#all of the shirts that i can read are seriously so them

[toxicrelief]

Crawling Back to You

Chapter seven

Synopsis: Rex and Rudy have come together to theorize about your real reason for joining the team. But none of that matters, because now you're standing in Rex's room, alone, with a bottle, asking for forgiveness.

Pairing: Rex x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Chapter: 7/?

Masterlist of all Chapters

TW: Alcohol, Mild Description of Wounds

Note: I have a love-hate relationship with Rex chapters. But they are good for plot and I love seeing a man confused.

“What is that?” Rudy’s gaze sweeps over Rex’s torso.

“The new kid just did this to me. One punch.” Rex admitted sourly, his eyes following Rudy as he walked over to his robot counterpart.

“Is that the only hit she landed?”

“…no,” Rex responded slowly. How incompetent was he coming across right now? It was suddenly very apparent to him that he just got his ass beat by the newbie.

“Interesting.” Rudy put a hand to his chin, turning as one of his robots began to scan Rex. “So, she can control it. Whatever it is.”

“Do you think it is enough?” Re questioned, lowering his shirt with delicate precision. The shock was wearing off and all he could think about was the heavy throbbing and how every move hurt like hell.

“No.”

“Seriously?”

“Killdeer landing that hard of a hit after admitting to having minimal practice is good evidence that she is capable of something beyond healing, but it is nowhere near concrete enough substantiation to bring up to the team.” Rudy began to type furiously on the computer that resided nearby. Pictures of Rex’s wound flash by on the screen, leaving Rex with a weird feeling after not seeing the camera. He eyed the motionless robot exoskeleton but stood up to read over Rudy’s shoulder.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Rex finally said, he was more than happy to spy on and report findings about the girl, but to what end? The wound he was sporting already felt like plenty of evidence to get her kicked to him. But the more time he spent with her the less passion he managed to evoke at the idea of her absence. He didn’t like her when she first arrived, but he didn’t like Monster Girl either. She ended up being a pretty good addition and he even respected her. Why was he having such a hard time swallowing that Killdeer might be just as worthy as the rest of them?

He scoffed to himself at the intrusion of the thought. She had never even been in combat before yesterday. There was no way she was nearly as prepared as anyone on this team. Minus Shapesmith, but no one really knew what was going on there. Is no one looking further into that whole situation still? Now that Rex thought about it, maybe he was getting too distracted by you to think about someone who was just as much of a threat and much more prominent on the team.

“I’m not sure.” Rudy shrugged. “I am close to getting access of footage that I think should reveal something. So far all I have been able to find out is that she has excessive records related to hospital visits, but she never stays more than a day. Hypochondriac maybe.”

“She doesn’t seem like the kind.” Rex stated flatly even though he was by no means an expert in this area.

“It is a long shot, but my running theory right now is that she can both heal new injuries and bring back old ones.” Rudy turned to Rex, his computer dimming as soon as he did so. “Have you ever been injured that badly in a fight in that exact region?”

Rex thought for a moment. He had been in a lot of fights, and it was very difficult to say. In fact, Rex was not sure there was a single part of his body that had gone untouched through all his years of combat. So…probably?

“I think so?” Rex pursed his lips trying to think about it more fully.

“It is just a running theory.” Rudy reiterated.

Rex could hardly focus on the conversation at this point. The pain was only amplifying and with every moment he spent upright he was starting to convince himself he was going to retch.

“Well let me know if you learn anymore… I’m going to go lay down or…some shit.” Rex did not wait for a response before trudging towards the exit of the room. His feet dragging slightly on the hard metal floor.

It was a blur. He could hardly remember making it up the elevator and into his room. But now he was lying down, his back straight against the mattress and his gaze on the ceiling. As long as he did not move it was not so bad. The biggest problem, at the moment, was he had to move to breathe. So, with every breath, a sharp pain ran through his chest.

He should have let her heal it. He sighed lightly, sending another stabbing pain through him. This shouldn’t take too long to heal right? The look on her face once she saw it kept playing through his mind. Either she was a phenomenal actress, or she really was completely dumbfounded at what she had done.

He laid for a minute just running over secret intentions she might have. Theories coursing through his pain-addled mind. But no matter how much rationalizing he did he still came back to her shock. The genuine apology she attempted to give him. It just all didn’t make sense.

__

If he thought he was in pain last night, then he must be in a living hell today. Upon sitting up he immediately knew he was not doing anything today. Rudy must have informed someone Rex was going to be out of commission today because it was at least four hours after when he was meant to be in the training room, and no one was coming to collect him. That was until he heard the first knock.

Rest time’s over. Rex sat up, scooting to the edge of his bed, with full intentions of pretending he had been up for hours to whoever was at the door.

Probably Immortal.

He groaned in annoyance, the end of it forced out of his lungs as a ripple of hurt ran through him. He put his head in his hands for a moment, now very aware of a headache forming behind his eyes.

Another knock.

Oh god.

“One day off dickhead!” So much for pretending to have been up. Either way, he hoped Immortal would just fuck off. Go hide in some backroom with Kate like a bunch of horny teenagers. Gross.

The door opened and he didn’t immediately look up. His thumbs digging lightly into his eyelids, trying to relieve a bit of the pressure from the oncoming migraine. Usually by now Immortal would have started to lecture him for not taking the Guardians seriously, fooling around when he had a ‘God-given duty’ or something like that. That sounds like something he’d say.

Rex didn’t really listen when the Immortal spoke.

But it was quiet, with no lecture and no feeling of judgment. The silence felt loaded, tense.

“I said-!” Rex started to snarl, turning his gaze directly towards the perpetrator but the words died in his mouth. “Oh shit.”

“Hi.” She said with an awkward smile.

Rex’s mind went completely blank, he was so prepared for an argument over failing to fulfill his daily tasks that he was now not sure now what to say. His eyes trailed over her body down to her hands that were holding a bottle in front of her.

A better view than he would have had if it had been Immortal.

“Hi.” Hi!? That it!? He squinted slightly at his nonresponse. Why was she here?

“I feel really bad about yesterday and I don’t want it to be a whole thing.” Ouch. Glad she’s so broken up about it. Guess she wasn’t as shocked as he had thought she was. If he was feeling more himself maybe he would tell her to get out. Leave. Begone. All tempting, but she was holding liquor. And maybe he wanted to see her. He was still convinced this might be a side effect of her powers. Maybe a kind of mind control.

“A whole thing?” He raises an eyebrow and leans back. She rolls her eyes but closes the door behind her. Was she making a move on him? He sits up a little taller, his mind running once again.

No… Right?

Girl comes to your room alone. With drinks. And a very awkward demeanor about her.

“That’s not what I meant.” She says to his previous question, holding out the bottle to him.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” He smirks, looking her right in the eye. Her slight smile immediately dries up. Damn it. Not getting laid.

“I’m saying sorry.”

“You said that already.” He tilts his head slightly, still analyzing her face.

“I know.”

“Multiple times.”

“I know.”

“I said to leave it be.”

“I know.”

He swept his gaze over his room for a second as if checking it was indeed just the two of them.

“Yet here you are, alone in my room, offering me a drink?” He grins, very obviously trying to drop hints.

“Don’t let it go to your head, it’s cheap.” She says dryly, practically dropping the bottle in his hands. He sighed while turning it over in his hand. Disappointing. Kate folded fairly quickly to his charms, why did it seem to have close to no effect here? The brand he recognized though, and it was not that cheap. Promising. Maybe she was secretly interested. Or he was making a complete ass of himself, either way. There was a crinkled yellow bow tied to it, it was fraying at the ends and looked extremely manhandled.

“Nice bow.”

“Thanks, it cost extra.”

Rex looked up from the sad-looking ribbon and watched her as she quickly took an interest in different things around the room. Maybe he should have cleaned up a little. She stopped in front of pictures he had haphazardly taped to the wall. Eve had sent them to him after their breakup and one night after drinking a bit too much he decided the walls were too empty.

She paused looking at a picture of him and Eve. A drink sounds pretty good right now, and that migraine was really starting to set in. After getting the bottle open, he took a long swig. “So… was there anything else you wanted?”

She briskly turned around, her eyes immediately landing on the bottle. He felt a little uncomfortable now, what time was it? Too early to drink?

“I-”

Rex straightened up slightly and immediately felt the searing pain in his chest he had been able to forget about for a few minutes.

“I want to fix that.” Oh, fuck off.

“No.”

“Why?”

How about I don’t need your damn sympathy! He gave her an annoyed glance, but he was already considering it.

“How do I know you’re not going to make it worse? You did the fuckin’ thing in the first place.” He grumbled, knowing it was a pretty weak argument, but he felt the need to put up a fight. Pride motivated probably.

She takes a few steps forward, obvious annoyance radiating off of her. “Rex, be serious for five seconds, I was brought on as a healer. Why not let me do my one purpose huh?”

“One purpose my balls.” Probably shouldn’t have said that. Rudy wouldn’t be happy to know he was being overtly suspicious of her. Or maybe it would be more suspicious to not act suspicious of her?

“Very mature.”

“Look, I just don’t want it okay? Back off.” He grits his teeth, but his resolve is quickly giving.

“It obviously hurts; you’ve been in your room all day-”

“No I haven’t who said that?” He all of a sudden felt very self-conscious at what her perception of him must be.

“Rae.”

“Ugh.” They seemed to be getting very buddy-buddy…

Suddenly she’s right in front of him, a look of determination on her face. She’s very close and he must look up to maintain eye contact.

His mind is blank again.

“Let me help you and I’ll leave, you won’t have to hear from me until the next time Cecil makes me come to Headquarters. Don’t let me help you and I’ll be back every day, and I’m taking that with me.”

Dilemma. If she came every day, then she might do something that Rex could relay back to Rudy. And…he’d get to see her every day. Not that that is something he wants. Definitely not.

But it also really hurts, and if it’s healed then he can get back into actual work.

“Every day?” He says with a sigh, not looking her in the eyes.

She nods and he looks away completely. Even just turning his head sent a shiver down his spine. Yeah, this needed to go.

“Will it hurt?”

“A little.”

“Are you lying?” He turns back to look at her again, examining her eyes.

“A little.” Of course.

He groans in annoyance and nods, but his expression completely turns to confusion as she starts to pull up a chair. Immediately he’s trying to stop her.

“Woah, can’t you just heal it from over there or some shit?”

“No.”

“No, you can’t or no you won’t?”

“I have to have direct contact with the skin.” Naturally. He bites at the inside of his lip, thinking. This was bound to be very uncomfortable. Sitting directly in front of him, after rejecting several advances. Maybe he could deal with the pain.

But to another point, if she can only heal with direct contact. Does that work the same way with the retrieval of old wounds? If Rudy’s theory was correct, then she was lying about needing direct contact. She had not needed it when bestowing the bruise on him yesterday. She had definitely landed the blow against his shirt, not directly to his skin. But if she was telling the truth, Rudy was wrong. It would be impossible for her to have enough connection.

“Are you just trying to get me to take my shirt off?” Last ditch effort. The look she is giving him immediately shuts that down and he sighs. Hopefully this doesn’t take long. “Fine. Jeez”

She positions the chair right between his legs, and he takes another swig of the bottle before setting it down. If she was anyone else, he’d probably find this hot. After managing to get the tank off, Killdeer moved closer, he didn’t even know she could scoot the chair any closer. Her eyes were focused, determined on the bruise. He could admit this did not happen often, even when he was sleeping with someone, they were not looking at him with this much scrutiny. Rex leaned back on his arms, trying to make a bit of space between them. Their eyes met for a moment and then she was immediately back to work. Her hand gingerly pressed against his chest.

His nerve endings were not working optimally from the injury, but he could feel her.

Her hand was cool, soothing, distracting. Then the healing process actually started. It felt like she was trying to pull his heart through his chest. It was a duller pain.

“The fuck?” There’s no way she is actually pulling his heart out right? That was fairly unlikely?

“I warned you.”

“Hardly!” He snapped back.

“You should feel what it’s like with a broken bone, it’s so much weirder.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Why are you assuming I’m trying to make you feel better?”

She has a small smile on her face. So, to some extent she must have been enjoying this, which filled Rex with indignance. But he was immediately distracted, after a few moments the pain was no longer as intense. There were sharp pains here and there, but it was nothing compared to what he had just felt. It felt like his senses were elevated almost. He felt…relief. That layer of exhaustion, the migraine, random aches from various injuries over the years, he couldn’t feel any of it. All he could feel was the cool of her hand splayed across his chest.

That feeling he felt the other night during drinks was back again to haunt him. He suddenly found he didn’t want to do anything but watch her. The way her brow pinched in concentration, the way her eyes moved slightly as she was obviously deep in thought. For a moment Rex feels like the biggest piece of shit. Was he really content trying to get her removed from the Guardians? She hadn’t done anything to him. Well, nothing she could control.

“Why do you hate me?”

She didn’t even look up, just kept her focus on her work.

“Who said I hated you, Joy?” He said it softly, he knew why she thought he hated her. And maybe he did sometimes.

“You’ve been rude to me since the day we met. You don’t even call me by my real name.” She glanced up but Rex didn’t look away immediately. She looked genuinely hurt.

Rudy’s suspicions flashed in his mind, grounding him for a moment. He tore his gaze away, reaching down to grab the bottle and take another drink.

“You don’t deserve to be on the Guardians.” Every time he said it, he meant it less, but at this point, he did not know what else to say.

“And that’s it?” She says with a tone of incredulity in her voice. “Something completely out of my control and you use that to hate me?”

“You could tell Cecil you don’t want to be a part of it-” He doesn’t finish, her gaze snapped back to her hand. A look of anger ghosting over her features rather than the semi-peaceful look of concentration.

Several moments pass in silence and Rex debates what to say. He doesn’t owe her anything. He really doesn’t. At least that’s what he keeps telling himself.

“I don’t hate you.” He couldn’t believe he said it as soon as it left his lips. But it didn’t seem to matter. If she heard she showed no sign of it. All his mind could concentrate on was the fact she was touching him. And how much he didn’t want her to leave. She could yell at him, bruise him again, he didn’t care. For some reason, he didn’t want her to leave.

And then she was done. He could feel it. Even still, she hesitated. Her hand did not immediately leave his skin, slowly tracing a small line. Rex blinked a few times, letting out a quiet exhale. In what felt like an instant she was standing and putting the chair back.

As soon as her hand was gone the exhaustion returned. He ran a hand over his chest, noting how it was back to normal.

“I don’t hate you.” He repeats again, suddenly desperate for her to know.

She pauses at the door, an unreadable look on her face. As she’s closing it she says:

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

__

Rex is in the training area, it’s very late. But after a day of laying in bed he suddenly has a lot of energy. With each punch he is landing on the boxing bag his frustration is rising. He wasn’t sure when Killdeer would be back, but it was bound to be a few days at least.

The sound of the door opening broke his concentration, and he turned his head suddenly to the source.

“Oh god.” He muttered grabbing his towel to dry his face.

“You don’t own the place. Stop making it weird.” Kate said with annoyance, making her way over to a different machine.

“I’ll stop making it weird when it stops being weird. Which it won’t, ‘cause Immortal is like a million years old.” He retorts.

She rolls her eyes, as one of her duplicates grabs her weights to put on the barbell bar. “Oh please, because you’re so hurt about it. I saw the new girl waiting outside your door with that wine bottle or whatever it was. You obviously didn’t have much trouble finding someone else so let me be.”

“What?” Rex bristled, maybe a little more than he should have. “Nothing was happening.”

“Sure, Rex. Just like nothing was happening when Eve found us in the showers.” She gave him an incredulous look. “I’m honestly not surprised though. You can’t see anyone without trying to get in their pants.”

Rex glared at her but didn’t say anything, returning his attention back to the punching bag.

“I’m just surprised she’s so easy. Didn’t quite peg her as the type but I guess you can never really know huh.”

“Knock it off, Kate. We didn’t do anything.” Usually, he would take this opportunity to pretend he just had that good of game. But it was irking him that Kate felt so comfortable as to say something like this. At least he said shit about Killdeer to her face.

“Then why was she at your door?”

“You ever think she might just be being friendly?”

“You don’t do friendly Rex. You’re only nice to something if you think you can fuck it.”

“Fuck you.” Rex grits his teeth.

“You did.” She sighs before flashing him an unimpressed look. She then lays back to begin lifting weights, effectively ending the ‘conversation’.

Rex looked at the bag in front of him, he was angry, but suddenly there was no longer any appeal. He grabbed his towel and simply walked out. He didn’t need to fuck the new girl; they could just coexist, right? All while he was trying to get rid of her… nothing abnormal there.

Either way, he knew that what he had been thinking today while she was in his room couldn’t happen again. He was letting her distract him, and he was in pain. He didn’t like her. He just had to coexist. At least until she was off the team.

Author's Note: I kept trying to come up with reasons why pre-arc Rex wouldn't try to sleep with the reader. I really needed to channel his distaste just enough to keep the conflict but also keep him questioning. Show Rex I fear doesn't think anything through enough and so Kate ended up being useful for once in her entire life.

divider credit: @/ saradika

[stereopticons]

On This Day in Schitt's Creek: April 18

2019

King of My Heart [david/patrick, G, 836] by @mickeysmyheart

ewdavids said:king of my heart by taylor swift song fic Tumblr prompt that I centred around Patrick's feelings throughout meeting and being with David with lyrics from King of My Heart by Taylor Swift.

Night Cream [david/patrick, E, 960] by xoxxblitz

Patrick looks done for. He’s sweating all over, blue button down shirt still on his shoulders. + Messy BJ’s!

Perfect Snapshot [david/patrick, T, 3,284] by kt_rose28

David and Patrick take engagement pictures together! Post “The Hike” (5x13)

2020

Afterwards [david/patrick, E, 5,250] by sheafrotherdon

The wedding's over. They've said their goodbyes. Their honeymoon's a week together in the apartment without anyone bothering them, and David doesn't know how to be this happy, and sad, together, at once.

easy as knowing all the words [david/patrick, NR, 758] by @banesapothecary

"You signed me up for what?"

kings and queens will have to wait (won't get by on mere imagination) [ted/alexis, G, 773] by earnmysong

Cracking the binding on her carb-stamped notebook, Alexis puts pencil to paper and begins outlining the highly-anticipated upcoming chapter of her life. ~ Unpacking after her move, Alexis makes an interesting - and comforting - discovery. [Post-Series]

Nobody Gets Left Behind or Forgotten [david/patrick, G, 1,373] by loveisallyouneed21

David starts to miss his family and Patrick helps him feel better.

Now I'm a spinning 33 [david/patrick, T, 593] by @sloganeeer

Footloose and fancy free Now I’m a spinning 33 Complete devotion Is that the cost of love’s commotion? Joel Plaskett, "On & On & On"

some things never change (and others do) [david/patrick, G, 2,759] by tuatarasa

It felt weird to think about the fact that his name was on the front of the store because while sure he made the creative decisions, the reason the store was a viable business was because Patrick handled all the boring buisnessy stuff. The store was just as much his as it was David’s which is why the next words slipped out of his mouth without any thought, 'Should we rename the store?'" or three times changing the name of the store was brought up and the one time David finally stopped.

Wine Night [david/patrick, G, 587] by @khughes830

Stevie and David try to have wine night as often as they can. But David is a newlywed... so sometimes he is late.

2021

If You Could Only See [david/patrick, E, 3,351] by @blackandwhiteandrose

David knew exactly the aesthetic that he was trying to achieve; he could see it all so clearly in his mind. It had been a passion project since he’d started to take photography seriously as a hobby. While he figured Patrick would do just about anything to support him, he had not anticipated that his husband would be such a willing participant. OR: David and Patrick dabble in erotic photography

Lebanon [gen, G, 300] by Rosey_Peach

when my two lovesick arms started flapping, there's nothing my ankles could do [rachel/twyla, G, 800] by budd

Rachel takes an impromptu trip to Café Tropical after her conversation with Patrick during "The Barbecue" where she meets Twyla for the first time.

2022

[Podfic] Heart of Gold [david/patrick, M, podfic] by HowOldAreWe

Or David is a hooker with a heart of gold, AKA the Pretty Woman AU you never knew you wanted. Canon compliant up through season one. Instead of running out of gas at the Amish Farm when fleeing Schitt's Creek, David makes it to NYC where he becomes a high-end escort in order to make ends meet. He's the consummate professional until he meets Patrick Brewer and takes a chance on his own fairy tale.

He is risen. [david/patrick, G, 485] by @cheesecurdsgravyandfries

Knowing David wouldn’t wake up for awhile, Patrick let himself enjoy his tea, a scroll through social media, and a few chapters of his latest read, before starting to make Easter breakfast.

You Have Reached Your Destination [david/patrick, E, 15,294] by NotTheLoveGuru

"In the history of Tuesdays, this particular Tuesday was the Tuesday-est of all..." The boys meet a few weeks earlier than expected under very unexpected circumstances.

2023

Ponder [david/patrick, T, 92] by @wearpersistencewell

Patrick meets someone interesting. Based on a schittscreekdrabbleblog prompt.

Stats:

No fanworks for 2017, 2018, or 2024 2019: 3 fics/5,080 words 2020: 7 fics/12,093 words 2021: 3 fics/4,451 words 2022: 3 fanworks (2 fics, 1 podfic)/15,834 words 2023: 1 fic/92 words Total: 17 fanworks (16 fics, 1 podfic)/37,550 words

[kate-inthedarkness]

hii!! could you please write something about robert hard launching his longtime girlfriend. like she was a bit scared before because she’s never really been on the public eye or anything but turns out his fans love her and they’re going crazy about them. and it’s just like fluff or anything you like, you can add whatever you want. love u, thank!!

I had so much fun writing this I’m giggling hehehe!!!

