hung on her curved lips. Sylus catches her gaze, the woman he is looking at now being a whole different person than who she was when he first brought her back. Her eyes now gleamed with excitement whenever she sees him, her smile and laughter both contagious, and her heart only directs towards him and only him.

The man nodded. "Yes, I will be out with the hunter tonight." He laid down his fork and fetched a napkin from across the table. Afterwards, he leaned towards his lover slightly and rubbed the napkin across her lips, muttering under his breath about the slight brown tint of maple syrup she had left sitting on the corners of her upturned lips. "Is there something the matter?"

Y/n hesitated, not sure if she should be telling him about her opinion. Ever since she had gotten here, she had learned that voicing out opinions are allowed here and that she could have a say in anything she is unhappy about. With enough courage, it started out with rejection, then it went on to providing her own opinions and now it's time for her to be honest with her feelings. These are values that Sylus had taught her about, and being the stubborn man he is, he does not expect himself to be repeating his words.

"It's just, you had been spending a lot of time with her, Sylus." She blurted out, lips becoming numb after the sentence when she expected vituperation from the crimson-orbed lover of hers. Not that he had ever cursed at her, or had been abusive with her, but it was the probability of him doing so is what scares her. Furthermore, it is clear that she still harbors malicious memories of her past. Just the mere thought of being stuck in that basement had gotten her wincing uncomfortably.

"You mean that hunter?" His eyebrow curved upwards, head slightly tilted as he tried to get a better look at her. He could sense her hesitation, her regret after the end of her sentence. Swiftly, Sylus traced a finger down her temples, trailing downwards and leaving goosebumps in its trail till it stopped beneath her chin. He tilted her head upwards so that her gaze would be aligned with his, yet she was staring at the walls right behind him. "The hunter and I are tending to a ruckus that had happened downtown and she is helping me with the investigation."

His explanation although was to soothe her, it only got her feeling on edge, teeth chattered as she struggled to think logically. She had never felt this sort of emotion; one closely related to jealousy, possessiveness and envy. "Why her?" Her fists tightened, hidden beneath the table cloth. "I can be of use to your investigations too." Couple of blinks to push back the tears, she looked into his gaze, to search for an answer she was expecting. "Why does it have to be her?"

The man sighed, not being the type to want to overexplain issues and he stood up from his seat, collecting his plate at the same moment. "You are not exactly useful when it comes to an actual battlefield." Voice although calm, but words of his pierced through her, reminding her of the reality she is really in. Sylus finds no use in her other than her existing as a pretty little thing next to him. Like an eccentric jewel on display on a pedestal but could never get off of it because she is not 'useful'. An angered y/n stood up, her chair screeched against the hardwood flooring and she angrily stomped off, her usually hushed footsteps resonated through the ornated hallways and leaving Sylus sat alone in the kitchen.

If one were to wonder over what the man thinks, he also spoke of facts. He sees her not being an object to aid in his investigation, but he only views her as someone that he wants to protect, and wants to come home to. A prized possession of his, if one dares to admit. Sylus too got up from his seat and started to tail behind her, watching her outline from behind, disappearing into their shared chambers. He watched her plopped face down onto the pillow, her actions almost comical. "Y/n." He called out her name but received no response. As expected. "I do not find any means to utilise you." He approached her, finding his seat next to her outstretched legs. He then places his hand onto the back of her thigh, thumb drawing aimless circles. "In fact, I do not want to use you at all."

"Just get out." Her voice was muffled but her tone seethed with anger. "Just go and do whatever it is that you wanted to do with the hunter if she is much more worthy on the battlefield with you." Her voice cracked unintentionally at the end and Sylus sighed, hand leaving her thigh. He could tell that he had messed up, said something that he had failed to filter and caused her to be so upset. As much as Sylus would like to stay behind and to comfort her, the hunter and his mission awaits. A mission that he is dwelling into for the sake of y/n. A mission that would ensure her safety once and for all.

“I have to go now, but I promise that I will make it up to you later.” With a quick kiss to the back of her neck, she could only hear the heavy footsteps of his disappearing after the clicking shut of the door. A part of her did not want to be jealous just because he is doing business with another female counterpart. Another part of her however, shaped like a devil, whispered sinful nothings into her ear, coaxing her to be jealous, to practice distrust upon her relationship with Sylus just like how she never had the courage to trust anyone. Dissolving into her pillow, her tears blended into the mix of polyester and cotton, her sobs quiet but reverberated within the four walls of their shared room. Mephisto landed on a branch directly outside of her window, guarding her but quietly and patiently stayed outside whilst accompanying her with the whistling winds.

Sylus’ meet up with the deepspace hunter was supposedly to be nothing more than just business. After the raid where Sylus had rescued —much like kidnapped— y/n, deepspace hunters were on a hunt for y/n and a particular deepspace hunter stumbled upon a lead on Sylus being the raid leader and without fear, she confronted him only to land a deal between the both of them. Sylus did weighed on the deal, whether was it worth his effort to involve someone from the government but he knew that her database would come in handy for him to continue conducting raids on the gangs that had any connections to the capturing of his lover. You see, there is one thing that still bothers the white haired man from the day he got her back. Now, with the deepspace hunters on the hunt for her, it only further proved his suspicion and he is planning to utilise the deepspace hunter’s database to get to what he is actually seeking for.

So far, is Sylus impressed? No, because he knew that he could easily do that with the amount of moles he has in this undercity but he needed something to give the deepspace hunter a sense of purpose, to trail for a sense of achievement before he gets what he needs from her and then he shall disappear within the bat of an eye. To Sylus, it just makes the chase more interesting, especially with a deepspace hunter right within his grasp. A mere deepspace hunter like her poses no threat to him afterall. “Still nothing?” His voice rumbled through his chest as he stepped onto bits of broken glass, to get to the entryway that leads to the basement. They are currently at an abandoned motel, in search of the supposed gang members. But Sylus is here for another reason. A reply came from below and he hastened his steps to make it to the bottom.

“I found a safe here, but there are only some sketches, and maybe some formulations or reports for something technological?” The deepspace hunter’s voice hesitated, standing up and showing him the papers that she had found. “Why would these be in a safe? It seemed to be something out of a nightmare.” Sylus took the papers from her hand and studied them. The creature sketched onto the papers with charcoal resembled somewhat of an uncanny human being. Messy, seemingly rushed handwritings were etched onto the side to form notes. ‘DANGEROUS, UNSTABLE AND UNCONTAINABLE’ were the words that he was able to make out while the rest of it are scribbled formulations for who knows what. The creature was drawn out roughly, with hollow dark eyes that bled with tar black substance, elongated and bony body proportions, alongside with a forced smile to make up its final look. The ends of Sylus’ lips twitched as he stared at the drawing. It seemed almost…familiar to him but he just could not quite catch what it resembled.

“Have you ever thought maybe because it is nightmarish hence they would keep it in a safe?” He retorted, a sigh leaving his lips when he realised that common sense may not be equipped within the brains of some deepspace hunters. He folded the papers and shoved them into the pockets of his leather jacket, the deepspace hunter however, held out her hand and beckoned her palm at him, wanting the papers to be within her grasp. “It is better for me to hold onto it as it may not impose any usage for you deepspace hunters.” Seeing her unyielding palm, he continued. “If I received news about this creature you will be the first to know so you may report it back to your HQ.” Her pupils lit up at his suggestion, a sign of agreement.

Stepping out of the abandoned motel, they headed towards their respective vehicles. As they were about to hitch onto their rides, shots were fired. “Duck! We are getting ambushed!” The deepspace hunter shouted and then they both ducked behind their motorbikes, trying to cover themselves from bullets and to sought out the shooters amidst the dark. “There, behind the trees!” Right when she said that, another bullet ricochet and then followed a searing sizzle. Sylus took the opportunity to jump onto his bike and he roared the engine to life, twisting the handle and throttling the bike towards the deepspace hunter.

The wheels screeched in rejection against the tar road and he angled the bike towards the road. The fizzling sound of the broken exhaust notes a ticking time bomb for the bike. Sylus fuelled the bike of his and it started lurching forward, propagating him towards the road. Along the way, he grabbed the deepspace hunter by the neckline of her leather jacket and he heaved her onto his bike with the strength of only an arm. The female squeaked in surprise but quickly reacted by grabbing hold of his bike’s seat and hoisted herself up onto the back seat. Securing her arms around his waist, they both faded into the covers of the darkness as the bike they left behind went off with a deafening explosion.

“Where are we going?!” The deepspace hunter called out from behind, the wind beating against her rubicund cheeks as he shifted the gears to turn a sharp corner. Home. That was all the man could think of. Leaving his lover behind in shreds, with tears depicting strokes of her loneliness, rolled up in bundles of borrowed warmth from satin sheets is not the last scene he would want to encounter upon departing onto a mission. He felt like he had somewhat betrayed her, perhaps even, made her felt unwanted. This man now reeks of self guilt, silently cursing at himself only within the confines of his own mind. There, he left the woman behind him in obsolete silence. Yet, the direction of his motorbike suggested another location he had in his mind.

Y/n's chest felt tight, an unbearable weight pressed against her small body as she struggled to break free from the grasp of an unknown force. A voice travelled through the void, calling out for her. "You're sinking in the mire of your own twisted fate." The voice panned onto her, and her restrained wrists started burning, making her wince in response. "Love was never an option for you, bereft suits you better." An amorphous outline formed, bulky and large, symbolising nary of a man but more of a beast. Two orbs formed at the top of the silhouette and y/n recognised those eyes anywhere, the bright crimson orbs are hard to miss. "If you do not remember, fate always reminds." And a jaw snapped opened, darting straight towards her and she screamed.

Snapping herself awake in bed, y/n could feel her heart slamming against the walls of her chest cavity, begging to be set free. Her wrists still scorched, a memory she had never really freed herself from that dank dungeon. Her tears pierced the back of her eyes, vision blurring in the progress. There were no signs of Sylus in the room and the deep maroon walls swallowed her plangent cries. She could hear the voice echoed in her mind, muttering imprecations repetitively to put her under a trance. Y/n grabbed the roots of her hair and started to tug brutally, aching to pull off her scalp if she was given the chance to.

Luke and Kieran dashed in, horrified at her actions and they both did not hesitate, for they knew if Sylus comes back to this, they are both as good as cadavers. "Y/n!" They both shouted in sync, jumping onto the bed to restrain her but it only agonised her, her body hunched forward and tears spilled onto her clothes. None of the twins knew of her nightmares, how Sylus would sometimes wake up to her crying in the middle of the night, how the word 'somnambulist' was not just another fancy nickname their boss picked up from the lexicon to address her in a teasing manner, and how sometimes she would showcase uncontrolled enmity towards herself in the covers of the night by holding herself at gunpoint. It was also at times Sylus thought that bringing her out of the dungeon may just be the worst decision he has ever made but that did not stop him from wanting to pursue her, to put on the veil of a saint not just to quench his ego for a hero complex, but to hold love for someone who he used to love. The man may have been hurled at life multiple times, reincarnated into different lives and different statuses in different times, but one thing he knew for sure, is that in this life, he met a gaze that he could never forget even if his memories were wiped. For she, held that gaze. The linger that made him see himself, the linger that reminded him of every lifetime, that there is that someone that gave him the warmth that he could never quite grasp, a feel that he has to seek for in every parallel life of his.

"We have to call boss!" Kieran exclaimed, his hand kept rubbing her back in hopes of soothing her as she wailed into her palms. None of the twins knew what to do and Kieran had decided that patting her back could be the best way. Luke careened out of the room hastily, in search of his phone. His hands trembled with every press of a button and he pressed the phone to his ear when the dial tone goes through. However, the call did not manage to get through and Luke stumbled back into the room, his footsteps the only sounds heard throughout the empty manor and it made him wondered if Kieran had done some sort of voodoo magic to calm her cries down. "Luke, no!" Kieran's voice echoed from the room and there goes a deafening blast, sending Luke flying through the air and landing onto the floor like a cordless puppet.

Sylus wasted no time in arriving at the location of a secret auction. One where he knows that he would be able to find the man whom would bear the fair description of non compos mentis, a mad scientist who owns adulations for his 'creations' that shall be witnessed at this auction tonight. The hunter beside him craned her neck upwards, her mouth moving, hushed whispers followed. "Is this where we can find that crazy guy you mentioned just now?" She had been forced to change into an exquisite attire and was given a last minute identity to fit the occasion.

"No more questions from now on." Sylus' brusqueness tied the hunter's lips and she could sense his irritation radiating off of him. He offered his arm to her and she wrap one of her arms around it as they approached the grand entrance of the manor. The manor is gigantic, spanning probably a few acres of land, with patterned bonzai tress and manicured bushes lining the front yard and two large golden statues signifying a nude man and woman guarding the main door. The manor seemed to be a casting location straight out of a cult movie. A footman stood at the entryway, a clipboard in hand.