Enjoy 💋💋

Secret No More - Robert Keating

Summary: I genuinely wrote exactly what the request was so that's technically the summary LOL.

Warnings: None! xxx

You never thought a simple post could make your heart race so fast.

You're curled up on the couch in Rob's flat, his arm slung lazily around your shoulder, fingers tracing soft shapes along your arm as some old film hums quietly in the background.

His phone buzzes, lighting up the room for a second before he turns it screen-down again.

You don't think much of it—he's always getting messages. Band stuff, group chats, someone sending him a dumb meme. It's background noise at this point.

What you do notice is how he keeps glancing over at you. The kind of look that's all warm eyes and slightly parted lips, like he's about to say something but hasn't quite worked up to it.

"What?" you laugh, nudging him gently. "You're staring."

"Yeah," he shrugs, a soft smirk tugging at his lips. "Can't help it."

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks are already heating up.

He sits up slightly, shifting so he can look at you better, his voice a bit more serious now. "I was thinking about posting something."

"Okay...?" you say, eyebrow raised.

"Of us."

You blink. "like... on your Instagram?"

He nods, eyes flickering down for a second. "Only if you're okay with it. Just... I dunno. I want people to know. Want them to see how lucky I am."

Your heart does a full somersault. He's never hidden you—not really. The band have always known, and so have the rest of his friends. And of course his family knows. But this would be different.

This would be thousands of people. The fans. The internet.

The thought makes your stomach twist, but not in a bad way. You're just extremely nervous. Not about him, but about you. About being seen.

Rob must notice the way your face changes, because he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing your cheek. "Hey. We don't have to. Seriously."

"No," you say, surprising yourself. "I want to. I'm just... a little scared."

"Yeah, I get it. I'll be right here though," he promises, smiling softly. "I always am."

He snaps the photo while you're tangled in his hoodie, half-asleep, your face hidden against his neck. All you can see of yourself is your hand wrapped around his shirt and the slope of your nose.

His caption reads:

"No.1 Mardy Bum 💙"

You try to ignore the notifications that start pouring in. But a few hours later, curiosity wins, and you crack open your phone.

The comments weren't what you expected at all.

"OMGGGGG BOBBY??? SHE'S GORGEOUS" "This is the softest thing I've ever seen, I'm crying 😭" "They look so in love I'm gonna crash out." "I need a Robert in my life istg!"

There are fan edits within minutes. TikToks. Tweets. Someone found your old Spotify playlist from around the time you and Rob first started seeing each other, and is already analysing the "romantic vibes" for clues.

But instead of feeling overwhelmed like you thought you would, you just... smile.

You feel seen. Not as a headline or a rumour, but as someone who loves and is loved in return.

Rob leans over your shoulder, chuckling at one of the comments. "'They look like they smell like vanilla, cigarettes, and love'?" he grins. "I mean, they're not wrong."

You elbow him lightly, but your cheeks hurt from smiling. "This is insane."

He presses a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then right at the corner of your mouth. "It's just the beginning of all the madness, love."

And in that moment, wrapped in his arms, surrounded by love in every direction—on the screen, in the room, in your heart—you believe him.

[greghatecrimes]

my god I just discovered this promo picture and i am DYING. does anyone know what some of the shirts say?? left to right i have:

wilson: admit the past, deny the present

thirteen: “has a reason”. either “everything has a reason” or “not everything has a reason”. her hair is covering

chase: don’t blame me blame my gender (god thats SO him)

kutner: doing things changes things

house: hope is for sissies

foreman: bad mojo is not a diagnosis (LMAO)

cuddy: something with “don’t trust opinions”??

cameron: looks like the second word is “something”

taub: something with “do good”?

also the fact that half of them are barefoot and the other half aren’t with no rhyme or reason. i am DYING

[escapenightmare]

sae itoshi was not a nonchalant boyfriend or a chill guy, despite how much he tried to seem like he was. you don’t ask him for his opinion on your outfit? do you not want him (to compliment you and ask you to do a small twirl so he could see the ensemble properly and then pepper your cute face with kisses)? you don’t want him to share his food with you? okay, so basically you’re saying you want him to go to hell.

you tell him to quit liking flirty comments from random people under your posts? what’s wrong with that, he agrees with them— you’re absolutely stunning. and no, he isn’t doing it just so those randoms get a notification that saeitoshi, with a silly picture of you and him with your cheeks smushed together as his profile picture, has liked their comment so that they now know you aren’t single and looking for some sleazy jackass who thinks they can get your undivided attention just by commenting ‘🔥🔥’. seriously, how dare you accuse him of such pettiness?

but really, none of that is compareable to how he feels right now; damp hair sticking to his forehead, towel over his shoulder, one hand buttoning up his loose shirt while he’s looking at his phone, fresh out of the shower after the usual training. his teammates are yapping about something like they always do but it’s all silent in his head as he takes in what feels like utter blasphemy on the screen.

zero notifications.

well, actually, he had a shit ton of texts messages from his teammates and people he considered somewhat his friends but none of them really matter— only you do.

and you hadn’t texted him since yesterday (almost 24 hours ago!), when he was on his way home and asked you if you wanted him to bring you extra snacks or something.

do you hate him?

he clicked out of the messages app and checked instagram, where you’d usually have flooded his dms with chronically online shit that he had no idea how you found funny. seriously, what the heck is all that about divers going into small spaces and eye of dih? he visibly deflates when he sees you hadn’t sent anything on there either (the last text was from him, when he’d said ‘???’ to your text that read ‘what is a father?’).

Sae [16:43pm]: Do you hate me

nah. scoffing to himself, he deleted the words, exited the app and pocketted his phone. since when was he such an attention deprived, needy little shit? whatever.

by the time he opens the front door to your shared home, there’s still no text, no call, no reel, nothing from you. “angel?” he calls out in his usual, casual tone, nudging the door shut with his boot. “’m home.”

“in here, sae,” you call out from the bedroom and he quickly takes off his shoes, drops his duffel bag onto the couch and trudges into the bedroom, feeling as if if he were a puppy, his tail would be wagging harshly behind him. “i was just about to text you.” you tell him with a small smile from where you’re sitting on the office chair behind the desk, your laptop in front of you and notes strewn all over the desk. you were.. studying.

ah, right. no wonder you hadn’t texted him.

you barely register his silent footsteps and fast pace until he’s right behind you within the time it took for you to blink, one hand on the arm of the chair to turn it around before he’s half hunched over you, his other hand pressing on your back to tug you into a hug. “missed you,” his voice is muffled as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, the soft tufts of his moist hair tickling your chin and neck. “thought you hated me.”

“what?” it was said so quietly that you almost didn’t hear it, but you do and now you’re pulling back a bit to look at him properly. “what gave you that idea?”

“forget about it,” he tries to avoid the question in a painfully untactful manner, attempting to hug you again, but faltering as he sees the look on your face. god, this was so humiliating. “y‘didn't text me today— or call, or send me stupid reels,” he points out with an embarrassed grunt, standing up to his full height and running a hand through his hair. “thought you were pissed at me for beating you in monopoly or something.”

huffing, you grin up at him. “you didn’t have to bring that up, jerk. but no, as you can see,” you gesture to your table and he notices the splotches and lines of dried ink on your fingers from your pen. “i’ve been studying. or trying to, at least.”

“huh.” he lets out, grasping your hand in his and intertwining your fingers before untangling them again so he could toy around with them. his brows furrow and he scoffs when you continue, saying something along the lines of ‘i didn’t think you’d notice.’ “yeah, well, i noticed. i dunno. kinda hard to miss the zero texts from the only person i reply to, yeah?”

your eyes brighten at that, but you tease, “ohh, yeah, right. sorry, i forgot you’re a friendless loser.”

“look who’s talking,” he shoots back, and you’d almost be offended if it wasn’t for the playful look in his eyes. he sighs and dips his head to press a kiss to your temple before walking over to the closet.

“were you really sad that i didn’t send you stupid reels?” you ask him with a curious look while watching him pick out a random t-shirt and sweats, not making fun of him like you’d usually do, just genuine curiousity in your tone.

he hums in response, undoing a few buttons of his shirt before tugging it off his head and glancing at you, with his teal eyes narrowed in contemplation, shirt still hanging around his elbows. “guess so. ’s stupid, huh?”

“nah,” is your immediate reply, followed by a small shrug. “i think it’s sweet, actually. in a pathetic sort of way. you’re kinda sweet.”

during his 10-minute break from training the next day, he finds himself on the bench of the locker room, resting his aching legs with his half empty water bottle next to him as he’s scrolling through your dms with a soft smile. a shit ton of reels and one ‘good luck at practice!!’ message stares back at him.

yeah. he thinks you’re (kinda) sweet too.

[harryspet]

rough hands, soft chains [1] r.cameron

[warnings] dark!grey!rancher!rafe x bimbo!cowgirl!reader, arranged marriage, rancher au, manipulation, size difference, future smut, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: This is an au I'm trying out where Kildare County is actually in Montana and all the pogues and kooks exist within a ranching community. Hope you enjoy!! I would really appreciate feedback, reblogs are most appreciated!

In which your dying father struck a deal with Ward Cameron, he promised the family land in exchange for your safety. But protection comes with a price, and that price is Rafe Cameron.

word count: 5k

rough hands, soft chains masterlist

After the funeral, you flopped down on the old leather couch in your living room, absently twirling a lock of your hair as you stared up at the cracked ceiling. Your black dress, meant for the sweltering summers, fell just below your knees. You’d paired it with a shawl you found tucked away in your mother’s dresser, a pretty, soft thing with little patterns you didn’t understand, but it smelled like her, so it felt right.

People at the funeral said you looked “so grown up” now, which filled you with a sense of pride. They said nothing about the dirt under your nails from wandering around the yard barefoot earlier that morning or the way your mascara smeared from crying too much. No one ever took you seriously anyway. 

The quiet of the house was deafening, pressing in at you at all sides. The lack of his presence weighed on you. He’d built every corner of this house, your mother painted every wall, and you were grateful for the life they’d built you. Three bedrooms, a wrap-around porch where you’d once dreamed of watching your children play in the yard as you rocked in your chair, and the old, red barn that had weathered time alongside them. You knew you couldn’t lose it, but you weren’t sure how to keep it either.

A loud knock at the front door made the house shake and snapped you from your daze. It was not the knock of a kind neigbor delivering a sympathy caserole, the knock was firm and authoritative. You half expected the sheriff to be behind the door but instead found yourself staring back at Ward Cameron. 

You pushed back the curls that had fallen into your face. He stood before you, tipping his finest black cattleman hat with deliberate grace, lifting it from his head and placing it over his chest in a quiet gesture of respect. His square jawline was sharp, his striking blue eyes unflinching, and though the gray streaks in his hair hinted at age, they only added to his rugged handomenss. 

“Miss,” he greeted you smoothly, his voice as sharp as the crease in his shirt. He looked out of place here, too clean, too polished for the worn edges of your family’s ranch.

Your anxiety peaked, “Uh, hi. Can I help you?” You gripped the handle of the door tighter than you expected. 

“I think you know why I’m here.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s time we talked about your father’s arrangements.”

Arrangements? You shifted nervously, trying to make sense of his words. You knew your dad had debts, but it wasn’t like he told you all the details. You knew that a significant amount of your father’s debt was to Ward. It humiliated your father to lease the Cameron’s grazing rights but he only did it to keep the ranch afloat. Money and paperwork were never your thing, and your dad always said not to worry about it. “I—I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. I’ll figure out how to pay you back, okay?”

Although Ward wasn’t the tallest man, most people towered over you, and as he leaned in the doorway, you knew he had your stature in mind. 

Still, his smile was empty, “Why don’t we discuss this in your father’s office, hmm?” 

“Um, no thanks,” you said quickly, shaking your head. But before you could shut the door, his hand pushed it open with way too much ease. You stumbled back, your cheeks heating with embarrassment as he walked in like he owned the place.

“Excuse me! You can’t just barge in here!” you squeaked, hurrying after him, his expensive boots, tapping against the creaking floor of your home. 

He made his way down the downstairs hallway, barging into the room that not even your father wanted you to step in. Immediately as you stepping inside, a coldness touched you. he heavy oak desk sat like a monument to your father’s stubbornness, papers scattered across its surface in disarray. Just looking at it made your brain feel fuzzy. Ward moved behind it as if it were his own, his hands brushing against the chair’s worn leather.

“I offered to come speak to you, before all of this drama, but your father insisted I wait until he was gone,” Ward gestured to rickety chair that sat in front of the desk, “Sit.”

You ignored him, crossing your arms in stubborness, “What are you talking about?”

“Do you know how much exactly your father owes me? How much you’d be taking on?”

His words, like they had certainly intended to, made you feel stupid. Your father made sure you were uninvolved in the ranch’s finances and he had just passed this week, you hadn’t thought about entering his office and disturbing his things. 

You blinked, your mouth opening and closing. “Well… um… I know he owed some money, but he didn’t really tell me how much.”

“It’s more than the farm is worth, Y/N.”

The weight of his words settled heavily between you, thickening the already suffocating air in the room. You clenched your jaw, refusing to show any sign of the panic tightening in your chest. The farm, your father’s legacy, your mother’s dreams, was supposed to be yours to save.

“That can’t be right,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly. “My father would’ve told me if it was that bad.”

“Would he? It’s nothing you should’ve worried your pretty head about,” Ward continued, his eyes sharp and assessing, “We parents try to protect our children. But he was too prideful. Pride doesn’t pay the bills and banks don’t wait forever.”

“The bank–”

“The bank would’ve taken the entire property if your father hadn’t already signed the land over to me.”

Your heart sunk into your stomach at Ward Cameron’s words. Your breath hitched as you stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said. You shook your head in disbelief, “He wouldn’t do that.”

The land was the only piece of your father that you had left. A hundred acres that your family and only a few ranch hands tended to.There were dwindling amounts of livestock, mounting debts, but it was your home. Humble in comparison to the Cameron’s thousands of acres but it belonged to your family. Even if you were the only one left. 

“This all would’ve been easier for you if your father had explained all of this to you before. I think he was scared of you hating him.”

“I don’t understand.”

Ward’s expression didn’t falter. If anything, he looked almost bored with your responses, “We came to an agreement a year after his initial diagnosis. Instead of losing it to the bank, he would sign it over to me.”

“I promised to take care of you.” Ward’s words were slow, deliberate, as if he were explaining something to a child. “You’re unmarried, no prospects, and this place is a sinking ship. Someone was bound to take advantage of you eventually. You don’t have the resources to rebuild.”

“T-take care of me?” you stammered, your face scrunching in confusion.

“You’ll come live with my family for the time being. And eventually you will marry my son, Rafe.”

Your eyes went wild, “Are you crazy?”

Ward’s expression didn’t change. If anything, he looked even more smug. “This arrangement keeps the land in the family, ensures your safety, and gives you a future. You’re not equipped to handle this ranch on your own, Y/N. Your father knew that. I’m offering you a way out.”

You gaped at him, your thoughts spinning too fast to make sense of anything. “I… I want to talk to a lawyer or—or see his will or something!”

“You’re out of options. It’s either this arrangement or being out on the streets. I’m tossing you a lifeline.” 

 “I didn’t agree to this,” you said, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

“No,” Ward admitted, standing and adjusting his cuffs. “But your father did. And a Cameron always honors their agreements.”

You wanted to scream, to tell him to leave and take his deal with him, but the weight of your father’s decisions pressed down on you. The debts, the ranch, your future—it was all tangled up in a web you couldn’t escape.

“I’ll give you until tomorrow to pack your things,” Ward said, placing his hat back on his head. “Rafe will come by to collect you.”

He turned and walked to the door without another word, leaving you standing alone in the office. The walls seemed to close in around you, and although you’d be crying for a week, you cried again. 

You thought that if you weren’t at the house when Ward’s oldest son came to collect you, they might just give up and leave you be. Maybe you’d slip through the cracks of their plans, vanish into the quiet of the countryside. You could disappear for a little while and return in a few days. It would be rough surviving outside but you could make it on your own. You’d packed a small bag of essentials and took Juliet, the chestnut-colored mare that had belonged to you since your fourteenth birthday.

“Okay, Jules, we’re gonna go on a little adventure,” you whispered as you fumbled with her saddle. 

Her large, liquid-brown eyes blinked at you with trust as you led her down the south path, the one behind your family’s ranch, overgrown from years of neglect. You left before the sun had a chance to rise. You didn’t want Ward Cameron or his scary son to find you, after all.

You tried to dress for comfort. Your long jeans would keep you warm, and you layered a jean jacket over a soft white cotton shirt. Perched atop your head was your trusty white cowboy hat, its wide brim offering protection from the sun, taming your unruly curls, while keeping your face shielded.

Juliet made a snorting sound, and you patted her neck. “Don’t worry, girl, we’ve totally got this. Like, what’s the worst that could happen?” You glanced back at the ranch, its dark outline fading behind the trees. 

You mounted Juliet after deciding the direction you were going to travel in. You wanted to be much farther away by the time the sun came up. The air was cool and crisp, a reminder of the coming morning. You looked behind you although you were sure no one was following you yet. 

The path twisted and turned. “Okay, so if we head toward the old fishing shack by the river, we can stay there for, like, a day. Nobody’s used it in forever.” You spoke out loud, pretending that Juliet could respond. “I think it’s... that way.”

You continued down the path in the direction you remembered the fishing shack to be located. The sun rose slowly, bringing light to the dark path. The shack was tucked away on the outskirts of the ranch, sitting in the bend of the river, most of it shielded by tall grass. The water flowed gently, the sound caressing your ears, it’s hues reflecting the red in the sky. 

A clearing sat nearby covered in wildflowers, the bright colors splashed against the muted landscape. You hadn’t ventured this far out since the previous spring and were surprised to see how the flowers had held their vibrancy, defying the chill of the cooler months. 

You hopped down from your saddle, taking Juliet’s rein before you tied her to a nearby tree, allowing her room to graze. The shack was small and weathered, and you rested on a rickety cot that you had to clear of cobwebs. It felt safe. At least for now. 

If only staying still was your strong suit. A few hours later, boredom quickly got the best of you. You could only talk to Juliet for so long and you’d failed several times to nap inside the dirty shack. The silence pressed in on you. You decided to wander out into the wild flower fields, tugging your cowboy hat low over your curls. The vibrant colors were calling to you. 

An hour later, you held a thick bundle flowers in your arm and a crown of daisies wrapped around your hat. Before you knew it, the shack was almost out of your sight and you faced a long trek back to Juliet. 

You didn’t hear him at first.

“Hell of a hiding spot.”

The deep drawl froze you in place. Slowly, you turned, heart pounding, your eyes landing on Rafe Cameron sitting tall on his horse a few yards away. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement, though the tight line of his jaw hinted at something darker.

Rafe’s quarter horse was even more intimidating. It’s coat was midnight black, sleek and imposing. There was a wild, untamed quality to him, a fire in his eyes that mirrored Rafe’s own.

“I… I was just…” You stepped back without thinking, the urge to drop your bouquet and bolt creeping up. You’d seen Ward’s son from across a room before, but no one had ever bothered to introduce you. Still, you knew enough from the whispers and rumors. He was wild, always getting into trouble with the Kildare County police, and everyone said he was gonna take over his dad’s power and influence one day. 

He was older than you remembered, more rugged, and definitely more muscular. His black button-up shirt clung to broad shoulder and his sleeves rolled up to reveal sculpted arms. A baseball cap sat atop his head, the bill slightly bent, with the Cameron Ranch sigil stitched on the front—an emblem of a stallion rearing. His light brown hair peeked from beneath it, slightly tousled. 

“You’ve been wandering around all morning. Half the town’s already seen you,” Rafe leaned forward slightly, eyeing you curiously, “If you were gonna run, thought you’d go a little bit farther.” You gained the courage to finish your sentence, “I wasn’t running …or hiding. And you can’t tell Mr. Cameron that.”

“Why do you think he sent me?” He smiled devishly, “I’m the one you gotta worry about, darlin’.” 

Your lips parted in shock and Rafe watched you take another step back. His jaw clicked before he swiftly hopped down from his horse. His heavy boots hit the dirt with a thud that seemed to echo, and you couldn’t help but notice the sheer size of him. Though he wasn’t much older than you, it was clear he towered over you, his presence demanding attention in a way that made your knees feel weak.

“I’m not coming with you,” You stated with all the strength you could muster, “It’s not right. You can’t make me.”

He stared back at you. Where Ward was bored by conversation with you, something about your Ward’s made Rafe’s eyes fiery, “And I guess you’ll make your living by what … selling flower crowns?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. You hadn’t considered that an option. In fact, you hadn’t dwelled long enough on what you would do once Ward gave up on this arranged marriage nor did you have any idea of how to make the ranch profitable again. The idea seemed wrong. Flowers weren’t the key, were they? 

“I’m kidding,” Rafe spoke again after a moment of watching you reflect, “That’s a bad fucking idea. You know…I think your father might’ve been right about one thing in his life. You do need someone to look after you.” 

“You don’t know me,” You looked away, your face heating up with embarrassment, “And I don’t want to go with you.” 

A yelp escaped your lips as he started to close the distance between you, his long strides closing the gap in a matter of seconds. His smirk widened at your reaction, and quickly, you dropped your bouquet and made a run for the fishing shack. Rough hands easily snatched you up by your waist, lifting your feet off the ground, and making your head spin, “You’re real cute, darlin’,” Rafe drawled, hardly breakin a sweat as he dragged you back towards his horse. His grip on your waist was firm, unrelenting, and no matter how much you kicked or squirmed, it didn’t matter. He only hoisted you higher. 