"Hello, welcome to the Prescott Manor." The footman probably around in his twenties spoke, his voice a welcoming baritone. "May I get your names please as this is an invitation ONLY party."

"Sylus," He replied swiftly and his gaze followed the footman's, landing on the female counterpart next to him. "This is my partner for the night." The footman nodded and trailed his pen on the piece of paper on the clipboard, reading through names before stopping at the alphabetical S and he ticked a small check box next to it.

Smiling, he greeted the both of them and ushered them towards a row of safes located next to the coat room. "Welcome Mr. Sylus and Miss MC to the Prescott Manor. Before you head in, we would like you to kindly surrender your electronic devices and any sort of weapons into any of the locker of your choice here." Seeing the slightly raised eyebrow of Sylus', the footman swallowed and quickly followed up with an inept explanation. "This is a charitable night and we have children around. It is to ensure the utmost safety of all of the guests tonight."

Both Sylus and the hunter started shedding themselves of their electronic devices and weapons. The locker slowly piling up with all of their belongings. "Miss, that includes that claymore tucked in your thigh holster." One of the footman's eye gleamed an unusual cerulean, indicating he is equipped with X-Ray vision to conduct body scans. The hunter scoffed and grabbed the claymore out of her thigh holster and chucked it into the locker, the clang of metals made the footman grinned in satisfaction.

The huge doorway welcomes guests into the expansive hall, chandeliers crafted out of translucent protocores hung high above the ceiling, shimmering and refracting patterned lights across the polished marble floors. One may be in awe at this view but Sylus is too used to this, not to mention he himself is an owner of a manor himself. The hunter however, was in a state of shock, her throat tightened as she struggled to not vomit. Glass cabinets arranged all over the hall displayed preserved creatures, not human nor beasts alike. It closely resembled a sick combination of genes from humans and wanderers.

"I am going to excuse myself." Hand slapped against her mouth, the hunter scampered off to the nearest toilet available while Sylus just rubs his nose bridge and sighed in disappointment. He certainly did not expect a hunter to have a weak stomach given the nature of their work.

A shadow loomed beside him and he was quick to snap his neck over. "Fancy seeing you here." The man of the hour, Dr. Prescott stood next to Sylus, height on par with the Onychinus leader. His piercing grey eyes, hidden behind a pair of sleek glasses pranced with curiosity as he wondered why the leader of Onychinus would appear at this auction for illegal hybrids. "What brings the most feared individual in the N109 zone to my humble abode?" His voice, smooth and commanding makes one hard to discern his true intentions.

The enigmatic doctor has always been one to operate in the shadows, always conducting experiments that makes life and death a blurred maze. In the zone full of villainy, Dr. Prescott stands out not just for his freaky science experiments, but also for his twisted advocation for 'bio-weapons' that shall reform warfares in the future. And that, makes even the nefarious Sylus look like a novice. However, it is his perilious experiments that grants him the trademark, and makes him an easy target.

Sylus adjusted his cufflinks then finally meet the eyes of the man standing next to him. "I came here for answers." His eyes narrowed. "Answers that you would be able to provide." Dr. Prescott, bemused with the demand, tilted his head upwards and started weaving through the crowd. Sylus followed in suit, his senses are heightened when he started noticing the crowd had their glances set on him. "However, I'd like to say, it's very daunting of you to step into my territory with that deepspace hunter."

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lnds x reader #lnds angst #lnds sylus #sylus love and deepspace #lads sylus #loveanddeepspace #lnds #lads #lads angst #lads x reader #lads fanfic #lads x non!mc reader #lads x you #lads x y/n

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ericscroptop · 16 days ago

Text

Kitchen

✧ pairing: bf! san x mid or plus-size/clubby gf! reader

✦ genre: smut

✧ warnings: 18+ (minors DNI), smut, p!rn without plot, unprotected sex (it’s inevitable atp), doggy style, creampie, size kink, body worship, cursing, praising, pet names, kissing, san is down right bad for you

✦ word count: 3.0k words

✧ synopsis: scrambled eggs? what about fertilized eggs, instead?

.ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･

Bacon sizzled as it cooked over the stove, emitting a salivating, savory-smoky aroma into the air.

You cooked it cautiously, maintaining a friendly distance away from the pan as the bacon grease was so volatile with the popping. A sour expression filled your face, fearful and anxious that the grease would splatter across you.

Whoever coined the phrase ‘women belong in the kitchen,’ is seriously wrong as hell.

An unease sat with you while you finished up, wanting to avoid burning yourself or getting attacked by the grease. You yelped as you flipped the strips, your hesitant hands using tongs to do so. Hopefully it’ll get as crispy as you liked within the next minute or so.

As if on cue, when you decide to plate your bacon and turn off the stove, San walks into the kitchen, making his presence known with a whistle and pleased hum.

“You making breakfast?” he folds his arms, idly standing a couple feet away from you like he’s observing the view you grace him with.

“I made breakfast. Come get it while it’s hot.” you took a quick glance at him, causing a flutter in your chest (and possibly even your lower region) when you see how he looks.

He decided to have an early morning workout instead of his usual nightly one, following it up with a shower. In the mean time, the motivation he had inspired you to get up and cook a nice breakfast instead of staying dozed off and drooling in bed.

The drooling might not be able to be prevented though, as you’re trying to keep your mouth from gaping at the sight of San’s Godly-being.

Although you’ve seen him shirtless countless of times— to the point where you don’t even think he’s aware that he owns clothes, it still makes you grow warm in the cheeks, mind threatening to have you replay memories with him that couldn’t possibly be shared with anyone else.

His broad shoulders stood out immensely, chest puffed out proud and muscles extra swole and prominent. The dampness of his hair post-shower further elevated his look, appearing straight out of a shampoo commercial.

San’s attractiveness overwhelmed your senses, short circuiting your focus. You had to snap yourself out of the fuzzy feelings he gave you just from a simple glance and from the sight of his toned, ripped body. Especially when that body had you caged under the covers just last night.

You quickly switched your attention back to arranging the bacon with the scrambled eggs, toast, and various berries you already platted.

“How was your work out and shower?” you cleared your throat, moving on from your gawking and dizzying thoughts.

San shuffled closer to you, leaning his lips over to press against your cheek while simultaneously sneaking a strip of bacon from one of the plates.

“Good.” he mumbles while chewing, humming and savoring the flavor of the pork before continuing on. “I hit chest today. Can you tell?” both of his arms are lifted out and upwards, flexing his biceps tightly.

He stands proudly, those damn biceps bulging out from his honey skin, proving that all of that time he spends with the gym equipment paid off.

His wide shoulders contrasted from his small waist, upper body deliciously intimidating yet comforting. His toned and muscular physique gave you a sense of tranquility knowing that he could protect you, but it also reminded you of the great stamina he possessed, especially during intimate hours.

And the fact that he had the power to manhandle you, having the backbone and robustness to handle the weight you carried. He always did it so effortlessly. Even with the excess fat you carried, he always made you feel so petite and delicate. It turned you on to the max and had you fuzzy all over at his ability to make you seem so small and like putty within his hold.

Naturally, you scoffed at him showing off. While your body screamed for him otherwise, you playfully shoved one of his flexing arms down, pushing past the mountain of a man as you ignore his efforts.

“What do you want to drink?” you asked casually, opening your refrigerator and scanning through the options.

“Chocolate milk.” he smiles through his words, tickled grin plastered over him as he watches you prepare the drink for him, grabbing the jug of milk from the fridge and getting a glass from the respective cabinet.

It’s always funny seeing you attempt at brushing off his flirting. Whether it be for not wanting to inflate his ego or merely because you didn’t know how to react out of timidness. It just charmed him even more, drawing him to get under your skin until you fully acknowledge him.

By now you’ve already started a completely new conversation, something casual that consisted of nothing too interesting. San mindlessly responded to you and offered words, but he really was only paying full attention towards your figure as you moved in the kitchen.

A flimsy pajama set clothed your body— well… at least tried to.

Despite the cutesy pattern that decorated the fabric of the sleepwear, it still managed to look sexy over your body. It was anything but innocent.

Such lightweight material was so skimpy on you. And because of your curves and body type, the clothing seemed to be extra small and barely doing anything to hide your full-figured frame.

Your bottoms consisted of shorts. Shorts that would hike up occasionally from your movements, your ass cheeks peeking out as a result.

The tank top you’re wearing also provoked him. It was one of those tops that had your mounds slipping out during your slumber and feeling a breeze once you awakened. The type of top that would end up bunched under your boobs, the material too lightweight and breasts too fleshy to stay put.

They bounced with every movement you made, as if trying to call to him. Like they’re begging to bust out the lousy, thin fabric, tantalizing him through your cleavage, hanging the way that they do and with the way you’d constantly adjust your top so they’d stay in place.

Your body moved gorgeously as you roamed the kitchen. The motion of your flesh and skin stole his attention, compelled to rake over your form while his mind drives through thoughts filled with perverted, pornographic images of things he’d like to do with you.

That sleepwear left plenty of room for imagination with how little it covered. His horny thoughts persisted even though he hummed and nodded along to words you were saying.

He was so good at multi tasking. Listening to you ramble about how cooking was not your forte with how the grease and pan came close to burning your delicate skin a handful of times.

As he cooed at you and offered you a look of pity, his hands were suddenly wrapped around your figure. His front was pressed up firmly against your backside, hugging your figure with so much greed and need.

Always so touchy, you think to yourself.

A smile stretches your lips, unable to contain the giddiness you feel when San holds you. His clingy behavior for being a grown man is amusing to watch, swelling your pride.

“Go sit down— i’ll be over there in a sec.” you giggled, trying to clean up the counter a bit before sitting down to finally enjoy your morning meal.

Your boyfriend chooses to not listen however, his chin lowered and planted into one of your shoulders, as if he’s trying to get comfortable and bury his face into your neck.

Simultaneously, his hands decide to search for warmth underneath your flowy tank, massaging the fat of your tummy. You quake from his sneaky touches, unable to fight off his hold.

“Babe!” you nagged, groaning when he playfully pinches at your love handles, almost in a possessive way.

“Why are so obsessed in doing that?” you sighed, letting his hands roam all over and paw at your belly.

You’ve grown accustomed to San playing with your excess skin and showing your body love through his sweet rubs and grabs. At first it felt embarrassing, but you eventually accepted that you were like a stress ball of some sort to him. This was not only his way of gaining comfort, but to also appreciate your ample body.

“‘Cause you’re so soft and tempting.” he breathes out before pressing his lips into the skin of your neck.

The compliment and plushy pecks spark warmth down south. Ultimately, the feeling of his soft lips caressing a sensitive spot and his strong embrace gave you no urgency or strength to fight.

“My girl is so beautiful. You know that? Hm.” he mumbles in between kisses and becomes extra playful with that mouth, fine bites felt in the midst of it all, making you airily moan at the feeling of his teeth mixed in.

“Mhm, you get me so horny, princess.” suddenly, his thumbs have found their way sneakily under your shorts and panties, playing with the waistband of them. That pulls more needy sounds out from you, along with subtle but noticeable buttings of your ass back into his crotch, turned on the more he continues with his antics.

“Sannie…” you squeaked, voice high and airy, sweetened with need for him to plunge your swelling hole.

He knows just by the way you call his name cutely and desperately that you’re begging for him to take you right here with no more delay.

It’s incredible how fast he can flip the switch in your brain, especially this early in the morning. But honestly, you were just as big of a feen for him as he was for you.

Breakfast was now the last thing on your minds right now. San directed his focus to pulling down your sleep shorts. You allow him to do so, body burning with desire as you step out of them and he flings them to the side.

The fat of your ass cheeks is exposed, the tiny thong you wear sucked in by your lady bits.

A low grown rumbles from your boyfriend when you tantalizingly throw your ass back at him, jiggling cheeks butting repeatedly at his growing bulge, far from innocent giggles leaving your mouth while you move.

Your behavior evokes him to give a good slap to your ass, making you gasp and cease your movements immediately.

“Baby wants to be fucked, hm?” he sneers, palms circling where he just smacked you soothingly, then working to remove your panties.

In a jiffy he removes that drenched thong of yours, flinging it lazily to the side with his foot once you’ve stepped out of it.

He finally pulls off his own bottoms with swift movement. Unable to resist going a second without touching you in doing so, he manages to press kisses into your lower back, savoring how your bare body stands graciously in his presence.

With his cock gripped in his dominant hand, his breath is already shaky just by going in and manhandling you to spread your legs. Once apart, he guides his cock over your sex, tickling your tensed hole by wagging his cock upwards and slapping it against you a few times.

The sensation makes you shudder, needy as ever and clenching over nothing, his cock so close to your spot but clearly not in yet. He’s teasing you back, your pussy painfully pulsing as he rubs his length against your moist folds.