Heavy boots crunched against the dirt. You could hear your breathing and the sharp pounding of your heart in your ears. You lost your hat and subsequently your flower crown in the struggle. Scared that you might spook Rafe’s horse, you found yourself succumbing to his force, letting him lift you onto the saddle. 

“Please, let me down,” You whispered, tears beginning to fall. Rafe was next, hoisting himself onto the black stallion, squeezing himself behind you. You were pressed against him so much that you could feel the flexing of the muscles of his stomach. An arm wrapped tightly around your waist. 

Rafe shushed you, and surprisingly, you felt him settle your hat back on your head. You hadn’t even seen him pick it up. You were never supposed to ride without a hat, that’s what your father had taught you. You barely had time to process it before he urged the horse forward, the powerful animal's hooves pounding the earth beneath you as Rafe held you tightly, “M-My horse, Juliet!” You remembered, panicked, “I won’t go without her, Rafe!”

“I didn’t forget your horse,” He spoke calmer than you expected, though his tone still had an edge to it, “She’ll follow. Unlike you, she seems to have a decent amount of common sense.” 

He kicked the horse into a gallop, the powerful animal responding instantly, the sound of its hooves hitting the ground like thunder in the otherwise still air. The wind whipped through your hair, stinging your face. You gripped the saddle tightly, to anchor yourself, despite knowing that Rafe’s grip was strong enough to keep you from flying. 

This wasn’t the escape you wanted. Not even close. 

Sure, he’d heard the rumors that you were a little …daft. And maybe that was true in some ways, but you were more than he had anticipated. He followed you, watched as you handled the horse with ease, and found himself intrigued. Your confusion, innocence, even your stubbornness drew him in like a moth to a flame. 

The last thing Rafe wanted was a wife. He resisted the way his father felt like he could stll make decisions for him. Rafe was losing with this arrangement. Your father’s hundred acres was nothing in comparison to what he family already had and would acquire. But perhaps his father had seen exactly what Rafe was seeing now. You were raw, so unpolished, and that meant you could be shaped. 

Once you were under the Cameron’s roof, Rafe had the power to do whatever he wanted. 

Proving himself to Ward was a constant battle, every choice scrutinized, every misstep noted. To run the ranch one day, Rafe needed to show he could manage it all, the land, business, and now a wife. Building a home and keeping you in line was just another test.

That morning, Rafe had never expected to chase after you on horseback. He had arrived in his truck, scouring the house for any sign of you, only to realize you were already gone. In frustration, he called John B., one of the Cameron ranch hands, and sent him to bring Trigger, his horse, to the Y/L/N ranch.

When you both returned, John B. was already there, waiting. Thunder cracked above, a sunny morning turning into a dreary afternoon. Rafe barked orders to ensure Juliet and Trigger were both stabled at the Cameron’s ranch.

He lifted you down from the saddle, his grip firm on your wrists before you could bolt. It only took a second for him to realize the urgency in your voice as you spoke, trying to talk to John B., who was already taking Juliet and Trigger’s reins. “She gets nervous when she’s in new places. She doesn’t like to be rushed,” Rafe overheard, catching the panic in your tone.

“Yes, ma’am. Don’t worry, I’ll take it slow with her,” John B. assured her although Rafe only glared at the worker, jaw tight. 

“Come on,” Rafe pulled your arm, “We’re leaving.”

Your small hands grabbed where he’d wrapped his hands around your arm. You dug your boots into the gravel in front of the house, “Wait, I don’t have everything. I-I need to grab some things,” Rafe’s gripped only tightened as his irritation grew. 

“You should’ve thought about that before you made me chase after you,” He took one more look at your teary-face before he snapped. Taking you home should’ve taken thirty minutes, not four hours. Without warning, he scooped you up over his shoulder, ignoring the surprised gasp you let out. 

Your legs kicked in the air, “Hey! Please put me down!” Rafe didn’t spare your house on John B. a second glance as he trudged over to his dark, blue truck. Please, that made Rafe brow furrow. Rafe took the opportunity to cop a feel, of course, he had to know exactly what he was working with. You were his future wife, after all, “Rafe! I don’t like being upside down!” 

“Scream all the way there for all I fucking care,” He muttered under his breath, his voice cold as he finally reached the truck and tossed you into the passenger seat.

Rafe sped off moments after he pressed start engine on the vehicle. You went quiet and he hoped to be alone with his thoughts, soothed by the soft pitter patter of rain on his windshield. Fifteen minutes down the road, he heard your breath hitch. He looked over to see you were staring straight head, eyes wide and wet with tears. Smudged mascara beneath your eyes. Your chest rose and fell rapidly and you clutched your hands tightly in your lap. Your lips were shaking, moving as if you were whispering something to yourself. 

Your legs began to jitter, restless, and Rafe looked away. He managed to tune out your obvious panic for nearly an entire minute. He had a rare feeling. One he didn’t fully understanding. The angel on his shoulder was telling him to reach out, to try and comfort you. He thought about what Wheezie might think if this was the disheveled state he brought his future wife to meet her in. He let out a quiet sigh, knowing it was only going to get worse as the reality of your situation set in.

“Hey,” He spoke without that sharp edge, channeling a voice he might use with his youngest sister, “I didn’t mean you’d never get your things. We can come back, when you’re more settled …And I’ll send someone to get all your keepsakes. Okay?” 

“Okay, okay, okay,” You repeated though your voice sounded empty, “Okay.”

He thought those would be the magic words but you hadn’t even turned to look at him. You were doing the same thing, shaking like a leaf, barely taking in enough breath, “Fuck,” Rafe cursed. He pulled over to the side of the road with a sharp jerk, the gravel crunching under the tires as the truck slowed to a stop. Without thinking, he shifted into park and turned to you.

Rafe needed to be more deliberate in his actions. He had eyes on him, his entire immediate family, and he wouldn’t have them thinking he couldn’t handle you. 

He tried to calm you, squeezed your hand, told you to breathe over and over again. Nothing. You were spiraling, letting your thoughts consume you. Rafe had been too rough. It was all too much too fast for you. He wanted to mold you, not break you. 

He leaned in, taking your face in his hands, and pressing his lips to yours. You went frantic but he only deepened the kiss. He held your hand and slowly felt your tension lesson. He entwined his fingers in yours and slowly felt you move your own lips against his. You tasted like cherries, dark red, and perfectly ripe. His hands moved to the back of your neck, his fingers pressing lightly, urging you to focus, to let go of the panic.

He pulled away only when you stopped your heaving. 

“You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “You’re okay now. Breathe with me.”

He waited for you to come back to him, cradling you there. You had no one left, Rafe realized in that moment, the truth settling heavily in his chest. And maybe that was why he couldn’t bring himself to be cruel. 

No, taking care of you wasn’t just an obligation, it was an important responsibility. One he’d shoulder completely. Whether you liked it or not, Rafe would make sure of it.

Rafe Cameron tasted like whiskey, with a faint hint of mint that lingered now even as you stood in the foyer of your new home, Tannyhill Ranch. The white house was sprawling and pristine, situated amidst of sea of green fields. Windows sparkled even in the storm that was coming down, and although the roof’s shingles were weathered, it was hard to believe the property had been there for more than a century. 

Workers, chefs and maids, bustled by but no one spared you or Rafe a glance despite the dry tears on your face and disheveled appearance. 

The interior was grand, the hardwoods polished until they shined, and the ceilings were higher than the ones at church. Everything screamed old money. You felt a hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the grand entrance hall and then up one side of a grand staircase. Portraits line the walls, serious faces, Camerons and previous owners of the estate. 

Their eyes watched you, “Rafe, where are we going?” You asked him quietly. 

“To your room,” He spoke low and firm. There hadn’t been any rough grabbing of your limbs or unwanted rides on Rafe’s shoulder since your kiss in the car. You hadn’t fully let you guard down but you preferred when Rafe was calm, and so you remained calm too, “You can settle in.”

Rafe led you down the upstairs hallway, stopping at one of at least six bedroom doors, and pushing it open. The room was breathtaking, a four-poster bed draaped in white linens, oak furniture, blue-white toile patterns, and large windows that overlooked the property. It was beautiful, yes, but none of this belonged to you. 

Your fingers absentmidnely traced the fabric of the bed’s comforter before you got a grip, turning around to say something in protest, “Don’t look at me like that,” Rafe interrupted, hands tucking into the front of jeans as if to give off a non-chalant appearance. The position emphasized the silvery belt buckle that sat on the middle of his waist. 

“I don’t want to live here,” You spoke softly, your voice still weak from all the crying. 

“I know,” Rafe continued, sounding exactly like his father, “Your father did though. You still love your Daddy, don’t you?” 

Rafe’s words made you think. Really think. Of course you loved your father. He was a smart man and he always did right by you and your Mother. However, deep down, this all still felt wrong. You stood there, caught between the beauty of the room and the unease of what you felt.

You nodded, “But–”

“But this is what he wanted, darlin’,” Rafe spoke in a way that carried a sense of finality. Rafe stepped closer and suddenly his body was a brick wall keeping you from leaving the room. His lips pulled into a smirk and he leaned down to speak in your ear, his breath fanning over your cheeks. Whiskey and mint, “You always did what your Daddy said, right?” 

“Yes,” You answered too honestly for your own good. 

“Now you’ll do what I say. That’s how it works. A young lady belongs to her father, and one day, after she grows up, she belongs to her husband,” He straightened up and you blinked your big eyes up at him. Slowly, your eyes traveled down to his lips, “You’ll thank me, one day.” 

Gently, he tucked a finger beneath your chin, lifting it even higher. You held your head exactly in the place he placed it, making something flicker in Rafe’s eyes. A heat bloomed in your core. You could only think about that kiss, your first one, despite the fact that he was one of the men completely ruining your life. 

“You ever seen someone break a wild horse?” 

His question caught you off guard, and your brows furrowed slightly as you searched his face for meaning. The smirk on his lips deepened, and his hand dropped from your chin.

“Takes patience. Takes strength. Takes knowing exactly when to push and when to pull back. But eventually, the horse figures out who’s in charge.” His blue eyes darkened, the intensity of his gaze pinning you in place, ”Out on the ranch, when we get a wild one. It’s my favorite thing to do. Watch em’ go from fighting you to starting to trust you. Really, there’s no point in fighting. The one’s who don’t submit, we don’t keep em’ around. They’re dangerous.”

“Oh,” You managed to say, shifting uncomfortably, “That sounds … hard.” 

Rafe chuckled in response, “Hard? Yeah, especially if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, Rafe’s smirk returned, sharper now, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“You want me to kiss you again. I can tell.”

His words sent you stammering immediately, “No!” 

“Tell you what,” Rafe interrupted smoothly, ignoring your denial as if it hadn’t even registered. “If you settle in, get all dolled up for dinner…” His voice dripped with false generosity. “I’ll give you another one.”

You stared, dumbfounded and frozen until the young rancher casually turned and walked out of the room. Your fists clenched at your sides as a storm of emotions swirled inside you, anger and fear. One emotion simmered quietly beneath the surface, unwelcome and disorienting. Anticipation.

part two

[ggukivrse]

study break - part two | jjk

summary. in which you’re all distraction and no remorse, and jungkook keeps coming back for more

pairing: jungkook x f!reader

genre: college au, established relationship, smut

word count: 1.8k

warnings: explicit sexual content, fingering, oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, mentions of giving head, big dick jk :>, praise, jk is down bad, lmk if i missed anything!

note: read part one here (it gives a bit of context cuz this part is just porn). another result of me being bored and listening to the house of cards instrumental on repeat.

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Jungkook groans against your mouth and suddenly his hands are under your shirt — firmer now, needier. You barely get a breath in before he’s pulling it up and over your head, tossing it aside without a second thought.

His eyes drop instantly.

He stares at you in just your bra, chest rising and falling, flushed and already wrecked, and when his gaze meets yours again, it’s like something inside him snaps.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands coming up to cup your waist. “You’re unreal.”

Then he leans in and sinks his teeth lightly into the side of your neck.

You gasp — not because it hurts, but because it’s him — his mouth hot and open, his tongue soothing the sting as he sucks a deep mark into your skin. Your fingers tighten in his hair, and he groans again, like he feels how much you like it.

He kisses along your throat, your collarbone, dragging his mouth across your skin like he’s making a map of everywhere he’s been. And when he pulls back just enough to look at you — neck peppered with fresh, blooming hickeys — he actually smirks.

“Mine,” he breathes.

The way he says it has you flushed. Your heart’s beating too fast, your thighs clenching, heat pulsing deep in your gut.

You lean back, hands sliding down his arms. “Bedroom,” you murmur.

“No.” He leans in, kissing your jaw. “Couch.”

Your brows lift. “Seriously?”

He nips at your earlobe, making you shiver. “Can’t wait. I need you right fucking now.”

And he’s not bluffing. Because before you can answer, he grabs under your thighs and lifts — like it’s easy, like you weigh nothing — and you squeal, laughing breathlessly as he drops you onto the couch.

“Jungkook—!”

“You started this,” he says, grinning, already climbing over you. “Now I’m finishing it.”

You don’t get the chance to respond. His mouth is back on yours — rougher now, greedy — while his hands slip behind your back to unclasp your bra. You arch instinctively, helping him, and the second it’s off, his mouth moves lower.

He kisses across the swell of your breast, tongue flicking over your nipple before he sucks it into his mouth.

“Shit—” you hiss, head falling back.

He teases you there — licking, sucking, nipping gently at the soft skin, his hand massaging the other — and it’s so much but still not enough.

He switches sides, giving your other nipple the same attention, and your hips buck up against him. He groans into your skin, like he can feel how desperate you’re getting.

Then he starts kissing lower.

Down your stomach. Over the curve of your hip. Fingers tugging at the waistband of your sweatpants as he goes.

You lift your hips obediently, and he pulls them down in one quick motion — sweatpants and panties at once — leaving you bare and open on his couch, flushed and wet and already twitching for him.

Jungkook pauses.

Just looks at you for a second.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re dripping.”

He drops to his knees on the floor in front of the couch, hands spreading your thighs wider.

You don’t even try to hide how much you want it. Not now.

He drags two fingers through your slick, slow and deliberate, watching your face as he does it. Then he pushes one in — slow but firm — and your breath catches.

You can feel him watching you as he moves it, curling just right, testing how much you can take. When he adds a second, your legs fall open wider on instinct.

His fingers fuck into you slow but deep, and you’re already panting when his thumb finds your clit — circling, teasing — just enough to make your thighs tremble.

“God,” you gasp. “Fuck, that feels—”

“Better than flashcards?” he asks, cocky and breathless.

You let out a strangled laugh. “Shut up and eat me out.”

That wrecks him. You see it.

He groans — like the words physically hit him — and he leans in without another second of hesitation.

His tongue is on you before you can blink.

He licks a slow, wet stripe up your pussy, ending with a flick over your clit that makes your back arch right off the couch. You hear him moan into it, like your taste actually got him high, and then he’s devouring you.

He’s messy, mouth open, tongue flicking and flattening and circling your clit like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted in his life. His fingers keep pumping in and out of you — hard, fast — syncing with his tongue, building the pressure higher and higher until you’re shaking.

“Jungkook—” you gasp, grabbing at his hair. “F-fuck, I—”

He groans again, gripping your thighs tighter, keeping you right where he wants you as you fall apart on his mouth.

Your orgasm crashes over you fast and hard — a white-hot wave that leaves you breathless, twitching, legs shaking against his shoulders. He doesn’t stop right away — keeps licking you through it, slower now, gentle, like he’s savouring every last drop.

When he finally pulls back, his mouth and chin are shiny, and his eyes are wrecked.

You’re still panting. Barely functional.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then looks up at you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, still kneeling, looking up at you like he doesn’t know whether to worship you or ruin you. “You taste so fucking good.”

You’re still trying to catch your breath, still trembling from the orgasm he just gave you, but even through the haze, you notice the bulge in his sweatpants when he stands up — huge and straining and so ready it makes your mouth water.

"Wanna suck you off so bad. Please," you whine.

He groans — actually groans — and fists his cock tighter. “Fuck, don’t say that right now.”

You shift slightly, starting to sit up, but he shakes his head.

“No,” he says, voice tight. “If I feel your mouth on me I’m gonna come in thirty seconds and I’m not letting this end that fast.”

You can’t help the smile that curls at the corners of your mouth. “You sound confident.”

“I’m not.” He reaches into the pockets of his sweatpants, pulling out a condom. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You blink.

“Seriously?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “You came prepared?”

He shrugs, but his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile. “You think come over without a plan?”

You snort, breathless. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m a realist, baby,” he mutters, tearing the wrapper open with his teeth — and fuck, it shouldn’t be hot, but it is. He doesn’t break eye contact while he does it, either.

You watch, dazed and desperate, as he tugs the sweats down. His cock springs free — thick, flushed, leaking at the tip — and you clench around nothing.

You scoot back, sliding up the couch cushions as he rolls on the condom. Your thighs are still trembling, your whole body buzzing and sensitive — but you want him. Desperately. The ache hasn’t gone anywhere, not really.

You lie back and spread your legs, chest rising and falling as you meet his gaze.

He climbs over you, palms planting on either side of your head. The weight of him above you makes your heart pound harder. His cock brushes your thigh, and you shiver.

“You good?” he asks, voice rough.

You nod, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Kook,” you breathe. “Please.”

He grabs himself and lines up — the head of his cock dragging through your folds, hot and slick, nudging against your clit just enough to make you jolt.

You gasp. “I’m—fuck, I’m still sensitive—”

“I know,” he whispers. “I’ll go slow.”

He doesn’t.

Not really.

He pushes in with one slow, steady thrust — thick and deep and so fucking full it punches the air out of your lungs. You cry out, back arching, nails digging into his biceps.

“Oh my god—”

“Shit,” he groans, burying himself to the hilt. “You’re still so fucking tight—”

Your walls flutter around him, your body still lit up from before, every nerve ending oversensitive. The stretch stings, just a little, but it burns in the best way.

He holds still for a second, jaw clenched like he’s trying not to lose it.

“You still okay?” he asks.

You nod, but your voice is already shaking. “You feel so good.”

He starts to move.

Slow at first — dragging almost all the way out, then sliding back in with a groan that sounds like it’s been ripped from his chest. His eyes don’t leave yours. You feel everything — the way he stretches you, presses so deep it makes your toes curl, the heat blooming low in your stomach again way too soon.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants. “You’re squeezing me so tight”

You whimper, clutching at his shoulders.

He finds a rhythm, hips rolling into yours, heavy and deep. Every thrust makes your breath hitch, your nails drag down his back, your legs tighten around his waist like you can’t get close enough.

“Talk to me,” he says, voice raw. “Tell me how it feels.”

“So good,” you gasp. “Too good—fuck, I don’t—”

“I know,” he groans. “I know. You’re fucking perfect. All mine.”

"All—all yours."

His mouth crashes against yours again — sloppy, hot, desperate — and you kiss him back like you need him to breathe. His pace picks up, faster now, and the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy fills the room, filthy and loud and fucking perfect.

You’re unravelling fast, again, too sensitive, too turned on — every nerve on fire, every drag of his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you and sending you spiralling.

“I’m gonna—” you choke out. “Fuck—”

“Come for me,” he grits out, forehead pressed to yours. “Come on, baby.”

You fall apart underneath him — again — shaking, crying out, body clenching so hard around him that he swears, head dropping to your neck.

“Fuckfuckfuck—” he groans. “I’m not gonna last—”

You’re still pulsing around him when he slams in one last time and comes, hips jerking as he moans your name against your skin. You feel it — hot and deep — and you cling to him, both of you breathless and shaking and completely fucking ruined.

Silence settles over the room, except for your ragged breathing and the hum of the forgotten playlist.

Jungkook doesn’t move right away — just stays there, buried in you, forehead resting beside your head against the couch, lips brushing your cheek.

“You,” he pants, “are the worst.”

You smile, eyes fluttering closed.

“And you love it.”

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taglist | click here to join: @thegreatdepressionme

[science-hoes]

Angel Kisses

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: graphic medical descriptions, needles

A/N: I thought this fic would be a little less fluffy and more spicy but I just can’t help it. Plus I love Noah Wyle’s barely there freckles. I feel like this isn’t my best work because I had severe writers block. Hope it’s good enough for yall tho 💕

My Ko-Fi :)

—

The Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center was rumored to be the 9th level of Hell. So when it was time for you to begin your schedule for trauma surgery, you prayed for a different hospital. Literally any other hospital.

But there you were, in the depths of the Pitt, working your fifth 12 hour shift of the rotation. Only 1pm, but you felt like someone had changed the clocks because there was no way that the day was only halfway done. You were reading a pediatric patient’s CBC results, getting ready to tell your senior attending for the day, Dr. Jack Abbott, that the child is anemic. But Dana’s voice distracted you:

“You can’t even stay away on your day off. Do you have a life besides the Pitt?” She said to someone out of your view.

“Trust me. This is a last resort.” You heard a man respond, the voice slightly familiar.

You turned around and saw Dr. Michael Robinavitch, the senior attending from your first four days of working here. He didn’t look too different out of his scrubs and navy hoodie that he wore at work. Black joggers and gray long sleeve athletic shirt that hugged his waist��really nicely.

“Last resort for what?” Dr. Frank Langdon called out from where he sat at his desk, charting his patient case.

“I fell of a ladder and tore up my back on the fence in my backyard.” Answered Dr. Robinav- Dr. Robby, you had to remind yourself. “I need stitches, but I can’t reach the cut.”

Langdon winced and leaned back in his chair. “Need me to stitch you up?” He asked.

Dr. Abbott walked up to the desk near Langdon and laughed. “No, he wants his friend to stitch him up. Right, Robby?” He joked, referring to himself.