“Sannie, please…” you’re desperate, gnawing on your lower lip and gripping the counter while he does a few more agonizing drags over your entire sex.

With a chuckle and hefty sigh, he listens to your begging and slots his leaking tip up your hole, him grunting and you yelping at the feeling. It never got old.

“Mhm… That’s it, princess. Shhh, take it all.” he cooed, eventually stuffing his entire length into your fluttering hole that gripped all of him ardently. He licks his lips and softly groans at that, in disbelief that no matter how many times he fucked you, you still remained as tight as the first time he was let in.

His hands attached to your hips, holding you tight as he begins to plow his manhood in and out of your hungry hole.

All you can do is try to catch your breath once he begins a steady pace. You quickly become struck and stupefied by his cock stroking your hot, gummy walls, palms sweaty as you do your best in holding onto the counter through every thrust.

Your body moves like water thanks to his insatiable efforts. The fat on your body jiggles like crazy, from your breasts, to your thighs, to your stomach. San’s grip on your hips loosens as he travels his hands to your love handles, kneading them with so much admiration, practically growling at how sexy your naked body feels.

He even ensures to make his rounds on your tummy, using a hand to hold onto your stomach pudge, keeping you closely against him while he fucks into you.

His cock caresses your walls, mingling with and lathering in your wetness that sops out your cunt during his out strokes, creating sounds that only quench his thirst for more.

One of his hands lands on your lower back, pressing gently for you to get the hint to lean forward. You comply, resting your upper body over the tabletop, ass more up in the air.

After a couple plunges into you like this, a sudden lusty, long moan spurts from you, an indicator that he’s located your sweet spot. He laughs airily knowing that he’s found your prized point.

“Fuckkkk, yes Sannie!” your throat rumbled, breath and any articulacy knocked right out of you.

The new angle allowed his cock to hit you deeper, your pussy eating up his meat and soaking every inch of it, hugging his length as he grants you divine sensations.

“So good for me.” he rasps, hitting your swollen cunt repeatedly, his fingertips sinking into the flesh of your hips as he chases for more feelings of ecstasy.

The indescribable pleasure lingers, growing gradually and never faltering. The moment is such a rush; Your back is arched like a cat, nails scratching the countertop while you’re trying to ground yourself from the feeling of your pussy getting stretched and the dizzying, addictive feeling as a result.

It’s disgustingly irresistible. His velvety, firm cock knocks your spongey spot, hitting you over and over again. Taking you in the kitchen isn’t anything new, as you two have practically christened ever inch of your home.

In the midst of being wound up like crazy, you turn your head back, mouth open as you pant heavily from getting your back blown out. San’s frenzied rams into you have slicked his skin with sweat, the exertion present on his face.

Through gritted teeth as he continues abusing your hole, you each lock eyes for a couple seconds.

Your face was wrecked with wide, heavy eyes full of lust, weak cries leaving your parted lips. He groans darkly when you look at him all disheveled and like you’re struggling to keep up, but still longing for more.

His soul feels captured and snatched by your eyes while you stare at him. You consume his entire being, craving you even though he’s already buried deep inside your pussy.

“So fucking pretty, God.” he utters breathlessly, bewitched by everything you possess. He’s the one working on tirelessly ramming into you until climax, but you’re the one who’s really doing all the work, your silky sex and body pulling the strings on him like a marionette.

Whipping your head back around, a hand of yours slides down towards your brutally-aching clit, beginning to rub yourself lazily.

Your jaw is slack, mouth wide and dry from how everything is hitting you all at once: San’s bulky body fucks you with all the stamina in the world on this kitchen counter. Grunts and sinful moans from each other joining in chorus. Naked bodies pressed together and moving in vulgarity. And touching your puffy bud in the midst of getting stretched by his golden manhood.

And then, you spill. You spill all over his cock, fluids and cum smothering his entire length while your whole body convulses, sweet pleasure hitting you like a truck.

You cry out as your orgasm crashes your body, mind, nerves, and limbs, falling apart from the overwhelming but joyous burst. All while San is still pushing into you, lowly moaning and coaxing you through his ragged breaths.

Your release pushes him to drive his cock harder, sweating profusely as he does so, your juices eventually being enough to form a white ring around his length, making him throb inside of you at the sight.

Weak whimpers and squeaks leave your mouth from the growing overstimulation, pussy so sore from the friction and your break. You push through while seeing stars, biting down on your lowed lip with dazed eyes drawn shut.

San allows himself to drape himself onto your back, his toned, broad body burning hot against your own soft, plush one. Pants and deep groans of his resonate by your ear, hearing him start to come undone.

You swear you expel more fluids as his hips are stuttering and jerking into you, his animalistic noises and mumbles of breathy words striking straight to your core, squeezing his cock dry.

Spurts of his cum fill you up. His body spasms over yours as he lets go, mind and body blissed-out as he lazily kisses your bare shoulder.

“So good. So perfect, princess.” he utters dreamily, reaching a hand up to stroke your hair, time feeling frozen as your eyes struggle to stay open. You can barely even sense the dripping of cum out your sex, dopey and drowsy— especially with San’s warm body against yours.

You can’t say the same for the breakfast you made though, now past cold. Forgotten, but your appetites have been satisfied nonetheless.

At least until San’s cock starts hardening again.

Or until someone’s belly starts to growl.

.ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･ .ೃ࿔☼*:･

#ericscroptop #ateez #choi san #san ateez #san smut #choi san smut #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez san #plus s!ze #plus size reader #chubby reader #san atz #ateez ff #kpop imagines #kpop smut

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heich0e · 8 months ago

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rintarou's sheets are scratchy.

they're new, and haven't yet gone through the wash enough times to properly soften. they haven't been slept on enough times to be fully broken in. you know he bought them because you always used to tease him about his old sheets: faded with some holes in them—a mismatched fitted sheet and top sheet in two different shades of blue, unbefitting of a grown man making grown man money.

so, he got new ones.

these new sheets are green, in the exact shade you like so much—the one you always point out when the two of you are walking in the park near your office on your lunch break. he sent you a picture of the package when he got them home, fishing for praise you refused to give him for doing the bare minimum. they're nice sheets, though. expensive, organic cotton with a high thread count.

but right now, they're scratchy.

and they're irritating you as you lay tangled up in them, the top sheet wrapped around your waist like a belt and twisted around one of your bare legs. you must have been tossing and turning a lot in your sleep, because when you properly rouse from your slumber to take inventory of your surroundings, the first thing you notice is that you're practically knotted into the stiff, new cotton.

you extract yourself from the blankets, stumbling a little towards the door in a fog, and make your way from rintarou's bedroom in the direction of the kitchen.

"oh," rintarou perks up once you appear around the corner, his eyes bright when they spot you. "you're up."

you shuffle around the kitchen counter towards him, your head heavy and pounding, your mouth dry. you feel nauseated, and without thinking, you slump against him with your forehead pressing into the valley between his shoulder blades. you're confused. you're hungover. but he's warm, and smells like laundry detergent. suddenly you feel a little less queasy.

"what's going on?" you grumble into his back. you peel yourself away from him, blinking slowly, and sweep your gaze around the room to get a better sense of things.

suna holds up a frying pan and a whisk. "i'm cooking!"

you blink again. "okay?"

it's not what you meant when you asked him your first question, but rintarou simply smiles. he has an almost puppy-like personality when he gets like this—you can almost picture ears atop his head and a tail wagging happily as he stares down at you.

"how'd i get here last night?"

rintarou freezes, but only for a moment. he quickly turns his back to you again to continue on whatever misguided culinary adventure he'd been attempting before you woke up. "you were pretty drunk."

"my seniors kept egging me on," you complain, rubbing your forehead as the hazy memory surfaces from the night before. it was a company dinner you couldn't get out of, and it had quickly spiralled out of hand. "i don't even remember leaving."

rintarou laughs a little. but he still won't look at you.

"suna."

he doesn't turn, whisking something you can't identify but that you're almost certain should not be whisked in a bowl in front of him on the counter.

"suna." you repeat yourself again.

suddenly, a wave of nausea overtakes you.

no.

you pat yourself down in search of your phone, but the attempt is useless. you're dressed in one of rintarou's t-shirts and boxers, neither of which come equipped with any pockets, and your phone is nowhere to be found. you whip your head around in search of it, but don't spot it anywhere in the immediate vicinity.

"hey—" rintarou finally looks at you when he senses your alarm, and his tone mirrors your own panic. "don't—!"

you swipe his cellphone off the counter in front of him, using the passcode you'd managed to weasel out of him a few months ago to unlock the device and navigate to his call log. you take off running as you tap your way through the various screens on his phone, but he's quickly in pursuit of you—leaving whatever he'd had on the stove to burn like he world's saddest funeral pyre.

"stop, stop!" rintarou is faster than you are, and has longer legs, but even by the time he catches you, you've already found what you're looking for in his call history. he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you down onto his sofa with him in the living room, and the two of you land in a tangle of limbs against the cushions, your breathing laboured.

"i didn't make this call, did i?" you ask meekly, pointing at a brief call in the late hours of the night prior that sits at the top of his call history. it's from your number, but you're confident you hadn't been the one to dial.

rintarou pouts a little bit, avoiding your eyes. after a moment he shakes his head. you groan, rolling over on the sofa underneath him and hiding your face in your hands.

"i wasn't even there long, i promise," rintarou says, his voice impossibly close because of the way the two of you are sprawled across the sofa. his breath is warm against the column of your throat when he speaks.

you refuse to look at him.

"i didn't even say anything embarassing."

you still don't budge.

"i made sure to thank your coworkers for calling me to come get you and everything."

your hangover has been overtaken by your own mortification, a horrible heat creeping up your face to accompany the taste of bile in your throat. you've been so, so careful not to let your relationship and your career overlap thus far. so cautious about introducing rintarou into parts of your life that would make it even harder to face if or when the time came that he wasn't around anymore.

"are you embarrassed of me?"

his question makes your chest ache. the way he says it twists the knife.

you lift your face from your hands and peek at him over your shoulder. he's so close that your noses almost brush.

"no." you mean it.

the anxiety in rintarou's gaze eases. he presses closer.

"you sure?"

you narrow your eyes at him. "depends. were you wearing that awful yellow track suit?"

rintarou laughs, all breath, and then dips down to kiss you softly. you want to complain that you haven't even brushed your teeth yet, or that you kind of feel like you might be sick, or that whatever he was trying to cook is on the brink of burning down the building. but you don't. you just let him rest on top of you. you let yourself enjoy it.

when he finally pulls away, rintarou has a somewhat sly smile on his face.

"what, rin?" you ask him gently.

"just wondering if now that i've met your coworkers you're going to let me come visit you at lunch, or if you're still gonna make me hide in the park."

"i like the park," you pout.

because the park is green, the colour you like so much. like rintarou's scratchy bedsheets. and his eyes.

"okay, okay," he laughs, pressing his forehead against yours. "i like the park, too."

#hq writing #hq drabble #writing #suna x reader #suna rintarou x reader

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pellucid-constellations · 11 months ago

Text

Compliments to the Line Cook

Pairing: Line Cook!Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel never goes for any of the girls on staff. Cassian can't figure out why—and it's pissing him off.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: None! Maybe some language but I tend to do that with modern AUs oops

a/n: Me 🤝 eventually turning to AUs for every fandom. Anyways I think I'm setting this up for a cute little series thing with oneshots because I am inspired ✨ enjoy!!

Main Masterlist ♡

“Come on,” Cassian scoffed with an exasperated tilt of his head. “She is totally into you.”

Azriel threw his friend a look, wiping his hands on the apron tied at his waist. “I don’t care.”

“You don’t care? When’s the last time you got laid, man?”

“Last night,” Azriel simply replied. He moved the prepped onions from the counter to the fridge. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“What? You didn’t tell me that,” Cassian pouted, pausing his spatula on the grill.

Azriel huffed out a breathy laugh, taking up his post at the prep table once more. “Do I need to tell you every detail of my sex life, Cass? Would that help you get it up? I know you struggle.”

“Hey,” Cassian called out, brows raised as Azriel met his gaze. “Fuck you. Who was it, then?”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t the barely legal host you won’t stop trying to set me up with,” Azriel grumbled.

“Dude, she’s literally 26.”

“She doesn't look 26.”

The order bell ringing punctuated the end of the pointless conversation between the two men. In truth, Cassian knew Azriel would never be interested in the new host who had been giving him eyes for the past week. Azriel was never interested in the hosts or the waitresses or even any of the customers. But he would never share why.

Cassian had grown sick of it.

He narrowed his eyes as he watched Azriel grab the ticket off the order wheel. He flicked the paper with a small hum, heading to the stove and lighting the burner.

“Fess up,” Cassian urged, plating the burger for table 12 before tossing the towel on his shoulder into the sink. “You act all mysterious but I’m not an idiot. All the girls on staff basically throw themselves at you and you ignore them. They go on and on about your tattoos even though I have just as many. Gwyn even had her hand on your chest last week and you brushed her off with that awkward pat thing you do.”