Robby laughed and crossed his arms, biceps straining against the fabric of the athletic shirt. Damn. “Friend is a strong word. I don’t have friends.” He said with a smile.

Langdon scoffed. “We went fishing last weekend. What does that make me?” He asked.

“I prefer the term ‘coworker that I hang out with sometimes outside of work.’” Robby said, but you could see the teasing in the way his eyes crinkled.

Dana rolled her eyes. “You are all annoying me. Jack, go stitch him up so he can get out of here and rest.” She said before walking off to a patient room.

Robby shook his head. “No, no, just let a med student do it. Good learning opportunity.” He said.

“No med students today. Only interns.” Langdon mumbled as he continued typing on his computer.

Robby clasped his hands together and held them close to his chest. “Even better. I would love for my scar to be in a straight line.” He joked.

Abbott looked to you, who had been watching the group interact from a couple of desks over. Your face flushed slightly, realizing you probably look like an eavesdropper. He motioned with his head toward Robby. “Why don’t you take our patient to holding and fix him up? I’ll take the CBC results.” He said.

“Yes, sir.” You answered, almost a little too seriously. The Pitt was an intense environment, but these attendings did not have the same egos as the ones from your last several rotations.

Robby chuckled at your earnestness. “Hear that, Langdon? ‘Yes, sir.’ You should be taking notes.” He ordered facetiously, pointing his finger at the senior resident.

Langdon looked up from his desk as you began walking with Robby to the back of the Pitt where the holding rooms were. “You know, we tell all of our patients over 65 to be very careful when doing yard work.” He called out.

Robby shot him a bird without turning back around. You smiled at the banter, not used to the lax interactions between physicians of different ranks. Once you made it to the room, Robby sat on the bed, and you grabbed a standard suture kit.

“Is it on your back?” You asked, turned away from him.

“Yeah. I’d do it myself if I could reach it. I managed to cover it up though.” He said.

When you turned back around, his tight fitting shirt had been peeled off his upper body. Holy shit. In the last five days, you didn’t really give yourself time to fantasize about your attending. He was handsome for sure and charming when he wasn’t jumping down a resident’s throat (yet he still had the patience of a saint). His abdomen was well toned, and his chest was smooth. Not what you expected based off his hairy forearms and face.

You must have been staring too much because Robby’s shoulders hunched, as if trying to subtly cover his exposed body. “Let me just take a look at the cut.” You said, trying to come back to earth. You moved to the edge of the bed and removed the bandage that he had placed himself.

You could see the blood that had leaked through the dressing, but you were not prepared to see the extent of the cut stretch across the majority of his upper back. “Oh, shit.” You swore.

Robby chuckled. “That’s not a comforting thing to hear from your doctor.” He said, shifting uncomfortably as the cold air of the hospital struck the wound.

You shook your head in a panic. “Oh, no, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t say that to a normal patient.” You covered for yourself.

Robby shook his head. “No, no. Listen. You’re taking everything a little too seriously. Just relax. Roll with the punches. That’s the only way you’ll survive down here.” He explained.

You nodded, taking in a stiff breath anyway. You disposed of the bandaging and picked up the lidocaine syringe. “Okay. I’m about to start injecting lidocaine around the cut. You’ll feel the burning more than the needle.” You said. You placed one gloved hand on his back, giving yourself a guide while you held the syringe in the other.

“90 degrees or 45?” He asked, making you freeze in place.

You paused for a moment, almost afraid to say your answer in fear of being incorrect. “90.” You answered.

“Why?”

At this point, the needle was hovering just an inch above your first injection site. “Recent studies show that patients report less pain with a 90 degree angle.” You said, confident in your sources.

Robby smiled, but you didn’t see it. “Very good.” Was all he said.

You injected the first round of lidocaine, and he hissed at the burning around the open wound. You kept moving around the cut, injecting small doses. “You’re doing great, Dr. Robby.” You praised, just as you would with any patient.

“Fuck, I say that to patients all the time. No wonder it makes no difference.” He grumbled.

You smiled slightly and injected the final dose. “All done.”

Robby let out a heavy breath, hanging his head as the skin slowly numbed where you worked. You began to open the suture kit and sort out its contents on the metal tray near the bed.

“What stitch?” He asked.

You grabbed some gauze and antiseptic from the drawer in the room before returning to his side. You cleaned the skin around the wound where the blood had dribbled down his back in a mix with sweat from working outside.

“Running stitch. The cut is long but not at risk of tension.” You answered. Robby nodded in approval. You carefully started on your first stitch, delicately inserting the curved needle into his skin. “So, you were on a ladder?” You asked.

Robby huffed in slight irritation. “Yeah. Trimming some branches that were reaching over the fence into the neighbors’ yard. I misstepped on the way down and lost my balance.” He explained.

You grimaced. “That sucks.” You said matter of factly.

“Yeah. Maybe Langdon is right. I’m getting too old for that kind of stuff.” He said with a chuckle.

Your hands carefully moved as they continued to sew. “You don’t look old.” You said.

Robby smiled to himself, not expecting you to respond at all. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” You said, glad he couldn’t see your involuntary blush. As you continued to stitch, you noticed all of the spots and marks that dusted his back and shoulders. “I like your freckles.” You noted.

Robby’s mind halted. It was a compliment he had never received. Your words went straight to his chest, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt flustered.

“My freckles?” He repeated.

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah. You got ‘em on your face too?” You asked.

Robby turned his head, not to present his face, but because he was still surprised and wanted to see if you were being genuine. And there they were. A light scattering of freckles across his cheeks and bridge of his nose.

“Yep. They’re precious.” You said after inspecting and returning back to your stitching. Robby’s face flushed, and you could especially see it in his ears as you worked. “You know, my mom used to tell me that freckles were angel kisses. Every time I got a new one, I thought an angel had kissed me. I went an embarrassingly long time into junior high before realizing it was just a tall tale.” You explained.

Robby smiled at the charming story, feeling an unusual feeling of comfort. “My grandmother used to say the same thing.” He said.

You grinned. “Looks like the angels couldn’t get enough of you then.” You teased.

Robby chuckled and ran a nervous hand across the back of his neck, careful not to pull against the skin as you worked. “How’s it looking back there?” He asked, trying to continue conversation.

“I need to run about five more stitches. Then you’ll be on your way.” You said.

He nodded and folded his hands in his lap. “Are you working tomorrow?” He asked.

You thought for a second, honestly not sure. “I don’t think so. My first off day since I started.” You replied. “Are you?”

“No. Seven on, seven off.” He said.

You pulled at the last suture and cut the remaining thread. “All right, Dr. Robby. You’re all cleaned up.” You announced.

“Great.” Robby hopped off the bed and stood up straight, popping a few kinks in his back from being hunched over. He towered above you, losing the intimacy that you temporarily had. “Take a picture and show me.” He said.

You pulled off your gloves slowly, unsure of how to respond. “Of the stitches?” You asked, afraid that he was going to grill you for sloppy suturing.

“Yeah, just to see the damage.” He responded.

You pulled your phone out and stood behind him. Fuck, even his back looked good. You snapped a picture and zoomed in to show him your work. Definitely saving that for later. “Does it look okay?” You asked timidly.

Robby nodded, impressed. “Actually yeah. Don’t think I could’ve done it better myself.” He complimented.

You laughed in relief. “Oh, good. I still need more practice on different suture patterns. I’m just lucky you were a simple case.” You said.

Robby looked down to you, letting his eyes linger as he watched you put your phone away. “If you aren’t busy tomorrow, maybe I can give you a masterclass. All ER docs have to know every suture.” He offered.

You looked up to him, suddenly very aware that he was still shirtless in front of you. You smirked and crossed your arms. “Sure. But only if you teach me just like this.” You said, looking him up and down. “You know, because you’ll need to let those stitches breathe.”

Robby grinned. “Wow. That was pretty smooth.” He admired.

You shrugged. “Just rolling with the punches.” You responded, repeating his quote from earlier. “Give me a call tomorrow.”

And you left. Robby stood there, smiling to himself. He pulled his shirt on and walked out to the desk hub. Langdon was still charting, but caught the attending before he snuck out. “What’s that goofy smile for?” He asked, even though he knew the answer.

Robby shrugged, hands in his pockets, unable to shake the smile off his face. “I don’t know.” He said before walking away to leave.

Abbott leaned against a desk near Langdon. “His ears are red.” He noted. “That motherfucker is in love.”

[cheollipop]

𝙘𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 (𝙚𝙭𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙙)

navi | taglist

pairing: woosan x fem!reader x song mingi

w.c.: 6.4k

tags: smut, boyfriends!woosan, implied criminal activities, standalone sequel to heists and celebrations.

rating: mature

Weeks passed and the stolen necklace—your only tie to the museum—had long since been pawned away. And yet buzzed, pink hair continued to haunt your fantasies. Until you remembered: Wooyoung was incapable of denying your requests, no matter how sticky they were.

warnings: semi-public sex, van sex, really fucking filthy sex, voyeurism & exhibitionism, unprotected sex (👎), creampie, fingering (f & m receiving), handjobs, oral (m receiving), deepthroating, dom!wooyoung, switch!san, switch!reader, ??!mingi, he's just happy to be there tbh, lots of mxm between all three of them, so much kissing holy fuck, jealous!san, some begging, restraints, everyone gets a little overstimulated, nicknames, san's a cutie when riled up, and he's got a potty mouth, I think that's it ^^

A/N: this one was a wild ride. I'd recommend grabbing a bucket and a mop, just in case. happy reading~

nsfw under the cut—minors dni!! 🔞

“I’m surprised, (y/n). It’s been how long since that day? You’re usually quick to move on,” Wooyoung said with a smile on his lips, pouring hot water into his mug.

“Woo,” you whined, leaning your upper body over the kitchen island, inhaling the fresh scent of instant coffee wafting from Wooyoung’s direction. “You should’ve seen him. I mean, how many men have you seen rock pink hair, let alone a buzzcut?”

“Have you seen Park Seonghwa?”

“Who?”

“Shame. You know Hongjoong? Anyang Group’s boss?”

“Ah, Seonghwa as in that Hongjoong’s sidepiece?” Wooyoung nodded as he sipped his coffee. “Mm,” you mirrored the movement in agreement, lips curling, “wouldn’t mind seeing more of him.”

“Damn right,” he laughed.

He brushed away the image of a slender frame and plush lips to redirect back to your conversation. “You seriously want this?”

“Can you do it?” Tilting your head sideways, you peered at the man before you with wide, hopeful eyes.

Wooyoung’s eyebrows shot upwards, and he walked around the island to where you were sat on a stool, placing his mug down to cup your nape, his voice raspy as he spoke, “you know better than to ask me that, darling.”

You smiled, snaking your arms underneath Wooyoung’s baggy shirt and around his waist, pulling him closer to press tender kisses over the line of his jaw, moving up to his lips while he leaned down until you were at eye-level and giving him a firm kiss.

Pearly whites peeked at Wooyoung, “then I really want this.”

“And you’ll get it,” he moved your head towards his with the hand at your nape, his nose pressing into your cheek as he kissed you until you ran out of breath, pulling away with a kitten lick to your upper lip.

Fingers scratched lightly at the back of your head, Wooyoung leaning closer once again, this time nuzzling your temples, taking in the scent of your shampoo before exhaling contently. “But,” he started, moving back until he could meet your eyes, “what about San?”

“What about him?” You feigned ignorance.

The corner of Wooyoung’s lips tugged upwards at your darting gaze. “You know how he gets. I can’t imagine he’d be thrilled watching you devour another man.”

You pouted, arms retreating from Wooyoung’s waist to cross at your chest. “He can deal with it.”

Wooyoung chuckled, moving to kiss you again, frowning when you stopped him with a hand to his chest. You spoke before he could question the movement,

“What about you? Or do you not get jealous”

His frown melted away, expression softening as you avoided his gaze, hands immediately seeking yours to guide them over his shoulders. “My love,” he peppered kisses over your cheek. “You know well how I treat bastards who dare touch what’s mine,” he craned his neck to follow your gaze, until his dark irises met yours.  “You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

You nodded, flashes of gore and spattered red rushed through your mind and your heart warmed at the memory of his dedication, but you weren’t convinced. “Then why—”

Wooyoung interrupted, “but, my darling, since when have you known me to turn down any of your requests?” Wrapping his arms around your waist, he pressed your foreheads together. “While our precious Sannie might want to keep you all for himself, I certainly wouldn’t mind watching you use another man to satisfy a craving,” he moved to brush his lips against the shell of your ear, “especially if he’s as hot as you described.”

You heard San’s ringtone go off, followed by a short exchange of words before his voice echoed through the suite, “jagi, Youngie’s on his way.”

San’s socked feet padded over the carpet when you didn’t reply, stopping at the bathroom doorway to admire your form, leaning over the sink while blinking into your mascara wand. He leaned against the doorframe, watching you move back to examine the drying coat of black for a second before using the tip of the wand to brush over the outer corners of your lashes.

You dropped the tube into your makeup bag and zipped it shut. Meeting San’s gaze through the mirror, you smiled—almost shyly—while smoothing down your dress, its hem resting just below your behind.

“Who are you all dressed up for?” San teased, eyes flitting down to the burgundy colouring your lips.

You turned to face him, smile still stretching your lips as you leaned back against the counter behind you. “Woo said he had a surprise for me before your match tonight.”

He raised an eyebrow, taking a few steps closer, “a surprise? He didn’t mention anything to me.”

You simply shrugged, hoping he’d let it go before the excitement in your eyes betrayed you.

“Ah, I forgot to wash this for you last night,” you shifted the subject, hooking a finger under the hem of San’s singlet, the drops of dried blood staining the collar a memoir of his victory a couple nights ago.

The suspicion in San’s gaze faded, replaced with fondness. His hands reached for yours, balling them in his palms and bringing them to his lips. He pressed a kiss on each of your knuckles, “my perfect girl.”

You frowned; eyes fixed on the flaking blood smirching the white.

San breathed out a laugh, craning his neck to meet your eyes. “I’m serious, my love. It’s okay. It’s gonna get dirty again anyway.”

Seemingly unconvinced, San took your chin between his thumb and pointer and tilted your head upwards. He muttered a breathy “jagi” before his lips crashed over yours—desperate, hungry, wanting. Hands roamed up and down your sides, squeezing at your waist and ass and pulling you impossibly closer to his body. You felt dizzy, arms wrapped around San’s waist and palms splayed over the toned muscle of his back. His breath was hot as it blew over your skin, tongue moving with yours and spit melting the burgundy off your lips.

San’s ringtone sounded in the other room just as strong arms lifted you onto the counter, a disgruntled groan vibrating over your lips before he pulled away to answer, planting a quick peck on your mouth before scurrying out the bathroom.

Giggling to yourself, you slid off the marble to fix the makeup San kissed off you, wiping the product that bled past your lip-line before sliding the applicator over the slightly stained skin.

San showed up at the door once again, hopping on one foot while squeezing the other into his sneakers. “C’mon baby, Youngie’s waiting for us down the street.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you packed your makeup. “Why not pick us up from here?”

“Fuck if I know,” San sighed, swinging his backpack over his shoulder and grabbing his keycard.

The elevator ride was tense, the other passengers averting their gaze upon noticing San’s unabashed groping, a blank expression on both your faces while his hand disappeared under the back of your dress. You elbowed him when the landing doors opened at ground level, finally letting out an airy laugh as the other guests scurried out with hung heads, a cocky smirk forming on San’s lips.

‘Down the street’ was a much longer walk than originally anticipated, San’s grumbling indictive of his irritation, and yet his hold on your hand remained gentle, fingers tangled with yours and squeezing softly with every few steps he took.

After what felt like hours, you took a sharp left into a dark alleyway—tall buildings on either side blocking the sunlight—vivid graffiti overlapping on the damp walls, mould forming where they met the cracked pavement. The familiar white van appeared as you turned the corner, newly painted to refresh the previously peeling lettering, though the various dents in the metal remained.

Wooyoung stood leaning back against the van with a lit cigarette hanging off his bottom lip. The lit edge burned bright orange as he sucked in a breath, pushing off the cold metal to face the two of you.

“Why’d you fucking make us walk so far?” San spat, swinging his arms outwards for emphasis.

Lidded eyes met yours from a few feet away, and you attempted to maintain the faux irritation furrowing your eyebrows.

“Relax, I didn’t want anyone seeing our special guest,” he smirked, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Even if he came here voluntarily."

San looked as heated as he was confused, “the fuck are you talking about?”

Sensing another series of string of curses coming his way, Wooyoung put his hand up to stop him. “Calm down, kitten. Here, see for yourself.”

He exhaled a final cloud of smoke, dropping the expended tobacco onto the pavement and crushing it with the toe of his boot. He stepped towards the van again, pulling the back handles until the double doors swung open. Faded pink hair peeked at you from the back corner of the small space, longer and less vibrant than you remembered, though his defined features were just as captivating; though, you’d argue the full lips looked far more alluring spread apart by the rag Wooyoung had gagged him with.

Your gaze lowered, checking him out while he sat there, staring back with his wrists tied behind his back. You wondered whether Wooyoung had surprised him while getting ready, eying the top three undone buttons of his white shirt, and those missing from his open vest.

A snicker sounded behind you, “sorry, darling, I couldn’t help but inspect the goods while waiting.”

Your shared laughter snapped San out of his trance, turning to face Wooyoung. “Isn’t this the security guard from the last museum? Wooyoung, what the fuck is this?”

Wooyoung’s calm demeanour only seemed to irritate San further, as did the dry chuckle he gave towards his alarm. “Seems like distracting the dog wasn’t enough for our pretty (y/n), she wanted to take him on a walk.”

San’s eyes widened, his head snapping to your direction only to find the space you’d occupied beside him empty.

Your knees dug into the mattress laid on the floor of the van, the used, stained fabric holding the round indent you’d left behind for a few seconds before returning to its original shape. Crawling towards your target, you realised just how much the pink had faded since you last saw him, roots retouched but his grown-out locks closer to being blonde now. He didn’t seem afraid or confused—and you’d thought Wooyoung was only trying to enrage San by hinting Mingi wanted this encounter to occur. The doe eyes that checked you out in the museum were instead replaced by a sharp gaze drowned in an unknown emotion, something sultry, dangerous. But despite the thoughts churning in Mingi’s mind, the fact remained that he was helpless in his current predicament, tied up and unable to touch the woman he so desperately wanted, the threatening presence of her two partners lingering only a few feet away.

Wooyoung watched you closely, both his and San’s eyes shifting to the exposed, pretty black lace of your panties as you crawled towards the bound man. He could sense San’s jealousy simmering beside him, his eyebrows in a deep furrow and fists clenched at his side.

“Want me to untie him?” Wooyoung poked his tongue out between his teeth as a failed attempt to hide his growing grin, awaiting San’s beratement.

Though, your voice stopped the unkind words at the tip of his tongue.

“Uh-uh,” you turned down his offer, settling on your knees, “no need.”

Turning to face the two men still outside the van, you extended a hand towards San, smiling as the crease between his eyebrows softened and he scurried towards you. Grabbing your reaching hand, he led the open palm up to his mouth and pressed five kisses onto the soft skin, inhaling deeply with each one. You smiled, waiting until he’s had his fill before leading him closer. San’s arms wrapped around your waist, his body attaching to yours like it was second nature: front flush with your back, his face buried into the side of your neck until he could smell nothing but your scent, and a faint hint of your shampoo.

You felt the van dip slightly as Wooyoung climbed into the driver’s seat, the engine sputtering before coming alive. You craned your neck to the side to meet San’s eyes, smile dripping with mischief as you spoke, “just want him to watch for now.”

—

San almost couldn’t keep up, his knees digging into the mattress to keep himself steady, arms around your waist keeping you both upright as you threw yourself onto him, lips hungry and desperate as though you’d been craving his taste for days. Teeth clashed against each other, content hums and breathy moans vibrating in the air between you, your hands squeezing at the exposed muscle of his biceps, moving over his chest and down his abdomen.

Moving a few inches back, you dragged the white tank over San’s head and threw it to the side. “C’mon, Sannie,” you pressed a kiss to his lips, hooking your fingers into his waist belt to tug him closer, “don’t you wanna show our guest how good you can be for me?”

Fingers tangled in the hair at your nape, pulling roughly until your neck craned backwards. San’s voice had a rasp to it, dripping with lust he desperately tried to conceal, “don’t push it.”

The corner of your mouth curled, “that’s not being good,” a choked scoff blowing against San’s face, “maybe Mingi here can do better?”

You twisted your head sideways despite the resistance, meeting Mingi’s wide eyes for merely a second before your gaze was forced forwards once again.

“(Y/n),” his tone dripped with warning.

You swiped a finger over San’s bottom lip, protruding yours slightly to egg him on further. “Sannie,” you purred, smiling at the faint flutter of his lashes upon hearing the pleasant sound. “C’mon, baby, show Mingi how good you make me feel.”

Your eyes locked on Wooyoung’s through the rearview mirror while San manhandled you onto his lap, perhaps a little too calm as his gaze travelled over your bare skin and the thin sheet of sweat reflecting the sunlight peeking through the windshield. Your dress tossed somewhere behind you, back stuck to San’s chest and your legs hooked over his thighs, you could feel a flush creeping up your chest upon noticing your position—sat in San’s lap, spread open and bare while Mingi’s eyes roamed over the expanse of smooth skin.

Two fingers circled your clit, and you sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden touch, exhaling a content sigh when he didn’t waste time sliding them past your pulsing hole. San leaned closer, nuzzling his nose into the junction of your neck as he pumped his fingers slowly.

Sensing the unusual warmth of your skin, a smile stretched his lips. “Oh darling, isn’t it a bit too late to be feeling shy?”

“Shut up,” you moaned, tilting your head to the side to make room for San’s peppered kisses.

Your cunt squelched with every thrust, and you kept your eyes trained on Mingi while it spat slick around San’s fingers. He curled them into your sweet spot, soft ‘ah’s leaving your parted lips as pleasure soared through your body, eyes lidded and head lolling to the side, San’s fingers fucking you open and simultaneously dragging you towards the edge of your release.

“San, Sannie, right there, baby—hnngh, yeah,” his name dripping like honey off your lips.

You grabbed onto his wrist, tight yet not restraining his ministrations, your back arching off his abdomen when his free hand slapped your clit.

“So close already?” San teased into your ear, though his eyes were sharp and contemptuous upon meeting Mingi’s over your shoulder. “I see the audience has got you all worked up.”

His palm landed onto your clit again, and again, content watching your hips jump then fall back onto his lap with each slap.

“Sannie, please,” you panted, hips rolling towards his hands as he played with your cunt, nearly crying out when he pinched your clit between his thumb and pointer, vision blurring when you finally came.

San’s fingers continued pressing your g-spot, languidly to extend your orgasm, his other hand cupping your inner thigh and taking in the tremors shaking your form. His lips found their way back to your neck—blossoming bruises of red and blue scattered over the delicate skin—while his eyes remained on Mingi, as though an unspoken challenge was being communicated between the two men.

Slipping his fingers out from between your clenching walls, San readjusted your position on his lap, moving you sideways so your legs dangled off one of his thighs, an arm around your back holding you upright with your head resting on his shoulder. Mingi watched silently as San leaned down to press a delicate kiss to your lips, checking up on you through whispered questions while massaging the tired muscles of your thighs. It was like he was non-existent, merely a prop in the small bubble enveloping the two of you.

It wasn’t until your tired eyes met his that the bubble popped, and Mingi snapped out of his thoughts. You sat up, your gaze suddenly alert and glimmering with hints of mischief, beginning to crawl towards the man merely a few feet away after San had begrudgingly let you go.

With just a few inches separating your faces, you pulled the wet rag between his lips down to hang around his neck, “did you enjoy that?”

Mingi began nodding before you could finish the question, “yes,” he cleared his throat, the rasp in his voice sending a wave of heat down to your core, and San could see your pussy clench from where he was sat behind you.

“Mm,” you hummed, “I could tell.”

You smiled, tilting your head down to drag your attention to Mingi’s crotch, his cock hard and straining against the constraints of his dress pants. You brushed your fingertips over his zipper, smiling wider at the displeased groan sounding behind you, looking back up at Mingi when a chocked moan left his full lips, a thick gulp following it.

He rested his head against the back of the driver’s seat, taking you in wordlessly through hooded eyes, watching as you reached between your legs to swipe your fingers through your sopping cunt only to bring them back to hover in front of Mingi’s face.

“Be a good boy,” you whispered, and pushed your fingers past his plush lips.

Mingi didn’t need to be told twice, taking them like a starved man and moaning unabashedly as your slick met his tastebuds, rolling his tongue around the digits and sucking them deeper into his mouth. You felt yourself getting wetter, squeezing your thighs together while running your fingers down Mingi’s tongue until he gagged. His whine when you slid them out nearly made you cum, his head moving to chase your retreating fingers, your lingering taste alone driving him halfway to madness.

So, you brought them back, this time hovering around and over his lips despite his attempts to take them inside his mouth. Brushing your thumb through the spit soaking his lips, you shoved it past them to hook behind his bottom teeth, tugging his head forward and removing your hand just before your lips crashed. It was sloppy, way too much teeth and saliva and tongue, and yet your pussy ached, skin buzzing and your need growing the longer your mouth moved against Mingi’s. Lust guided you, your fingers squeezing around Mingi’s cock through his pants while your tongue ran across his teeth, the raspy moans reverberating against your skin fanning the fire burning within your core.

Warmth spread against your back, San’s body covering yours and his hand closing around your chin to pull you off Mingi, pausing to take in the gloss covering both your lips before his irritation grew once again, “don’t slobber on another man’s face when I’m the one fucking you.”

You visibly shuddered at his words, arching back against his torso and leaning forward to catch his lips, barely brushing against then when Mingi’s voice startled you away,

“You’re cruel, miss,” he mumbled, as though talking to himself, yet his eyes fixed on your flushed face. Noting your confusion—and San’s glare—he continued, “I called that number so many times,” he breathed deeply between each of the last three words, his voice dropping at octave as he mumbled the rest of his sentence “’kept wondering whether you tasted as sweet as you smelled.”

San felt the shiver shaking your body, and your pussy getting wetter against his cock where it lay slotted between your legs. He was so occupied with this sultry exchange he didn’t notice the engine’s silence until the doors behind him swung open. A quick peak over his shoulder calmed his reflexes, arms relaxing around your waist as Wooyoung crawled towards him.

Just as he turned his attention back to the pink-haired man admiring you with heart eyes and a tongue heavy with honey-laced words, the string of curses nearly leaving San’s mouth got interrupted,

“Oh come on, Sannie, loosen up a little,” Wooyoung ribbed, dragging his fingertips up San’s spine. “Our friend Mingi here was so excited when he heard (y/n) wanted to see him.”

“Youngie, stay out of this,” San growled, feline eyes narrowing in warning.

Scoffing, Wooyoung left San’s side with a gentle squeeze to his shoulder and a whispered “suit yourself,” moving towards your guest. You both sat back and watched as Wooyoung grabbed Mingi’s defined jaw and smashed their lips together. It was almost like watching your prior kiss from a new perspective—Wooyoung was clearly leading, sucking the plush of Mingi’s lips into his own, digging his tongue into his mouth to seek out more of him, and sneaking his hand lower to palm over his cock. His touch was rough, rendering Mingi unable to do anything but groan against Wooyoung’s mouth, the gravelly sound travelling right to your core.

“More,” he recited, tugging against the restraints at the small of his back while simultaneously fucking up into Wooyoung’s palm. All the while, Wooyoung’s kisses remained relentless, teeth digging into Mingi’s bottom lip and tongue roaming within his mouth, wanting nothing but to manhandle the taller man and take him however he wanted. He held back, though, your excitement in the back of his mind while he enjoyed what he could have.

San was starstruck, his irritation with Mingi long since fizzled away, wholly incapable of moving his eyes off the scene before him, so turned on he imagined a fire would burn less than the heat spreading under his skin.

He hissed as your fingers wrapped around his length, bringing him back to the present and aligning him with your entrance, a nonvocal appeal in the lookback you’d given him. So he slid inside you with a muttered curse, throwing his head back as your heat engulfed him, pleasure soaring through his body at the tight squeeze of his throbbing cock between your walls.

You felt so full, satiated with San finally inside you. Lowering yourself onto your elbows, you allowed your head to hang limp while San thrusted experimentally, jolting you forward with an airy ‘ah’ leaving your lips.

Wooyoung finally parted from Mingi’s now-swollen mouth, glancing behind him at the sound and missing how the other man had leaned in for more. Pretending as though he hadn’t shaken Mingi’s world and possibly given him a sexuality crisis, Wooyoung moved his attention to you and San. He watched shamelessly as San’s hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing and pulling until you sat upright on your knees, tits jumping and lips parting as ecstasy blurred your vision. He was so deep, so heavy where he sat within you, sheathing his full length inside your cunt before pulling out once again.

Following the minute shifts in your expression—brows furrowing then relaxing, lips parted and spit pooling at the reddened corners, your lashes fluttering each time San drove his cock into you—Wooyoung couldn’t stand still any longer. His lips were on yours before you could even register him moving, fingers tangling with the hair at the back of your head to push your faces impossibly closer. He inhaled deeply where his nose dug into your cheek, pulling away slightly only to press wet kisses onto your mouth, allowing you to breathe while he continued satisfying his hunger.

Mingi gulped, also sat up on his knees now and staring directly at San. And as much as San attempted to look away, to focus on his partners making out in front of him, he couldn’t take his eyes off the other man’s lips—somehow fuller than ever, red and slightly chapped from Wooyoung’s relentless nips. Walking a step forward on his knees, Mingi now sat a few inches away from San’s face, and he took the opportunity to lean even closer, frowning when San flinched backwards on instinct.

Noticing the exchange in his peripheral, Wooyoung untangled a hand from your hair to wrap around San’s head and push him forward, successfully ending his resistance when his lips touched Mingi’s.

San could taste you both on Mingi’s lips, nearly shying away them as the other man towered over him, acting as though he’d wanted to put San in this position ever since he’d gotten in this van. Spit-soaked teeth closed around his bottom lip, dragging it with them as Mingi pulled away, only to move back in for more.

You could feel San throbbing inside you, his thrusts sloppy and desperate, losing his rhythm while Mingi was on him. They sounded downright sinful, and one look over your shoulder clamped your pussy down around San, a throaty moan vibrating over Mingi’s lips.

Wooyoung left you with a tender kiss, sneaking around the tangled bodies to reach San’s posterior and bending forward to graze his lips against the shell of his ear, jolting him away from Mingi.

“Seems like our dear Sannie is finally enjoying himself,” he sneered, running his pointer over San’s pert hole and smiling wider at his startled gasp.

Drowning out the conversation behind you, your eyes fell on the tent in Mingi’s pants. You peeled San’s limp fingers from your throat and bent at your waist, placing your palms on his thick thighs to push him into a seated position. It didn’t take long to free his cock from its constraints, Mingi’s eyes wide and wanting, leaning his body back on his elbows, wrists violently tugging against the cloth around them until Wooyoung’s dark glare over San’s shoulder ceased his attempts.

You pumped his length once, taking in Mingi’s rough groan while in awe at the sheer amount of precum coating his reddened skin. You paused before taking him in your mouth, squeezing your fist around the tip and forcing Mingi’s eyes to roll back momentarily, though your head hung low and an elongated moan dragged off your tongue as San adjusted his angle, fucking up into your g-spot until splotches of white spread across your vision.

“Fuck, Sannie— So good,” you tilted your head back, lips parted as another moan slipped past them.

Mingi’s cock jumped in your hold, and you didn’t waste time lurching forward to suck the tip into your mouth. The tang overwhelming your tastebuds goaded you to take him further, flattening your tongue against the underside of his length and lowering yourself until his cockhead nudged your uvula.

“Fuuuck,” Mingi moaned on an exhale, his hips moving upwards in light thrusts to meet your mouth halfway, eyes fluttering shut each time he bottomed out within your tight channel.

You felt lightheaded, Mingi’s taste on your tongue and the deep baritone of his voice driving you to take him further inside. You could barely breathe, the backs of your thighs on fire, San’s slamming against your skin as he fucked into you like a crazed man, pushing you forward until Mingi’s cock bumped the back of your throat.  Tears blurred your vision, gagging around his length before pulling off to rest your head over his quivering thigh, but San remained relentless, pumping his cock inside you until your moans went quiet, your mouth open helplessly while burning pleasure overtook your senses.

It took you a few seconds to regain your breath, and you were sucking Mingi’s cock back into your mouth before he could even check up on you. He fought against his restrains, wanting nothing but to tangle his ringed fingers through your hair, to guide your head over the length of his cock until your spit ran down the sides.

“You can do better,” Wooyoung’s voice startled San away from his thoughts, noticing his hand going limp around Wooyoung’s cock. “Look at our pretty girl taking the both of you so well,” he compared teasingly, curling his fingers inside San while he spoke.

“Youngie, ah—fuck, ‘want a turn?” San asked, ignoring the provocation in Wooyoung’s tone and squeezing around his leaking tip.

“Mm,” he hummed into his ear, leaning some of his weight on San’s side and planting a kiss over his shoulder, “fill ‘er up for me,” another kiss on the back of his neck, “I’ll have my fun with you later.”

The purposely harsh thrust Wooyoung gave prodded right at San’s prostate, his cock jumping inside you at the stimulation and his mind going hazy.

“Fuck me, ‘m gonna cum,” San panted, squeezing around the other man while he jerked him off before letting go, instead reaching back to grab his wrist to stop his fingers from driving him off the edge.

“Ah, Sannie, feels so good,” you mumbled while kissing over Mingi’s cockhead, digging the tip of your tongue into the slit to watch his eyes roll back.

You clamped down around San when Mingi spoke suddenly, “please, please, please, miss, oh god—I’m so close,” his head hung sideways to rest over his shoulder as he watched you swallow his cock through lidded eyes.

Your pussy squelched loudly around San, slick running down the inside of your thighs, and jealousy panged painfully within his chest as he watched you deepthroat the man sat in front of him. He let go of Wooyoung, bowing forward to wrap an arm around your shoulders and pull your body towards him, Mingi’s cock slipping out of your mouth with a whine and falling heavily against his lower belly.

“San, what—”

“Don’t you even think about coming in her mouth,” San interrupted to address Mingi, balancing on one hand with the other tucking you closely against his chest. “You haven’t earned that yet.”

Yet.

The word alone made precum drip down Mingi’s cock, his voice a higher pitch as he whined disgracefully, “please, ‘wanna cum so bad,” he thrust his hips in the air involuntarily.

San paused inside you, as though contemplating for a few seconds before his hips stuttered and regained their previous pace, your hand flying to wrap around San’s hand where it dug into the mattress. And just when you’d thought the pleasure had completely dumbed you out, San slowly withdrew the arm around you and waited until you settled onto your elbows, pressing his lips to your crown before shifting his attention back to Mingi.

Wordlessly, he reached towards him and wrapped his fingers around his cock, Mingi’s sharp hiss sounding in the stuffy van as San began getting him off.

“Go on then, cum.”

Despite the animosity in his tone, you could feel San grow thicker inside you, stretching your cunt out even further. Squeezing San’s free hand, you laid your top half on the mattress and waited until Mingi absentmindedly scooted closer, resting your head on his thigh to watch San’s fist pumping his girth. San’s pace slowed while he focused on the cock in his hand, and you couldn’t complain, Mingi’s rasp in your ear and his thighs shaking underneath you, thick ropes of cum spurting from his angry tip and splattering onto the side of your face.

San waited until he’d drained Mingi completely before letting him go, his eyebrows raising when your hand took his place, squeezing around his base to hear him hiss in sensitivity. But you kept going, lifting your head and squeezing his wet cock until he began spasming, the overstimulation stretching his vocal cords until he sounded thoroughly pathetic. He panted like a dog even after you’d let him go, and you couldn’t help but wonder how he’d act when pussydrunk—your hole dripping with his load, his airy begging echoing in your ear while you slid down on him yet again, fucking yourself full of his softening cock.

An abrupt change in position paused your forming fantasy, eyes fixing on the van’s roof before San slipped into your field of vision, dimpled cheeks and warm smile lighting a gentle fire in your chest.

“Where were we?” He whispered, your familiar bubble forming around you once again as he leaned down to kiss you.

His lips were soft, moving leisurely over yours as though you were a hallowed treasure, an invaluable jewel he’d set out to heist. His cupped your jaw, burning palm against your heated skin tilting your head so he could move impossibly closer, deepening the kiss until you feared he’d devour you. Reaching between your bodies, San aligned himself and pushed inside you once again, his groan and yours mingling in the negligible air between you.

He started off slow, letting out a shuddered moan as the tight heat of your pussy sucked him in, so deep he considered never pulling out. San fit inside you like he was born to fuck you dumb, his cockhead pressing your sweet spot every time he buried himself within your cunt, pushing more of your slick out and down past where he stretched you out.

San’s hips stuttered just as he’d built up his pace, the feeling of sneaky fingers prodding at his hole again dragging his attention off your face, his features contorting when Wooyoung easily slipped two fingers into his ass. A guttural moan left his lips, eyebrows furrowed and eyes squeezed shut as he got stretched open, his hands squeezing around your waist while he adjusted.

“Is it too much, Sannie?” Wooyoung provoked him, and you knew it was his own wicked way of getting back at San for leaving him out. You could tell by the violent throbbing between your walls that San was close, and Wooyoung loved playing with San when he was desperate to cum. “’You gonna cum before our girl?”

San snapped his head towards him, glaring despite his predicament—two fingers pumping inside him and your pussy squeezing around his cock. He was in no position to glower at anyone, and yet your small giggle set him off further. He turned his attention to you, moving back to meet Wooyoung’s fingers and forward to piston his cock into your sopping hole. You sensed your orgasm building back up, arching an extra inch off the stained mattress each time San drove into you, lowering himself even more to wrap his lips around your nipple, biting and sucking it raw before licking a strip up your cleavage to the dip between your collarbones.

“Need you to come, baby, let go for me,” he wrapped both arms around you, whining between desperate groans, the stimulation from both sides almost too much for him.

You nodded wildly, a repetition of his name falling off your lips like honey-laced poison; San’s heart nearly arrested.

He untangled one of arms from your quivering form to reach for your clit, frantically flicking and rubbing until you began spasming in his arms, the whites of your eyes showing before you’d squeezed your lids together, jerking away from San’s touch yet rolling your hips towards it. Fiery pleasure blinded your senses, oxytocin rushing through your veins while your orgasm crashed into you like a cyclone wave, twitching uncontrollably within San’s hold.

It didn’t take long for San to follow, deep, breathy ‘ah’s leaving him while your pussy clenched around his cock, barely able to move as you held onto him while you came. Behind him, Wooyoung remained mostly impassive, humping San’s hip while his fingers massaged his prostate, opting to hurriedly jerk himself off instead when San’s thighs began shaking.

San could feel his sanity slipping away, Wooyoung’s fingers milking him of all he had. His cum spurted out of him in hot ropes while he hysterically grinded into you, stuffing your womb full of his seed. His moans lowered an octave, dropping himself over you while still coming, a stream of liquid squeezing past his cock and down to seep into the mattress below you.

At the first uncomfortable whine from the overstimulated man, Wooyoung pulled his fingers out, fucking his slick-covered fist until white ribbons painted San’s back, a few drops landing over his pulsing hole. He could help but reach forward to run a rough thumb over it, pushing his cum inside until San reached back to swat him away with a curse.

Wooyoung took you in from where he towered over you— sweat covered your entire body, skin sticking to San’s as he laid on top of you, head resting on your shoulder; your tits were bitten and bruised from his rough mouth, a bitemark circling your nipple, and cum dripping out of your cunt which San’s softening cock still resided within. Moving his eyes back to your face, they softened at your relaxed features, hooded eyes peering back at him and a warm, grateful smile on your lips. His cock twitched in interest upon noticing Mingi’s drying cum splattered over your face, his tongue poking the side of his mouth, aching for a taste.

Wooyoung grabbed San’s discarded singlet to wipe off the slick wetting his fingers, figuring the man wouldn’t mind another fluid staining the fabric. It was only then that he noticed your guest’s presence, fucked-out with flushed skin and blown-out pupils slowly lifting off your stretched hole to meet Wooyoung’s. Mingi’s own cum coated his toned abdomen, the muscle shaking as he took a shuddering breath in.

Wooyoung’s lips curled with something dangerous, and Mingi nearly flinched. His words, however, lit a treacherous wildfire within him and spread to his core.

“Be good, Mangi,” the nickname coming naturally, “and who knows? Maybe you’ll get the chance to taste her someday.”

please reblog/leave feedback if you enjoyed~ ^^

[menagerofmischief]

nsfw alphabet -> ln4

main masterlist / navigation

nsfw alphabet (a-z)

lando norris x reader

a/n: another request from the request graveyard. I see you guys, I promise I'll try to get to all of them!

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

Lando is a clinger! He doesn't really wanna move, preferring to stay down and cuddle, twisting his body into your own and staying cozy from your warmth. If he has to move he will, but best believe some part of his skin will be touching your at all times. He's also big on sharing baths together afterward with you leaning back into him.

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

Boobs! He loves your boobs and if he could he would never take his hands off of them. Loves to cuddle with his hands up your shirt and just holding your boobs.

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

Has no preference whatsoever. He likes anything, filling you up, cumming in your mouth, on your stomach/ass/back/tits. He's down for all of it and will always let out a little groan as he takes in the sight.

D= Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory)

He gets hard watching you do domestic things around your shared apartment. You're leaning down to put dishes into the dishwasher, boner! Reaching into the washing machine to pull out a lost sock? Boner! Vacuuming the new rug? Boner!

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

He's pretty experienced and knows what he's doing. Uses his experience to drive you absolutely wild.

F= Favorite position

Doesn't really have a favorite but enjoys positions where he can grab your boobs easily. Loves cowgirl because your tits are bouncing in his face, it's his own personal slice of heaven.

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

Sometimes when you're having soft/slower sex he'll randomly burst into giggles. Other than that he's pretty good at giving what the situation requires.

H= Hair (grooming habits)

He keeps it pretty neat, trimmed all the way down but doesn't completely shave it off. If you had different preferences he'd be up to trying and when it comes to you he doesn't mind anything as long as you're comfortable.

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

He can swing either way but I do think that he leans a bit forward to romantic and wanting you to experience every touch deeply and feel everything. However if it was a bad day, get ready because he can and will absolutely go rough.

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

Prefers you touching him rather than him touching himself but when you're not there or he's away, he'll be jacking off like a boy in puberty, always having your picture up on his phone or calling you to hear your voice.

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

Lives for your praise! Call him a good boy and he'll be a puddle on the floor. Also loves sucking on your nipples, whether it's during the intercourse or just cuddling with his mouth attached to your tit.

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

Absolutely up for getting down and dirty anywhere but loves to do it in your apartment. Any surface/room will do.

M= Motivation (what gets them going)

You! End of story. One look of you and oh, where did his pants go?

N= No (something they won't do)

I think he's pretty much down to trying anything you're interested into but wouldn't want to do anything that could seriously hurt you.