“The mean waitress doesn’t throw herself at me,” Azriel replied. He had yet to look up from the pan sizzling at his fingertips.

“Oh shut up. Nesta doesn’t count.”

“Well, you said all so…”

“I swear to god, Az, I’m going to hit you right in that pretty face of yours—what the hell are you making?” Cassian interrupted himself, whipping around from the send-out counter to inspect the odd combination of ingredients being thrown in the pan.

“An order,” Azriel stated. “I feel like you should be working.”

“I am working, asshole,” Cassian grumbled.

Azriel made a noncommittal sound and slid an omelette from the pan onto a plate. He grabbed a handful of spices from the cabinet above and continued to work on the meal. Cassian’s confusion only heightened.

“We don’t make omelettes past noon. It’s dinner. Why the hell did you make an omelette?” Cassian asked, trailing after his friend as he pushed past the swinging kitchen door. “And where the hell are you going?”

“Will your curiosity ever be satisfied?” Azriel droned. “I’m clearly walking this plate out to table eight. Go back into the kitchen. The Walters were just seated and you know they order enough to feed an army.”

Cassian ignored him, staying uncharacteristically silent as he set the intention to spy on his coworker. He let his feet stick at the entrance to the dining room, giving him a clear view of table eight and the girl with the backpack and laptop taking up its residence.

Azriel placed a steady hand on the back of the booth, his chest pressed against the girl’s shoulder as he brought the plate around and edged her laptop aside. The omelette was placed down in front of her, but Cassian was quick to notice that she didn’t even glance at it, her face turned up with a grin.

“Hi, baby,” Azriel greeted, a smile evident in his voice—a smile Cassian could hear from clear across the room. “Take a break. I made you dinner.”

“From the secret menu?” she asked with a giggle.

Cassian watched, in complete shock, as Azriel leaned down to press a long, drawn-out kiss to her temple. “Always.”

Cassian had a lot to say to that mysterious bastard.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel x female!reader #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel modern au #acotar #acotar modern au

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beloveds-embrace · 4 months ago

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I love your writing so so much, it brings me so much joy and comfort too!! Sometimes all I need is to think about those strong men protecting me when I need and your work is the the best example I could ask for <333

Do you have any new thoughts on the roommate au?? I am such a sucker for this trope and yours is just aaaaaaaaa fantastic

Thank you sm!! 🫶🏻💕💕 i will always have thoughts about them trust i love them 🙏🏻

Roommate au masterlist

Listen, if you get anxious easily about not turning things off when you leave the apartment and the boys aren’t home, you video it and send it to them, and they adore how you act and look in those clips.

It started as something small- just you filming the stove knobs and unplugged appliances, your voice soft as you narrated each check for the camera. “Oven off. Stove knobs turned off. Coffee maker unplugged. Straightener unplugged and cooled down.” You’d pan the camera slowly, sometimes with shaky hands, capturing every detail just to ease your own nerves and show them that you can, in fact, be trusted.

The first time you sent one, Kyle responded immediately with a thumbs-up emoji and a text that said, “Looks good, love. Don’t worry about a thing.” But what you didn’t realize was how intently he’d stared at the video before replying, noting the way your lip caught between your teeth as you whispered to yourself, your brows furrowed in concentration. He didn’t tell you, but he saved it to his phone, alongside the others that followed.

Price had been the one to gently encourage you to keep sending the videos. He called it a “good habit,” his voice steady and reassuring. “It’s smart of you to double-check. Just send ’em over anytime, sweetheart. We’ll always let you know if it’s all clear.” But even he couldn’t help how warm he felt when he watched them- when he saw your sleepy eyes and bedhead on mornings you had to leave early, or the way you looked in a cozy sweater with your phone angled slightly upward as you held it with both hands.

Simon never said much about the videos, but you could always tell he watched them immediately. He’d text back short replies- “Checked.” or “You’re good.”- but what you didn’t know was how many times he replayed them. There was something about seeing you move around the kitchen, your voice quiet and trusting, that set him at ease. If he was away, somewhere cold and distant, those clips grounded him. They reminded him what he was protecting, what was waiting for him back home.

Johnny, on the other hand, teased you endlessly the first few times. “Afraid the toaster’s gonna grow legs, bonnie? Or maybe the microwave’s plannin’ world domination?” But the teasing softened quickly, especially when he caught one video where you lingered a little longer than usual, chewing on your lip before whispering, “I think I checked everything. But I’m still worried. Is it okay?” His teasing stopped completely after that. Instead, he started sending voice messages back.

“You’re fine, love. Swear it. Everything’s perfect. But if you need me to check it again later, just say the word.”

And they all noticed the way you fidgeted- how you tugged your sleeves over your hands or adjusted the strap of your bag. They noticed the way you bit back a nervous smile after saying goodbye to the camera, even if it was just to show them one last shot of the locked door.

What you didn’t realize was how much those videos had become part of their routine- how they looked forward to seeing your face and hearing your voice, even if it was just to confirm the stove was off.

Over time, they noticed the changes- the steadier voice, the quick smiles, the trust woven into your words. You started teasing them in the clips, calling Johnny out for double-checking the oven too often or joking that Simon should inspect the locks himself next time.

They replayed those moments more than they’d admit, holding onto your voice during long nights away. And when they finally came home, they saw the difference the way you leaned into them, letting them take care of everything.

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moonstruckme · 10 months ago

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OMGGGGGGG

the first kiss was so cute!!! perfect!! james was so sweet and gentle w her😍😭😭

can’t wait to see there dynamic from now on

Thank you gorgeous! I held onto this so I'd have something to post this last part to, hope you don't mind <3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

James is buzzing while he makes breakfast the next morning. Golden morning light pours in through the front windows, brightening the kitchen and warming his back where he stands in front of the stove, the buttery smell of pancake batter wafting up from the pan. He’d gone to bed later than usual last night and slept hard but woke jittery, desperate to do something about the commotion in his chest.

A run hadn’t done it, nor had replaying the previous night in his head, and now he’s convinced he won’t be able to rest until he can kiss you again. It’s your fault, really. Your little sighs, your careful touches, the way you’d tugged at the roots of his hair when he asked you to, like all this time you’d only been waiting for permission. You’ve fucked him. James will never be able to get over it. Now, all he can think about is getting more.

He’s made more pancakes than a family of five could eat when he hears the stair creak.