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

He loves tasting you almost as much as he loves when you're sucking him off so his absolute favorite is 69, where he can get the best of both worlds. Absolutely knows what he's doing and would eat you for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

P= Pace (do they prefer it slow or fast)

Pretty good at reading the mood and following what you want. Want it faster, he's pounding you into the mattress so fast your head is spinning. Prefer is slow, he'll make sure you feel every inch and drag.

Q= Quickie (do they prefer quickies or taking their time)

Prefers to take his time and go for multiple rounds, but if either of you is feeling needy he'll absolutely pull you into the first corner and go for a quickie.

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

He's up for experimenting and is pretty much down to try anything at least once. The most important thing for him is that you're both feeling comfortable.

S= Stamina (how many times they can go)

He can go multiple rounds at a time. Give him a second to catch his breath and he's already hard and leaking again, aching to get back into you.

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

Has a whole drawer filled with all different sorts of toys and enjoys using them to bring you pleasure. Likes to keep a vibrator pressed to your clit while he fucks you or eats you out.

U= Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

He likes to tease but can't follow thought with it to the end because he has a weak spot for you and wants to give you all the love.

V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

Absolute whore! Whines, moans, grunts, anything and everything. From making you beg, to him begging himself. Doesn't shut up.

W= Wild card (random headcannon of any sort)

After Hungary '24 he railed you against the wall of his driver's room that shared with Oscar's, making you scream his name in an attempt to annoy his teammate.

X= X-ray (what’s down below in those pants)

He's packing, we all know it. Did you see the ridiculous amount of photos where his bulge is shown? Pretty sure someone said he's made it onto a Twitter (catch me dead calling it X) page called 'famous bulges'

Y= Yearning (sex drive)

The meter broke from how high it went ;) He wants you, all the time, everywhere, no questions asked. Can go whenever you want, for as long as you want.

Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

Depends on the situation but I think yes, or at least moderately quick. Especially if you're staying right in bed and cuddling, he's dozing off quick and letting out soft snores (yes, I think he snores, sue me).

[avocado-writing]

I'd like to think that Logan is the best weather detector. His bones are bow metal he just feels when it's about to rain or snow, whenever the fronts change.

“It’s gonna rain.”

“What?” you ask, glancing up from your phone where you’ve been googling the best places to grab dinner. Logan stares at the sky, nostrils flaring just a bit, scenting the air like he’s an animal. 

It’s really cute. You have to resist the urge to boop his nose. You don’t imagine he’d be too thrilled at that, though, so you remain strong. 

“I can tell,” he mutters. Looking up, the sky seems bright and clear.

“Are you sure?”

“Never wrong about this stuff, bub. I can feel it in my bones.”

He says it with such seriousness that you can’t help but laugh. He turns to you and cocks an eyebrow, and you attempt to swallow your reaction. God, he’s so sexy, you don’t know how you can stand it. 

“Okay, well, weather-boy, I’m not too worried. You still wanna go out and eat or what?”

“Sure,” he says in that slightly smug manner where he knows he’ll win out in the end. 

Two and a half hours later, well-fed and slightly wine drunk, you’re standing in the doorway of the restaurant, watching the downpour as you unsuccessfully try to hail a taxi. 

“Don’t say a word, Howlett,” you harrumph, but his self-satisfied grin is worth a thousand of them.  God, it makes you want to slap it off his face. You never would, of course… that is unless he asked you to very nicely. 

“Doesn’t look like any of those cabs are stopping,” he remarks, with an exaggerated sigh designed to annoy you. It’s no use. Looks like they’re all taken up by people who also fell foul of the weather… but they didn’t have their own personal forecast machine to warn them against being outside in the first place. 

You shiver. You wish you’d taken a coat. You feel really damn stupid right now, and it makes you ache a bit that Logan has to witness it. 

Suddenly you’re aware of a heavy warmth around your shoulders. You look up to where Logan’s taken off his leather jacket and wrapped it around you; it smells of cigar smoke and pine, and you bury yourself into it, enjoying the feeling of being totally engulfed in him. 

“Thanks,” you mutter shyly. The smile he gives you this time is sincere and affectionate. 

“C’mon, we’ll walk. It’s not that far back.”

“But you’ll get wet…!” you protest, feebly. Logan turns back to you and you take him in properly, all 6’2” of him in his jeans and far too tight white t-shirt.  Suddenly the image of him absolutely drenched appears in your mind like it was snipped from your dirtiest dream. The way the cotton would cling to his chest, leaving nothing to the imagination…

“Oh no, I’m sure you’d hate that,” he says with a smirk, as if he’s read your thoughts. He holds out a hand to you and you take it eagerly, giggling as he drags you into the rain. 

[luveline]

would you be in the mood to write something for peter parker x reader?? it’s been a while since i’ve read anything new for him and i’m missing my boy :( maybe something about things getting heated while making out with peter but he knows reader isn’t ready to go any farther so he has to stop them, and then maybe reader feels guilty for not being ready bc they feel like they’re stringing him along? a good mix of (semi)smut & fluff & angst haha. thank u angel i love u <3

ty for requesting, love u <3 fem!reader, 1k

cw suggestive content

“Is that okay?” he whispers. 

You’re nearly too busy trying to kiss him to whisper back. “Yeah, Peter, just–” Fully too busy. 

Peter enjoys being on top of you for two reasons; the first, the most imperative in the moment, is because it flicks a switch in your mind that has you all flustered and breathless under his touch, your chest heaving something sorry and your hands a frenetic back-and-forth between roaming and limp on his back; and the second, his guilty pleasure, is that he’s in an optimal position to slide his knee between your thighs and listen for your breathless sigh. 

He says your name between kisses to catch your attention, finds he can’t quite get it as your mouth closes up on his and your spit wets his lips. Your hand wanders under his shirt. 

Peter has been worse than shirtless around you, a consequence of his strange after-classes hobby, but he’s not so sure you’re ready to peel him out of it. Your fingers ride up his spine. 

He fishes your hand from behind him to hold it above your head. 

“Hey,” he says, pulling back, your eyes lit and aligned with one another, the brightest light in the room. It feels wrong to speak into the dark like this, disrupting your whispers and your quick breathing. “You don’t wanna do that.” 

“I do,” you say. He’s no genius, but he sees the wobble of your lashes for what it is, sudden regret. 

“It’s okay, bub. We got too heavy too fast,” he laughs. 

You bite the inside of your lip as he sits up. It’s his fault, he shouldn’t have kissed you like that, definitely shouldn’t have let his leg slide up against you, what was he thinking? He’s kissed you so hard your lips are swollen. 

You use the flats of your palms to clamber up against the headboard. Your heart is a thudding he can’t ignore, triply loud, and his own pulse is rocketing too. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“No, that’s okay,” —he reaches for the hem of your sweatpants to tug them back over your hip and stomach— “I was bearing down on you, I shouldn’t have– I–” Peter Parker levels of stuttering occur, to which he can’t subject himself, hiding his face in his hands. 

There’s a small silence. Peter attempts to calm down. Your heart rate slowly drops. 

“I really am sorry, Pete.” 

His neck cricks as he lifts his head. “What?” He lets his legs fall to the side of the bed and shuffles up to the top to see you clearly, squishing the back of your thigh where your legs are up to his hip. “Come on, what do you have to be sorry for?” 

“I’m leading you on and stuff. Not cool.” 

“What? What are you talking about? I started it.” 

“I was giving it just as good as I was getting it,” you say with a regretful smile. “You’re just such a great kisser–”

“Don’t try and distract me, it’s working,” he teases. More seriously, he puts his hand on your knee, thumb pressing to the soft crease underneath it. 

“I shouldn’t kiss you like that if I’m not ready for it.” 

“Why not? You can kiss me whatever way you like, it doesn’t have to lead to anything.” 

“I’m winding you up. Boys don’t like that.” 

“I love it,” he says, dropping his chin to his hand to speak to you from just below your eye line. “I love everything you do, I love kissing you, it doesn’t mean you have to be ready for something else.” 

You don’t accept his reassurances as quickly as he’d like, leaning back, the rising valley of your chest and tummy two pretty not to look at even as something serious transpires. He adores you, your every hill and curve and rigid line, all of it, and he’d love to fuck you but there’s no rush. What do you need to rush for? Peter’s sure it’ll be just as much fun a few months down the line as it would’ve been tonight, but it’ll be perfect then, because you’ll be ready then. 

“Who cares what boys like anyways?” he mumbles, kissing your kneecap appreciatively. 

“I just don’t wanna mess it up, Pete. I really like you.” 

“You can’t mess it up, it’s not like that, we’re not like that. You mean a whole lot more to me than that,” he says, giving your thigh a squeeze. You meet his eyes with less shyness now, the beginnings of a smile like twitches at the corners of your mouth. “I like you more than you like me, anyways. You can string me along. String me up, if you want.” 

“String you up where?” you ask with a laugh. 

“From that statue on ESU?” 

“What? How would I do that?” 

“Get Spider-Man to help you.” 

You pull the leg he isn’t leaning on up toward your stomach, knee rubbing along the inside of your opposite thigh, the last trace of regret. “You’re sure you don’t care?” 

“Don’t care, don’t mind, just want you to be happy.” He kisses your knee. “I thought you’d know that by now.” 

You brace your face in both hands, letting out a long sigh. “I don’t know what I know when you do that thing to me. How about you keep your legs away from my legs for a little while?” 

Peter smiles like an idiot, hiding his eyes in your knee and his mouth behind your calf. He doesn’t mind being honest, but you’re making him nervous flirting like that and he isn’t allowed to kiss you again tonight. “I– I can do that. No leg stuff.” He leans away from you suddenly. “God, no leg stuff. You’re beautiful, I wish you didn’t worry about me.” 

“I’ll try not to, Pete.”  

[2hightocare]

PRINCESS TREATMENT ✷

“In a world of boys’ he’s a gentleman” mini series—

Synopsis: Jungkook simply does everything to make you happy..

Genre: established relationship!

Warnings: pure fucking fluff… (seriously makes me wanna jump in oncoming traffic) jungkook is a bright green flag, he’s love language is “acts of service” (can be read as a standalone but I recommend reading the first part)

a/n: we all deserve oc and jungkooks kinda love.. I’m turning this into a mini series since a lot of people enjoyed it🤍

for @ohsweetmimosa !!

Falling in love was always something that you wanted, your face has always been shoved into pages of books, wondering when it would be your turn to experience that type of love. Your mom would always tell you that your expectations were too high and that no man could ever be as perfect as a fictional man.

Until you met him.

There were no words in the dictionary to describe him. No words to describe how beautifully his eyes would sparkle whenever he would tell you he loves you, the way his thumb would caress you whenever you would hold hands, or the way he would kiss away the tears that would escape your eyes.

You a hundred percent believed God made men, and sent Jungkook as an apology.

“When did you learn to braid hair…?” You curiously ask, with a slight hint of jealousy in your tone, making Jungkook laugh behind you as his fingers thread the three strands of hair repeatedly. “Watched a YouTube tutorial,” he chuckles, trying so hard not to pull your hair.

“What for..?” You stare at the mirror in front of you with the goofiest smile plastered on your face, watching your boyfriend with no shirt, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips as he carefully braids your hair with his lip between his teeth.

“You always braid your hair but then complain your arms hurt from keeping them up for so long soo… why not make myself useful.” He shrugs like it’s not a big deal.

Your heart did a cartwheel, might have exploded in your chest from how fast it’s beating. But nothing new. You were so accustomed to the feeling of butterflies flying in your stomach whenever he would do or say something to you.

He drops the most beautiful phrases anyone has ever told you so casually, like it was normal. But that was your normal since you met him.

You would hear your friends talk shit about their boyfriends, how they did something or what they didn’t do, but you really just never had anything bad to say about Jungkook. He basically took "Princess treatment" to another level.

You never had to ask for flowers, never had to pull out a chair, never had to open a door, never had to enter a car freezing... because Jungkook being Jungkook went out twenty minutes earlier to turn on the heater before you would get in.

Never had to worry about leaving your wallet at home when the only thing in your bag is lip gloss. Never having to turn on your brain whenever he was around.

Locked doors? Where are the house keys? Did you leave your curler on? Jungkook got it.

“That’s so much better than mine,” you point to his ice cream as your eyes widen from how the creamy flavors melt into your mouth. “So bo—mb!” You muffle out from the mouthful of ice cream shoved into your mouth.

“Let me try yours,” he opens his mouth, waiting for you to send a spoonful of your cookies and cream into his mouth. “Here comes the airplane! Brrr,” you try making airplane noises as your hand does a weird twirl before inserting the spoonful of ice cream into your smiley boyfriend.

“Mhm,” he nods his head, humming loudly, watching you smile at him.

“I actually like yours better, baby. Let’s trade?” Jungkook hands you his small cup of ice cream as you nod happily, while you hand him yours.

Jungkook watches with the biggest smile on his face while inserting another spoonful of the creamy content as he watches you eating the new ice cream flavor enthusiastically, hearing you rave about the new book you have just finished reading and how dumb the main character is.

Jungkook's heart aches, sizing double its size, beating hard in his chest. Your cheeks and nose are rosy from the cold outside the car. You both didn’t care about eating ice cream in the middle of cold December; you guys took it as a challenge on who would get sick first.

He laughs at the lighthearted jokes you threw at him, while you take another big spoonful of the chunky ice cream that was his not so long ago.

Little did you know that he really didn’t like your ice cream flavor.

When Jungkook first met you, he knew from the start that he was a goner. The way you smile at him, how your eyes will have a small glint on them whenever you look at him, or the way you would scrunch your nose if you found something funny or cute.

It took him by surprise when you pulled the move on him, thinking you found something disgusting when you first did it.

“I will literally eat you right now!” You scrunch your nose at your smiling boyfriend who’s slightly kneeling for you to be able to see your initial carved into his haircut.

“So that means you like it?” Jungkook stands up and spins to face you. You stare up at him, his dimples on full display looking down at you with your cute outfit he helped you pick on FaceTime.

“I fucking love it baby!! I have the urge to crawl inside your skin,” you bite your lip containing the laugh you’re trying hard to contain, failing miserably when Jungkook raises an eyebrow with a smirk on his face. “That’s… cute,” he replies before kissing off the little nose scrunch he loves so much off your face.

“Is that like your ‘cutie mark’?” You quip, your arms wrapping themselves around his shoulders. “Cutie mark?” He asks, a hint of interest in his voice while he wraps his arms around your waist pulling you closer to him.

“You never watched My Little Pony?” You fake gasp, eyes widening.

“I’ve heard of it, but me sitting down to watch ponies with superpowers… yeah, no.” Jungkook squeezes your waist as he explains.

“You suck,” you roll your eyes playfully sticking your tongue out before entangling yourself off his arms and making your way to the couch.

“Come big baby, we are watching My Little Pony.” You pat the empty couch space beside you.

He watched every season... all nine seasons with you.

Jungkook just wanted to make your life easier; you were always known for being “Miss Independent” in your family and amongst your friends, but here you were letting a man put your heels on for you.

“Too loose or…?” Your boyfriend looks up to you from his kneeling-down position in front of you.

“You look really good on your knees, sir.” You say instead with a sly smirk on your face, ignoring his question. “Pshh,” he rolls his eyes as he chuckles, tying a bow on your lace-up heels.

“Since when do you not flirt back?” You pout watching your boyfriend repeat his actions on the other foot. “Since we are late... and can’t be any more late.” He looks up with a mischievous grin on his face.

“Psh, okay.” You blow out in defeat as your boyfriend chuckles underneath you.

“Come on princess, let's go!” He stands up, giving you a hand for you to stand up off the bed.

The long rides to your guys' destinations were your favorite; Jungkook had given you the “passenger princess” award ever since you set foot in his car. He even installed a light-up mirror on your sun visor whenever you needed to fix your hair or makeup in the car.

Jungkook would listen to your little playlists. He still remembers when you explained to him that each playlist has a different emotion, which made him laugh. Now, anytime you played a song, he would ask you what emotion you were feeling right now.

“What emotion are you feeling right now baby?” He squeezes your thigh as he stops at a red light. The reddish hue illuminates your guy's face. “In love,” you turn your head to the side, staring at your boyfriend who’s already looking at you.

His eyes twinkle as he stares at you, a big smile adorns his face. As you mirror his actions before leaning in and giving him a kiss on the lips, his eyelids immediately flutter close.

“‘Cause I got my mind on you... I’ve got my mind on you.”

Plays softly from the car speaker; you smile into the kiss. “I love you.” He whispers softly. “I love you.” You whisper back.

[buckyschair]

AFTERGLOW

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: A sequel part to Flirting, which follows our dear reader (an archivist from Day Court) and the events post-hook-up with Azriel. Don’t worry, his busybody family could never be too sidetracked with running their court to prevent them getting involved in his love life– and, thanks to the properties of transference, yours! Have you stumbled upon something real here with him? Or will it be over before it’s begun? Only Azriel’s shadowy attachment style and maladaptive coping mechanisms will tell! Spoiler: the sex is good. 

read part one on tumblr here

A/N: From the bottom of my heart, what the fuck was I doing when I started writing this fic in the second person present tense. Copy editing this was a nightmare. I am completely demoralized. The only thing that can cure me? Your comments and kudos, baby! 

Content Warnings: porn with plot, kinda switches between your POVS, female reader, Rhys and Cass and Mor being dickheads (affectionate), smut (featuring aftercare <3), mutual masturbation, thigh riding, unprotected PIV sex, explicit language, alcohol, yearning, idiots to lovers, no use of Y/N

Disclaimers: 1. I’m woman enough to admit that I don’t know how the magic system works in this universe. Who has what powers? None of my business. Yet, somehow, this same author spent an hour researching exactly how people with penises like to masturbate. And that’s showbiz, baby! 2. It’s also not my business where these people live. I haven’t read ACOSF yet so I have no idea where they’re all supposed live so just pretend Az has his own place and they all share a house too idk the river house is new and confusing to me kthxbyeeee

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~14k 

Read on AO3

It’s surprisingly domestic, how the morning unfolds in a post-coital haze, breathy moans lapsing into quiet conversation about pillow preferences and the day's looming demands. You’re seriously so glad you went dancing last night, especially since your fun solo night out was cut short in favor of mind blowing sex with Azriel. The male lies beside you, your body tucked into his arm on his massive bed, the pair of you lingering after another round of bliss. You’re reluctant to emerge from your shared cocoon, but you know you can’t stay forever. 

“I don’t know about you, but this is my ideal morning,” Azriel comments lazily.

You murmur something noncommittal. 

He raises himself up on one arm to look at you, affronted. You see the disbelief in his poised face, his quiet accusation: How could it get better than this? It’s sharp enough to uncover your grin as you answer: 

“A bath?” you propose.

Azriel presses a kiss to your temple before grumbling his way out from under the covers. 

“Anything for my esteemed guest,” he says sarcastically.

“I’m so honored,” you say, eyes rolling behind his back as he disappears into the washroom. 

“I saw that!” he calls from inside.

You give him a rude gesture from your place under his sheets, and you hear his chuckle echoing through the open doorway as he draws you a bath. Even his laughter sounds like a whispered secret. You treasure the sound, storing it away in your memory. 

You’re half hoping he’ll join you in the bath, but he leaves you to wash alone once you finally emerge from his bed. Water sluices across your form as you cleanse yourself of the hard earned sweat and stain. While the stickiness washes away, the warmth of your experience remains; an invisible mark at odds with the pale bruises blooming on your chest and thighs. His soap smells of citrus and cedar, a salty scrub that rejuvenates your flesh and invigorates your senses. It was the scent you’d caught in his pillows as you’d been pressed into them this morning. You wipe the images from your mind, clearing your head with some effort. 

When you emerge from your much needed bath, wrapped in a towel, you find your things laid out neatly for you atop his fresh sheets. You pick up an oversized shirt included in the pile. Your brow arches in silent question towards the male currently fussing with dirty sheets. Thankfully, he’s donned some undershorts, so you could expect to keep it together for at least a full conversation. 

“I couldn’t find your shirt,” Azriel confesses, apologetic. He tells you that he looked all over his room while you were bathing, to no avail. 

“Aren’t you a spy? I can’t believe you couldn't track it down,” you laugh as you slip into his tunic. It smells clean, and you’re a little put out that it doesn’t have his aroma. He throws a pillow at you, and you barely catch it before it smacks you in the face. His pout only makes you laugh harder. 

He apologizes again about your top, but as you slip your skirt back on, you remind him that you weren’t protesting last night when he threw it gods know where. His ears burn as he imagines it falling out the window, landing somewhere in the city below, perhaps much to some stranger’s confusion. 

“Not that it would be out of character for this place, with Rhys and Feyre being the way they are,” he concludes, cracking you up again. 

You come to stand before him, in your odd new outfit, short tight skirt and long baggy shirt. Now that you’re dressed, you aren’t sure of what comes next. So far, he’s directed your morning routine, and you’re suddenly dreading the inevitable moment when you have to leave. His eyes are taking you in, and you have no idea how his heart stutters at the sight of you, freshly bathed in his soap and dressed in his clothing. He has half a mind to take you back to bed, if Rhys hadn’t just been in his head reminding him of their upcoming morning appointment. 

Before you can ask him what the plan is, your stomach growls loudly, demanding. 

You curse your traitorous stomach as you walk through the grand halls alone in search of a meal, disoriented since he’d kissed your temple again right after dispatching you to the kitchen. He’d offered to get the two of you food, but you told him he should bathe first. Truth be told, you just needed a moment to get your bearings. This morning was far more normal than you were expecting, and it unnerved you how easily you’d fallen into a mock domestic routine with the warrior. 

Soon enough, you find a well stocked kitchen, exactly where Azriel had explained it would be. You shouldn’t be surprised that his directions were so clear, given the male’s strategic mind. 