“Good morning,” he says, turning around just as you pad into the kitchen, quiet as a ghost.

Your eyes are bleary, but they still manage to widen slightly as you take him in, along with the precarious tower of pancakes beside him. You’re in that sweatshirt he loves so much, sleeves hanging limply from your hands and hem hitting just above your knees.

“Morning,” you say, softer than soft.

“How’d you sleep, lovely?”

You shrug, not quite looking at him. “Fine. You?”

James grins. “Beautifully. You want some pancakes?”

Your gaze goes again to the stack beside him, and he can practically see the quip brewing in your eyes. Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice. Are you planning to feed an army?

“Sure,” you say in that same quiet voice. “Thanks.”

James studies you, intrigued. “Great. C’mere, sweetheart.”

He plates up a few pancakes, keeping one eye on you as he does. You seem disinclined to look even in his general direction, finding distractions with the stove, your plate, the weather outside.

“How’s this?” He turns around with the plate. You take it cautiously, by the complete opposite end to avoid any possibility of making contact with his hand. James’ heart warms at the way your fingers just peek out from the sleeve of your sweatshirt to grasp the plate. He wants to kiss you until you don’t know what day it is. “Too many? Not enough?”

“This is good.”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t let go of the plate. He tilts his head, trying to catch your eye, but you evade him. He has a hunch that if he were to touch your face (and god, does he want to) he’d find it burning hot. “Are you alright?”

Your eyes flit up to his for a half a second before fleeing again. You hum, the sound tense and pitchy. “Mhm.”

“You sure?” he asks, matching your soft tone. “Don’t go getting shy on me now.”

You look like you stop breathing.

And ordinarily James might feel bad, but post-kiss James cannot be prevailed upon to treat you as cautiously as he ordinarily might. Unfortunately for you, your secret’s out. You’re lovely, you’d said, voice soft and breathy and mere inches from his own mouth, I like having you around. I do. I really like you. Also unfortunately for you, post-kiss James knows things.

He slips his palm alongside your face, working his hand behind your ear and letting his fingers burrow into the hair behind it. You melt, leaning into the touch. Your eyes meet his.

It’s grueling work to keep from smiling. “What’s wrong, angel?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say, still quietly but now with more of yourself in your voice.

“Really? Because you’re acting like we’ve just met.”

“Don’t you—don’t things feel different to you?” You seem almost distressed, eyebrows hooking upwards just slightly, pretty eyes imploring. Your voice softens again, now more with intimacy than reticence. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to talk with you about.”

James lets his smile loose, thumbing at the skin behind your ear before letting you go. “We can talk about anything you want,” he says simply, grabbing his own plate and leading you into the living room.

You’ve got a perfectly good kitchen table but almost never use it, each preferring to eat your meals on the couch. He flops down, careful not to tip his pancakes onto the cushion as he crosses his legs underneath him like you’re at a sleepover.

“So, have any fun dreams last night?”

You smile. It’s as heart-stoppingly lovely as always, and James thinks his own probably doubles in magnitude in response.

“A couple,” you admit.

“Oh? What about?”

Your smile goes sheepish, bottom lip slipping in between your teeth as if to impede its progress. You fork clinks against the plate as you start cutting up your pancake.

James’ brain short-circuits.

“You were in my dream,” he blurts.

Your eyes flit up to his warily. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It was one of those weird, super vivid dreams where nothing really happens, you know?” You seem to relax a bit. James douses his pancakes in syrup, starting to cut them up as he talks. “We were here, and someone had spilled something on the rug—probably Sirius, to be honest—and it made this huge stain. I’d tried to pour baking soda on it, but the whole box had collapsed and it got everywhere. We were both sitting right there scrubbing with literal toothbrushes, and I think I was worried you’d be upset with me but you were just laughing.” His heart warms at the pseudo-memory, the hazy feeling of contentment that had permeated the dream. The sound of your laugh, exactly as sweet as in real life. “Your hands were totally covered in baking soda, and the rug was ruined, but we were both laughing our heads off.”

You’re smiling again, a small, knowing thing. “Had you said something to make us laugh?”

“No,” he says honestly, “I think it was you.”

James is aware that he’s barely functioning. It’s almost too much to talk and cut his pancakes at the same time while you’re looking at him like that, like he’s the loveliest thing you’ve ever seen. It makes it both a relief and a disappointment when you drop your gaze.

“Do you think the stain might’ve been a premonition?” you ask.

He raises his eyebrows. “How do you mean?”

You laugh, and he’s instantly spellbound, caught somewhere between fantasy and reality. It takes him a second to realize you’re touching the edge of his plate, tipping it up. James looks down. It had been nearly falling off his lap, his pancakes cut up into tiny pieces and syrup pooled near the rim.

You look up at him, seraphim with the morning light brightening your features and the hint of a smile playing on your lips. He thinks of how soft they’d felt on his the night before, the way they’d fallen open like welcoming him home.

“You were almost spilling syrup onto the rug,” you say, that rare and beloved teasing lilt to your voice. “It would’ve taken more than baking soda to get that out.”

“See?” he asks. “You know how to talk to me just fine.”

You look surprised, then self-conscious, though not nearly as bad as when you’d come into the kitchen a few minutes ago. He covers your hand with his to keep you from going anywhere. Sets his plate on the coffee table.

“Can I kiss you?”

Your eyes are wide. “Again?”

“Yes, again,” James laughs. “And again after that, preferably. Only if it’s okay with you.”

You shake your head, looking something akin to bewildered. “Yeah. Yeah, please.”

He starts to lean toward you, and you meet him halfway. Already, it’s a bit different. There’s no tentative stillness, no slow yielding. Your lips are pliant and eager, parting and closing around his like you’re trying to get as much of him as you can. Your fingers wind in his hair without instruction, and James responds by placing his hand in that spot you’d seemed to like it so well last night, the material of your sweatshirt soft beneath his touch. You taste like his pancakes, the syrup sweet on your tongue.

“Keep talking to me,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your lips worshipfully, “okay?”

Your voice is breathless. “Why?”

“Because I like you.” He tugs at you, wanting you closer. “And I think I’ve put in the work for you to warm up to me, if it’s all the same to you.”

You make a tiny, amused sound. “Fine,” you say. You grow bolder, kissing your way up his cheek, the top of his eyebrow, until your nose is nestled in his hair and your lips are caressing his forehead. “Consider me warmed.”

James grins, unable to help himself. He thinks that becoming your friend didn’t go quite as he planned, but he feels as though he won in the end.

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