You do find yourself surprised, however, that he’s allowing you to wander unchaperoned and barefoot through his court’s inner dwelling. The thought had warmth blooming in your chest as you set water to boil on the stove before looking around for some proper kind of tea. 

Before you know it, you’ve lost yourself to snooping through the full cabinets, inspecting jars and baskets of dry goods as you assemble your small feast. As an archivist, you can’t help admiring neat collections of any kind. You’re as endlessly fascinated with the contents of cabinets as you are with stacks of manuscripts. 

The distraction is why you don’t notice the approaching footsteps until a sarcastic voice calls you out of your reverie. 

“Az? Is that you?” 

You freeze your snacking at the unfamiliar male voice in the hallway. 

“What the hell, brother. So tell me why you tapped out earlier than anyone last night– without saying goodbye, might I add– and yet you’re the only one late to training this–” the voice cuts off as he finally spots you through the door frame. 

“Oh,” the Illyrian stumbles before quickly recovering, “Hello.” A boyish smile breaks upon his face as he takes in your state, dressed in his brother’s shirt over a skintight skirt. 

“You’re not Azriel,” he observes keenly. 

He offers you a wide grin, which you return sheepishly at first but then with real humor. 

“No, I’m not,” you laugh, realizing this must be Cassian. You introduce yourself briefly before adding, “He’ll probably be late this morning.”

“I bet he will be,” Cassian quips, but before he can question you further, you excuse yourself with your tea while it's still hot. 

“It’s nice to meet you!” he calls after you, your name ringing down the corridor. 

Cassian shakes his head once you leave, speechless for a moment before he contacts Rhys. You won’t believe this! he projects excitedly, thrilled to have some gossip on his brooding brother for once. 

You can’t hide your giddy blush when you return to Azriel’s room to eat. He takes the tea with quiet thanks, laughing at the mischief you’d gotten up to in his absence, and even more so at your impression of Cassian. His chest warms at your brief brush with his family. You enjoy a peaceful meal sitting in his chair by the window while he tidies his already very clean room, noting how fastidious he is in his motions as he dresses and styles his hair for the day. 

Once he’s run out of ways to drag out his morning routine, he turns to you with a serious but soft expression. 

“Can I see you again?” Azriel asks. If all logic didn’t defy it, you’d say he sounds nervous. “Perhaps on a real date?” 

“A date?” you ask coyly. You don’t bother to hide your smug delight at his words, feeling like you’ve just won a prize. “Yeah, I think I’d like that. A lot.” 

His resulting smile is so bright– for a second it transports you back to the grand archival library in Day court, where you’d soak up the blinding noon light that would stream in through the tall arched windows. You could always rely on its warmth for a reprieve from your dusty, tedious tasks. You imagine Az must feel similarly in this moment for his shadowy expression to break with such radiance. 

It calms your sorrow at leaving the brilliant palace, confident that you might very well see it again soon. You enjoy this flight more, as he carefully maneuvers through the city’s sky, the journey less disorienting in the daylight. He leaves you on the steps of your accommodations near the library with a lingering kiss and a promise to see you again the next night. 

Once he leaves, your mind goes into overdrive, cataloguing all that had occurred and trying to figure out what exactly drew you together. If there was any sort of common thread, it was invisible, but you felt its undeniable pull all the same. 

You’d have to do some further research, you decide, on Illyrians, and on shadowsingers. And perhaps on sex positions with winged fae. And maybe you should buy a new going out top… though you certainly wouldn’t be returning this new one anytime soon, you think, smoothing Azriel’s shirt down as you step inside your little place. 

You happily plan your list of tasks and activities, unaware of the shadows that slip inside after you, ready to report back to their master, who is equally anticipating your next meeting, even as he arrives unforgivably late to training, only to face the torment of his nosy family. 

Azriel bears their prying questions and bold threats with characteristic stoicism, cracking only to say that they’d better play nice, offering scalding threats of his own lest they scare you off. Deep down, he thinks with pride that you could probably actually handle them in their full chaos.   

After all, he’d felt something shake loose in his chest this morning as he’d laid watching your sleeping form. He recalls how he’d felt last night, when you were backlit and glowing above him. The magnetism that had sparked, a gravity he stepped into fearlessly when in battle, that now gave him pause. Later, when he had a moment, he would examine it more intently, but even at this glance, he felt it strongly.

He swallows his smile as he falls into the motions of sparring with Rhys, feeling that familiar thrill. He’s found a real contender in you, he should have known it from the moment he saw you squaring up back at the club. Azriel can’t wait to see things through with you. 

Hours later, recalling that excitement feels like mockery, as he ponders what one possibly does for a first– second?– date. He curses himself for having such a premature reaction, rather than applying a more rational process to the situation. He’d met you once. He told himself he hardly knew you.

But even as he had that thought, he brought to mind all he’d absorbed about you. Your life in Day, your dedication to your people, your reverence for things of antiquity. His mind wandered to your shared experience, how he’d seen you come alive and undone under his touch. Your small reactions, your fixation on his wings, your quickness to humor. He couldn’t convince himself that he didn’t know you at all. Still, surely many fae knew you better than he could, after just one night. 

The thought fills him with an ugly emotion; he didn’t like that someone else might know you better than he. Azriel scolds himself for his juvenile envy. He hadn’t earned special intimacy with you. Yet , he amends. 

He is a master of spies, and foremost of a scarce population who could wield shadows as easily as any blade, and the trusted right hand of the most formidable High Lord in history. Even in his own right, he is one of the most powerful Illyrians in existence, he reminds himself as he sets to the task of planning your date. 

Azriel is determined to show you a good time. He thinks back to how organic, how right your brief time together at Rita’s had felt. 

How badly could this go? 

✸✸✸ 

“You’re an idiot. I knew you were an asshole, but honestly Az, I hadn’t pegged you as an idiot,” Cassian scoffs, his raven locks shaking derisively. “I don’t know why I expected better.”  

Azriel just glares at him. He should have known it was a mistake to come to Cassian for advice. 

He looks to Rhys, hoping to find more level headed counsel. The three of them were cooling down from their morning sparring the night after his much anticipated date with you, ransacking the kitchen to refuel. Unfortunately, Rhys’ expression isn’t encouraging, the High Lord barely concealing his amusement. 

Azriel sighs, supplicating the ceiling for better guidance. He knows that their strenuous exercises aren’t solely to blame for the distant throbbing in his skull. 

“Quit it with the hysterics,” Rhys teases. 

Azriel levels him with a stare, his shoulders tense and his shadows in pandemonium. 

Rhys sighs, relenting, “So, you were saying you took her out to dinner?” he prompts diplomatically. 

Azriel nods. He had picked you up about an hour after you’d gotten out of work for the day. You’d been elegantly arrayed, but still casual, since you weren’t sure what he had planned. Your wide smile upon seeing him had left him winded as you’d taken in his generous physique. He’d been drinking you in too, and the sight of those same chunky boots on your feet had had him smirking. 

You’d playfully bared your teeth as you laid your hand on his waiting arm. “See something you like, soldier?” you’d teased. 

���Very much so,” he’d responded honestly. 

His candor had struck you off balance with more punch than any sweet talk or sass could have packed. His eyes held the same intensity that they’d burned with the other night; the same intensity that you’d started to doubt in your memory, thinking you must have imagined it in your blissed out daze. 

“You clean up nice, too,” you’d recovered. 

He’d mirrored your blush then, his red dusted cheeks relaxing you as he’d guided the two of you along the Sidra into the center of town. 

The restaurant had been nice, not too nice, but comfortable and intimate. You’d been thrilled with the menu, the seafood more exotic and the spices more daring than what you told him you were used to back in Day. Perhaps he should have commented more of his own thoughts, but he was so satisfied just to listen to your chatter. 

“Dinner was good,” Azriel shares.

Rhys and Cassian share a look at that. They were probably holding a conversation mentally on the side, analyzing and strategizing. 

“Well, don’t bore us with the details,” Rhys prompts sarcastically. 

Azriel swallows his retort, reminding himself that these were his brothers. As much as they pissed him off, they were his family, and they wanted the best for him. They wanted him to be happy. 

“What else do you want to know?!” he groans.

“Did you fuck her?” Cassian deadpans. 

Azriel just sputters in response. He is quickly losing faith that his brothers will be any help, if that was the best Cass could do. 

“No!” Azriel balks. 

“What do you mean no!” Rhys shouts, as Cassian curses and shakes his head more, this time hiding his face in his hands. 

“I mean, we… we did sleep together that first night,” Azriel amends, with a meaningful look at Cassian, who stops snickering. “But not last night.” 

“Why the hell not?” Cassian demands. 

“Is that all you can think about?” Az hedges. He honestly didn’t know why you hadn’t slept together again. He had certainly wanted to. Fuck, what he wouldn’t do for another chance to taste you, to take you back to his place– his real place this time, not the House of Wind– get you in his bed and run his hands over your thighs, and up, up, to brush his thumb through your soaking folds– 

“Brother! You’re one to talk, you’re the one going stupid at the thought of her right now!” Cass’s accusation has him cursing and forcing his mind back to this maddening conversation.  

Rhys regards him with a knowing look which does little to comfort him. The two males across the counter share another meaningful glance. Azriel runs his hand through his hair, he was going to lose his mind if they kept up their silent conversation. 

I’m right here, assholes, he projects into their minds down the bridges Rhys had established centuries ago. Typically, they reserved their use for business, but clearly the High Lord and his Commander had no qualms using their privileged mental bridge to serve their busybody purposes. 

Rhys has the decency to cringe, but Cassian dismisses his insult with the ease of one perfectly aware of his gold certified status as an ass. 

“What did you do to her, Az?” Cass scorns. 

“Okay. So dinner was good. That’s a good start,” Rhys interjects, suddenly playing the diplomat again as his brothers’ fists begin to curl. “What did the two of you talk about?” he prompts helplessly. 

“Just… things.” 

Cassian swears again at Azriel’s curt response, and even as his temper flares, Azriel sees how weak his answer is. “Okay! Okay. We… Well, she talked about her life back in Day. I asked her a lot about her work, and how their recovery efforts are progressing.”

Rhys nods, encouraging him.

“And I asked how she felt about the security of Day, since a myriad of threats remain unchecked, after everything, and since they don’t discriminate between courts but could affect any of us-” 

Cassian groans, and Rhys winces. 

“What! She cares about her people, I was trying to be attentive!” Az defends.

“Brother. It sounds like you were doing recon,” Rhys gently explains. 

Az opens his mouth, then closes it.

“You grilled her about the status of her court’s border security,” Cass adds bluntly. 

“I did not… grill her,” Azriel manages. “I just… fuck. Fuck!” he lets out. “Damn it! I was asking her about her interests,” he helplessly repeats. 

Cassian and Rhys just look at him with pity. 

He scowls, accepting that the dinner conversation was perhaps not as free flowing as things had been at Rita’s. Still, he’d have sworn that you’d enjoyed the evening. He looks up at his brothers, desperation written on his face. “What do I do?”

“Did you make plans to see each other again?” Cass asks hesitantly, a rare sign that he’s taking this seriously after all. 

“No,” Azriel admits, “but she did say she’d like to see me again,” he adds, much to his brothers’ relief. 

Rhys claps his hands together, capturing their attention, his shoulders squaring as he assumes his role as their sovereign strategist. “Alright. We can work with that,” he claims. “How do we go from here? What are the facts?”

“First, we have established that Az is an idiot,” Cassian chirps helpfully. 

“Right,” Rhys confirms, and Azriel just rubs his temples. This was just like their young days at the training camp, only without the license to punch Cassian for mouthing off. “What else?” 

“She wants to see him again.” Azriel opens his eyes and flashes a grateful smile at his brother, who ruins the moment by adding suggestively- ”Or at least she wants to see part of him again.” 

Rhys sighs, mentally reaching out to Feyre to tell her that she’ll have to handle their mid-morning appointments solo. Everything okay? she responds. He replies wordlessly with the scene in front of him, his brothers bickering over their breakfast, Cass creating an impressively explicit insult with a chocolate pastry and Az returning in kind. 

By the afternoon though, the three males have come up with a respectable plan to salvage Azriel’s tenuous connection with you. 

✸✸✸ 

You’re surprised when you see a shadow slip along the stacks toward your spot barricaded in a corner of the Night Court’s library, poring over some dense tomes. They’re full of oblique explanations that reference texts that are equally inaccessible, even to you in your expertise. You’d just about decided it was time for a break when you see the shadow approach. 

It curls around your hand in an affectionate welcome. As warmth flares in your chest, a note materializes, a welcomely legible message compared to the books you’d been buried in. You look around, despite the silent and largely empty library. 

No one is present to witness your blush as you lightly stroke the first line. The note is addressed to your name in a neat script. 

I’m writing with regard to my concern that you’ve had too grand an impression of my court , it reads. You can hear Azriel’s wry tone in the clear letters. 

First the high class of Rita’s, then the dizzying heights of Velaris’ fine dining last night. You smile at his dry, self deprecating words. Your heart thunders as you continue reading. 

I’d like to amend this most grievous picture with a far less elegant evening. Would you be available to join me for dinner tonight? Same time, and meet me at my place instead. 

Please respond at your leisure. I would very much like to see you again–

–He’s included an address and signed merely with an initial, a sloping A , that you trace as you mull over his words. 

His place? That last line too, I would very much like to see you again , seems less neat than the rest of his writing, almost hastily scrawled. As if it had been an afterthought. Or as if he’d been nervous to pen it? 

You shake your head at his shadow twirling around your wrist, the messenger seemingly in no rush. You’d been confused after your date with the shadowsinger, and now even more so. He wanted to see you again. 

The date last night hadn’t been bad. You’d certainly had worse experiences. 

He had shown up right on time to pick you up from your doorstep, sweetly admiring you as you’d shakily locked up your place. When you’d caught his hungry gaze, that still novel thrill had shot through you, and you couldn’t help your smile. You’d been excited, and that feeling remained sparkling in your chest as you’d wound your way through the city towards the spot he’d picked out. 

The meal you’d shared had been amazing, you were impressed with the whole affair. Azriel had looked indecently handsome in a soft black tunic and sleek charcoal pants, his siphons simmering ultramarine. You’d noticed he wore heavier leather boots… 

“Nice boots,” you’d complemented with a small smirk. 

“Thank you,” he had spoken sincerely, without marking your innuendo. 

You’d meant it as a small temperature check, delicately referencing your previous frenzied hook up where you’d neglected to take off your shoes for the first couple rounds. 

Either Azriel had missed your meaning, or he was establishing a boundary. You didn’t imagine the spymaster missed much, so you took it as an indication that he didn’t want to explicitly discuss what had happened between you. 

Even that was confusing, since his eyes had still gravitated towards your lips, followed the movements of your throat, and beheld you with a ferocity you couldn’t tear yourself away from. 

You held your tongue, though, about the research you’d done on how to get freaky with a winged individual. Honestly, that was probably for the best, you reflect, given how your sources were anecdotal at best. But damn! You’d done your due diligence, and you were hoping it would come in handy eventually. 

Azriel had been kind to the staff, who did their best to conceal how unnerved they were by his presence. He’d been perfectly well mannered, you’d enjoyed picking his mind about court security and his entertaining stories about his family. Overall, it had felt like your conversation at Rita’s, free flowing and comfortable. You trace the evening in your mind now, finding it more complex than the books you’d been dissecting all morning. 

You were used to speaking your mind, so you had planned to tell him directly that you’d like him to fuck you again, please and thank you . 

And when he hadn’t responded to your lingering touches, or your meaningful looks, you figured it was the same pattern as last time; where his respectful attitude demanded he unleash his passion only slowly and incrementally as the night progressed. After he’d walked you home and you’d told him what a great time you’d had at dinner, you’d even gone so far as to invite him up to your place. 

But he had declined. 

The male who you thought had been undressing you with his eyes the whole way back had dodged your invitation, citing an early morning. You’d been so blindsided that you’d just accepted it. 

Azriel had kissed you then, confusing you more as his hot mouth worked yours in a riveting connection. Then he had simply pulled away, his hazel eyes molten in the dark.  

“I’d like to see you again.” 

You cringe, recalling your words to him as he’d bade you good night. But he had seemed to practically preen at that, his shadows making lazy, arrogant circles around the horns at the apex of his wings. 

So, all things considered, perhaps this note before you shouldn’t be a total surprise. 

You’ll just have to talk directly with him, you reason. And the best way to do that will be to see him in person tonight. You briefly pen your enthusiastic agreement to send off with the shadow before returning to your work, heart a little lighter. 

Azriel smiles as his shadow appears, depositing his note with your neat reply. 

I look forward to seeing you tonight. Should I wear my boots? He laughs, spine tingling at his memory of you and those godsdamned shoes. He makes a note to remember to take them off of you tonight. If he’s so lucky… 

✸✸✸ 

Azriel considers himself luckier than he deserves when you actually show up at his place that evening. You look resplendent, he thinks, starlight dusting your hair. Much to his embarrassment, his shadows swarm you the instant he opens his front door to your confident knock. He silently curses them and wills them to behave. 

“They say hello, as well,” he says after greeting you. 

“Hello to you too, then, you handsome little devils,” you flirt shamelessly with his shadows.

“Don’t encourage them,” Az chides affectionately, watching them as they double back to twirl in your hair and brush along your cheek. “They’re insufferable enough as is.” 

You just laugh at their antics, flattered by their attention. 

Quite frankly, you’re charmed. You couldn’t find any information on shadowsingers in your brief search on the topic. You aren’t sure how they work or how they speak to him, but you do know that you like them. The more you interact with them, you can sense their personality. 

“You look beautiful,” he offers. 

He takes your jacket, manners impeccable as he crisply hangs it on the back of his door.

“Thank you,” you blush, slyly admiring his wings as he’s turned away. “You don’t look half bad yourself.” 

You’re fooling no one. Azriel looks good. Really good. He’s handsome enough to win a best dressed contest naked, but this outfit works for him too. His sleek vest is a deep green, the first hint of color you’ve seen on him. It complements his eyes well, bringing out their gold. You’re enjoying his exposed forearms too, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

You had caught the faint scent of citrus and cedar as you’d brushed past him to step inside. Your body is activated by the scent, recalling how it had lingered on his pillows. Overwhelmed by the pleasant picture, you swallow the memory. 

Before he can catch you checking him out, you catch a mouthwatering aroma. 

“Did you cook?”

His bashful look has your heart melting as he leads you to his kitchen. Indeed, the male had cooked a glorious meal. The dishes themselves aren’t particularly rich fare, but the volume is definitely more than two can pack away. He's gone all out.

As you marvel at his production, it strikes you how surreal this is, how extraordinary. You’re here. In his kitchen. The famed shadowsinger has made you roast fowl from scratch. 

To distract yourself from the absurdity of the picture, you focus on the details. There's herbs tied up in bundles hanging from his shelves. You get a glance inside one cabinet as he grabs a bottle of wine, and, unsurprisingly, their contents are very neat.

“I’m impressed.”

“That’s the general idea,” he winks as he pours you a nice glass.  

This was one step of his preparation for the evening. One key element of a winning battle was the location, situating your forces in the most optimal position. Now, his simple task is to figure out how to build a beautiful, long lasting relationship with a brilliant female out of a fancy goose carcass and herb potatoes. He grits his teeth. The night isn’t nearly over yet. 

You accept the drink with thanks.

“So, this is your place?” 

Azriel just nods. 

“So, did you rent that palace temporarily, or?” you try again. 

“Oh, that was the House of Wind.”

You raise your eyebrows at the lack of explanation. “It sure was windy.”

He catches your question then, “Oh- sorry, yes. It’s essentially our, that is, the court members’, public house-” he launches into the explanation you’d been looking for. 

You’d imagined he would be more comfortable in his own home, but he seems uneasy. The male remains as inscrutable as ever. You hadn’t realized how much you usually rely on nonverbal cues to read people. He is so reserved– by training– and also obscured– literally, by shadows. 

As you chat amiably about the city and its organization and his confusing housing situation, he leads you to his sitting room. You were surprised at your nerves even as you converse easily, typically you weren’t so easily ruffled. Then again, it’s been a while since you’d been so swept up by someone. 

“It’s nice,” you say, looking around the room. 

“Yeah? You like it?”

“Yeah,” you nod. It’s cozier than the palace was, the sweeping views exchanged for a comfortable and surprisingly cheerful atmosphere. The furniture is cushy, but practical, sturdy. 

“I know it’s not much like the palace,” he reads your mind. 

“No, I like that it's cozier. I just don’t know how you fit in the door,” you joke, gesturing vaguely at his scale, between his muscled form and looming wings. He laughs at that, and you banter back and forth about what a pity it is that there’s such a lack of Illyrian sized accommodations. Your shared laughter fades into a silence only broken by the crack of logs burning slowly in his hearth, crumbling voicelessly into embers. 

You let the moment stretch, taking the moment to appreciate the relaxed evening ahead of you, unwinding from your long day at work. 

Azriel, meanwhile, is counting the remaining threads of his sanity on one hand. Give him a fistfight. Give him an enemy regime to infiltrate. But gods save him from making conversation with a female he likes. He thought the relaxed setting would be more casual, but his chest is still tight as he tries to behave normally. Maybe this was a bad idea…

The pleasant silence continues to grate on Azriel, until he crumbles. “We can eat whenever,” he says, breaking the spell. He curses himself for his cowardice, sidestepping whatever was growing in the lingering quiet between you. 

“This is nice, though,” you say into your wine, undeterred. It really is good stuff. You aren’t a sommelier but you know a drinkable vintage when it hits your tongue. 

“Yeah,” he relaxes somewhat into the couch next to you again. 

Hazel eyes meet yours, the fire from the hearth flickering in their reflection. You really are enjoying the peaceful atmosphere with him. His hair is styled a little differently than you remember, the waves flopping in a charming swoop across his forehead rather than brushed back. Your gaze dips to his lips, damp with wine. His pupils expand almost imperceptibly as they track the movement, like prey scenting a threat. 

A loud knock interrupts your mooning. 

Azriel frowns, one of his shadows streaking off to investigate the front door. His scowl deepens before his scout even returns, as the knocking continues, adamant. 

“One moment,” Azriel says reluctantly, with an apologetic look as he stands. You nod, your attention on his tense form, his wings obscuring the door as he whips it open. 

“What are you doing here?” you hear Azriel hiss. 

“Rhys has no good wine left,” Cassian whines as he brushes past Azriel at the door. “Oh, hello again!” he says to you with a winning smile as he emerges from the entryway, somehow edging around the imposing shadowsinger. 

“Hi,” you say quietly, but not weakly, looking to Azriel for your cues. His face is unreadable, a dark storm clouding his features once more. 

“Wait up, you brute!” a female voice speaks, and Azriel’s face darkens further as a stunning female pushes her way in. You recognize her from the bar, she was one of the group Az had pointed out as his family. Mor , her name surfaces in your mind. She was the one who brought them all to Rita’s frequently. 

You could guess why she might prefer that particular spot, as her eyes rake over you. She flicks her hair flirtatiously. 

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” she says boldly, extending a hand as you rise from Azriel’s couch, making your way to join them at the front of the room. You tell her your name, and she flashes you a smile, all teeth as she bites her lip. 

“Mor,” she offers. 

“Yes– it’s nice to meet you officially. Azriel has told me a bit about all of you,” you admit. 

“Really?” she says with genuine interest, looking at the shadowsinger curiously. Her mind seems to be working at top speed as she takes in the two of you, him sulking by the open door and you standing comfortably by the entryway to his sitting area, your glass of wine by his couch half empty. 

“Yes, well,” Azriel begins, trying to reel in his invading family, “we were just about to eat, so–”

“Yes, why don’t you join us!” you suggest. You miss Cassian’s shit eating grin and Azriel’s shocked expression as you turn to Mor. 

“We would hate to intrude,” Cassian lies. He’s schooled his face into one of total propriety, a convincing facade only to you. 

“No, it’ll be fun!” you encourage, finally looking to Azriel. 

You feel bad to take charge, but he is giving you no clues. Welcoming his family seems like a safe play. Even if they were crashing your date, you would be lying if you said you weren’t curious to get to know them after the bits and pieces Az has shared. 

Plus, you’d seen the way his eyes had flashed with alarm when you’d glanced at his lips. Maybe he’d be glad of the diversion... 

“If you insist,” Cassian drawls at the same time as Mor asks “What’s that smell?”

You grab her arm cheerfully to lead her into the kitchen, eagerly sharing about the enticing meal Az had prepared. 

Azriel grabs Cassian, holding him hostage in the entryway as the two females disappear into his home. “This was not the plan!” he spits in a furious whisper.

“It wasn’t your plan,” Cassian corrects in his most infuriating tone: superiority. 

Azriel just growls at him as they move inside, shooting him a look that says Don’t fuck this up for me . 

Cassian’s silent reply comes with mock innocence, Who, me?  

Azriel’s lethal retort is snuffed out as he registers your laugh from around the corner. “Be nice!” is all Az manages before he steps into the kitchen to investigate what potentially devastating story Mor is telling to make you laugh like that. Why did Cassian think that he needed babysitting? 

His anger bluffs as he takes in your red face, your grinning laughter directed at him. He can’t bring himself to feel upset when you’re giggling like a fool in his kitchen.  

“Did you really steal this wine from Amren on a dare?” you wheeze gleefully, hefting the open bottle with newfound interest. 

He mirrors your grin, “What kind of spy would I be if I admitted to it?”

You and Mor squeal at his response, she starts yelling at him that Of course he did it, he could never back down from a dare , and Cassian is laughing now too, butting in to tell you his side of the story, to explain his most elegantly devised dare, as Mor slaps his chest and reminds him about the many shots that had contributed to its flawed design. Azriel takes in the scene, so chaotic and so not what he had planned. You catch his eye from across the small room, your eyes shining with mirth. 

You seem perfectly at home, pouring two extra glasses of wine for your unexpected guests. He shakes his head affectionately, surrendering to the new program for the evening. 

As he sets the table for you and his family, he tries to remember why he was so angry just moments ago. That fire has faded to warmth, calm radiating from his chest at the familiar scene before him. 

Cassian seats himself first, and then Mor insists on sitting next to you, so Azriel ends up facing you across the table. You give him a small smile, a brief look meant just for him, as his brother piles food onto his plate with gusto. You see Azriel swallow his annoyance, his face betraying that he’d cooked those fucking rosemary potatoes for you, not Cass. They’re passed to you next, and you see him relax as you dish yourself a generous portion. As the dishes rotate, the smell of the simple feast nears heavenly. 

The chatter pitches higher too, Cassian asking you about Day and Mor describing the miracle that must have resulted in Azriel’s culinary art. Question after question is posed to you, apparently they find you as fascinating as you find them. 

This is nothing like you’d pictured, you think, as insults and compliments are exchanged around you. And you had pictured it, what meeting Azriel’s family would be like. What else were you supposed to do with yourself last night, having been declined sex after a nice date? 

It had been a clunky vision, more so based on your experiences with the formal dinners you’d attended for work than with meeting a partner’s friends and family. 

You’d struggled to picture how you could possibly connect with his inner circle, elite as they were. The daydream had been promptly abandoned after you’d failed to conjure anything remotely pleasant. Azriel was always charming as ever in the imagined scenarios, but you’d not factored in the wholly unpretentious warmth he has with his closest friends. 

You see that tenderness now as he rolls his eyes at the two imposing faeries, the pair of them representing a significant part of his family. A memory flashes in your mind at the sight, a memory of tenderness when he’d been admiring you in bed that morning a handful of days ago. But they'd all known each other for centuries. You’d known him for a handful of days. Was it foolish of you to dream that you’d earn a place in his world? You thought of the small case of belongings you’d brought with you from Day. Suddenly, it felt paltry, lacking, especially as you pictured your friends and work back at home. 

But who cares if your presence here is inconsequential in the long run? It matters to you that you are here now, and you’re pretty sure it matters to Azriel. You reaffix your smile, deciding to enjoy the moment you’re in. 

“Azriel is a total ladykiller,” Mor cackles, and you regret having zoned out during this particular story. Azriel snorts at her words, but you blush at their partial truth. 

“Yeah,” Cassian catches your attention by speaking your name in a questioning tone, “Can you fight?” 

“Only verbally,” you confess, a little nervous to admit it to your current company of seasoned warriors. 

Cassian grunts in acknowledgement, nonjudgmental. He narrows his eyes, humor dissipating as he assesses you. “We can work with that,” he decides, suddenly sounding serious. “I can teach you the basics, but Azriel might want to show you the more advanced maneuvers himself,” he says with a wink. 

Azriel blushes and glares at the innuendo, while Mor laughs around her bite. Yet the depth behind Cassian’s proposal strikes you. His offer assumes that you’ll be sticking around. 

“I’d like that,” you accept, smiling at the general next to you. 

Azriel feels his chest go weightless at your words, like he’s soaring high above the atmosphere. He flashes his brother a grateful look before clearing his throat. 

“Don’t go easy on her, Cass. She’s lying,” Azriel warns, with a mischievous glance at you. Your shadowsinger has certainly lost whatever hesitation he had earlier, his bold words matching his newfound audacity. “She was totally squaring up with some dipshit at Rita’s before I intervened.” 

You gape at him as Cass and Mor squawk. The two of them launch into an intense interrogation, demanding the full story. 

As you recall the evening in question, you feel yourself precariously close to an embarrassing blush. The mortal blow comes when Azriel laughs, the sound noon-bright and ringing, buzzing loud as gossip.   

Eventually, after several more glasses of wine, with empty plates to match, Azriel disentangles you from Mor and Cassian’s endless chatter. You’re reluctant to see your new friends leave, and the amused male only successfully ushers them out after you make Cassian swear to keep his promise to teach you to fight. Content, you wish everyone a good night and thank them for their warm welcome to the Night Court. 

Once the door closes, Azriel heaves out a good natured sigh. 

“What were you and Mor whispering about just now?” you pry, still giddy in the wake of your departed company. You liked them a lot, and you like who Azriel became around them, as laid-back as a seasoned spy could be. 

“She was telling me how my head might end up on a pike if I don’t watch myself,” he responds drily, and you notice him rub his temple harshly with a knuckle. 

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt out.

His brows furrow, “Why?” 

“I totally invited them to stay when it wasn’t my place,” you explain, shaking your head in regret. “Did I totally ruin our date?” 

“Well I ruined the last one,” he says with humor, “so it was your turn.”

“What? No you didn't!” you defend him. 

You’re shocked by his candid words. The date had been a bit awkward at the end, but it wasn’t a disaster in your eyes. 

“Yes, I did.”

“What do you mean?” you search as you walk back into the kitchen to start cleaning up, “Like how we didn’t have sex?” Azriel chokes, his humor vanishing as you continue, “I was going to ask about that, but I figured it was a topic we should address privately.”

“Thank you for that small mercy,” he recovers. His shadows betray his agitation, floating jerkily around his shoulders in a confused dance. 

You realize with a start that he’s nervous. The war hardened fighter is unnerved by a conversation about sex. 

You’d really meant to ask earlier, but it wasn’t going to happen in front of Cass and Mor. The conversation at dinner had been enthusiastic and expansive, lighthearted at every turn. You’d assumed its levity was due to the fact that you were new, unfamiliar company. Now, seeing Azriel fight demons to self-reflect, you wonder if he ever really opens up to anyone, even his closest family members. 

In all fairness, you aren’t exactly thrilled to talk about it either. You're nervous too, painfully aware that there’s an obvious explanation as to why he didn’t sleep with you again. 

 The male sighs again at your inquisitive look, his hands scrubbing over his face like he can wipe away his confusion. His brows furrow. “I honestly don’t know why we didn’t,” he says quietly. 

You’re surprised at his answer. You’d expected more substance. 

“I wanted to, you know,” you admit, pride be damned. If you were going out, you wanted to leave all your cards on the table. 

“Really?” He mirrors your surprise. “I did too. I wanted you so badly, it scared me.” 

You look at the battle scarred warrior, unimpressed. Even slouching, which he never did, he would still stand at least a good head above you. 

You ask with disbelief, “ I scared you ?”

“Well… not exactly like that,” he explains, and he reaches out carefully to grasp your hand in his large palm. “I guess I was being… cautious. I wanted to be respectful.” 

His words shatter something fledgling in your heart. That was practically code for I’m trying to be nice, I don’t want to lead you on .  

“Oh.” You drop his hand, bracing yourself for the dreaded sting of rejection. 

As he sees your expression harden, Azriel curses himself inwardly. This isn’t going the way he’d strategized it at all. His forehead creases as he desperately tries to remember the points he and his brothers had mapped out to help him with this exact conversation. Maybe Cassian was right to spare him from being alone with you, if he’s fucked it up this quickly. 

Azriel thinks back to the previous night, when he had declined your invitation to come upstairs. He’d seen the chill on your face, a chill from his own closed door. You hadn’t pushed his boundaries. Rhys had pointed out to him that from his behavior, you probably couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Hell, even from inside his own head, Azriel was struggling to work out his thoughts. 

The gravity of his attraction to you is concerning. It was a dangerous thing, the weight of it as great and terrible as a sword in his hands. 

He wants your affection, he realizes. The trouble is: asking the spymaster to share his innermost secrets is like asking a busybody to keep just one. It went against his nature. 

He pictures you as you were when he first saw you, gearing up for a fight at Rita’s. You’d been fearsome as ever, confronting the challenge rather than running. He wills himself the same bravery. He is a fearsome warrior, he absolutely refuses to allow mere emotion to make him a coward. 

“I need you to understand something,” Azriel breathes, his wings tight as his expression. “I can’t do this if it’s just sex.” 

You set down a dish heavily, your once sun-soaked heart breaking. 

“If you, uh, don’t want this, that’s, that’s fine. I respect that,” you affirm, even as you’re reeling.

But then Azriel is shaking his head and wiping under your eyes, which you belatedly realize with embarrassment must mean that you’re crying. He’s trying to tell you how he feels and you’re crying on him. Gods! Get it together! you berate yourself. 

“No, no, no. Angel, look at me,” Azriel panics. You meet his gaze, and you see a tenderness there, as ripe and sweet as the summer plums you used to pick with your mother as a child. “Shit, I’m doing this all wrong,” he curses. 

“I can’t do casual,” he confesses, head still shaking, eyes gone glossy. 

“That’s okay, I get it if you don’t want this–”

“No! No, you don’t get it,” he interrupts, swearing and speaking your name with exasperated affection. “I do want this. I want you .”

You gasp, teeth kissing the air as he continues. 

“I want you. You said it wasn’t your place to invite them to stay tonight, but I want it to be your place. Fuck, I want to see you every day. I want to come home to you, and to know you’re waiting for me when I’m gone. And some days I want to wait for you too, and get jealous of the books you spend your time with.”  

You try to say something clever like What the fuck? or Huh? but you’re too shocked to do much more than stare open mouthed as he lays out his emotions for you. At least you’ve stopped crying. 

Azriel is looking at you as if you were personally responsible for every ounce of goodness he’s ever witnessed. It scares the shit out of you. How could he say all that? He doesn’t even know you. It doesn’t help that three seconds ago you thought he was going to kick you out. 

“Why me?” you finally manage. 

“I’ve never felt this way before,” he says, unblinking. 

In a total inversion of all Azriel had ever known, he felt an overwhelming impulse to bare his soul to you. You’d never been scared of him, even when he’d put on his most frightening persona at the bar. You’d taken his identity in stride, you’d even used it to flirt. 

He wants you to know him, he realizes. All of him. Even the darkest parts, the cruel, mean pieces with which he wouldn’t want to burden anyone but himself. For some unknown reason, at this moment, he can think of no greater honor than your involvement in his world, his reality, ugly as it may be. He hopes you’ll want it. 

He takes your hand and places it on his heart, gripping it over his chest. When he speaks, his voice is ragged, tender and raw. 

“You must know. You burn me,” Azriel confesses. “Surely you feel how you burn me.” 

What you feel is your heart in your throat, pulsing erratically at his words. The naked truth on his face frightens you. 

Your free hand reaches out to caress his high cheekbone as your mind whirls. His eyes close at the contact, his lips parted in silent prayer. 

“I feel it too.”

When your thumb brushes the edge of his bottom lip, those hazel eyes flutter open again. The energy between you is thicker than it was moments ago, something fresh set smoldering in his gaze. His chest heaves under your other palm. 

“You do?” he gasps, and you nod, words failing under the enormity of your emotion. 

He’s equally choked up, so he opts for actions instead, pulling you against him to capture your lips in a messy kiss. It’s all wine-breath and teeth, but it’s perfect. 

Your uncontrollable smile forces you to break away, and when you do he’s smiling at you just the same. His joy is infectious. For a long moment, you just smile at each other like fools, breathing each other's air in the sacred ambiance of the dim kitchen light. You linger in the quiet awe in the wake of your confessions.

When your mouths reconnect, the kiss turns feverish. It’s insatiable, your desire for him, as you suck his tongue, earning a satisfying whine from the hulking Illyrian. 

“Shit,” he groans as he lifts you.

You gasp as your weight shifts off your feet, and he sets you against his counter before reconnecting your panting mouths.  The insufferable Illyrian pushes one of his thighs between your legs, capturing your muffled groans with his warm mouth, tonguing away your soft cries. 

“Make me yours,” you whisper.

“Shit, baby, I think I’d do anything you ask if you say it just like that,” he whines against your mouth. 

He pulls away, standing between your legs like it's a place of special honor. 

“Bedroom?” he begs, shining with unchecked joy.

“Yes,” you eagerly agree. “We can break in the kitchen counter later.” His laughter rattles down the hallway as he carries you to his room. 

Once you’re through the doorway, his movements pause. A tender note hums to life amidst the excitement of your newfound connection. There’s a tender look on his face as he regards you with equal parts lust and affection. It’s a serious step for him, to have you here in his most personal place. 

You’re distracted by the new space as soon as he sets you down, fascinated with his room– his personal room, not the one kept for him at the House of Wind. It’s sparsely decorated, too, but there’s knick knacks and weapons lying around in characteristically organized fashion. 

“A lot of weapons…” you comment, humor bubbling up from your delight at the novelty of his affection and attention. 

There’s several swords on the wall, artfully placed in the columns between windows, and knives and spears are displayed in tasteful and accessible ways. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was compensating for something. Is that a halberd? you think. The last time you saw a halberd was in an illustration on an ancient manuscript. 

“What do you do for work again?” you joke.

He laughs, “I’m afraid the tools come with the trade.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that, but, I mean, seriously. That one?” You gesture above the balcony doors, where a grossly oversized sword rests. “Come on, Az!”

“Come on, I bet your place is full of books!” he counters.

You just scoff, so he knows he’s right.

“Come here,” he says, fondly. “You can inspect my quarters later, you freak.”

“Your freak,” you correct. 

“My freak,” he agrees. 

With that, Azriel grabs your waist, and pulls you in for a sumptuous kiss. The wine on his tongue goes right to your head, while the warmth of him goes due south. You pull away to tug meaningfully at his shirt, but he just follows to place expert kisses along your jaw. His work is so severe that you gasp–

“Shit, Az, I'm not paying you!” 

“Are you calling me a whore?” he answers playfully, unfastening his shirt at the back under his wings. He sucks on his teeth, pulling away to look you in the eyes. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, actually. The payment didn’t go through last time–”

“Oh, no–”

“–yeah, so if you could, perhaps, pay in hard gold this time, that would be–”

“Ah, okay. Could you do a payment plan?–” the two of you banter while he shrugs off his vest. You relish the view of his exposed chest. 

He plays into your shameless ogling, flexing to show off his whorling tattoos and the dark hairs trailing down beyond his leathers. The faelights surrounding the room cast a glow through the thin membrane of his wings, softly limning his form with warmth. You laugh at his peep show, but the sound is pitchy with your arousal. The toned male blushes. His easy humor may have returned, but vestiges of his shy personality still remain. 

You whistle softly, continuing to torture him with your attention. His blush deepens impossibly. He’s just so easy to tease, and when he reacts like that, it's easier still to justify. 

“Your turn,” he says, voice gravelly. 

“What first?” you muse suggestively, smoothing down your dress. 

“Boots,” he chooses. 

Before you can toe them off, Azriel sinks suddenly to the floor. The sight of him on his knees before you sends a thrill up your spine. 

Azriel, this most fearsome Illyrian, is totally surrendered to you. Heat throbs through your abdomen at the sight. He’s looking up at you through his lashes, his throat bobbing in anticipation as he pants below you. You haven’t even touched him yet, but his passion is evident, his eyes wild.

He gently grabs the back of your shins. “May I?”

���Please.”

He effortlessly unlaces your boots with capable hands. 

“I’m surprised you want them off,” you tease as he grasps your hands to steady you as you step out of them. 

“You look so sexy in them,” he agrees. “I am making a real sacrifice here, for your comfort.” His hand skims up the back of your calf, brushing your dress over your knee with his thumb. He places a kiss directly on your knee, heat flaring in your stomach at the soft brush. 

“You look sexy in this too,” he compliments. His eyes never leave yours as he hauls himself up, you dress falling back to cover your legs. 

“Would you be mad if I asked you to take it off?” His tone is toying, but his eyes are pools of hot desire. 

“Don’t be an ass,” you rasp, mad only with anticipation. 

Azriel slips two fingers under the straps on your shoulders, kissing your chest as he tugs them down your arms. You’re honestly impressed that he finds the hidden zipper at your side. Nothing escapes him, does it? 

His hands come to brush along your freshly exposed skin, whispering praises into your hot flesh. After he peels off your dress with zeal, you raise a finger in warning. 

“Be careful with that. I actually want it back!”

“I promise I won’t lose it this time.” 

“Your promise is nothing to me! You never found my shirt, huh?” 

“No,” he confesses with an exaggerated air of regret, blowing out his lips in sympathy. Your eyes narrow at his suspicious behavior. 

“How do I know that you didn’t just steal it like a creep so you could jack off with it or something?” you say with mock sensuality. 

“I wish,” he hums, thumbing the discarded material of your shimmering dress as if you’ve given him a brilliant idea. “Honestly, that would have helped me out the other night.”

Azriel freezes, his eyes widening as he realizes his slip. Your grin mirrors his horror at his admission. A dull ache blooms anew below your stomach. 

“Did you touch yourself to the thought of me?” you breathe. 

“Maybe.” 

His voice is thick even as he squirms under your riveted look. His wings flutter briefly before relaxing as he spots the excitement on your flushed face.  

“Fuck,” you groan. “That's hot. Please don’t be embarrassed, that’s so flattering!”

Your words do nothing to prevent the hot flush spreading across his cheeks and chest. You push him to the bed, giggling when he falls onto the cushions dramatically before unceremoniously shucking off his pants. 

He makes grabby hands at you, and you melt at the sight of him, disheveled and unarmed, and as excited as you were. He pulls you towards him, bringing you to rest on his bare thigh. 

You kiss his sternum, looking up at him through your lashes. 

“I want you to show me.” 

Azriel pauses, and his breathing goes a little uneven. 

“Show you?” he repeats, his eyes blown out as you rub encouraging circles into his shoulder from your perch on his thigh.  

“I want you to touch yourself,” you purr. “Show me how you like it.”

His brows twitch, his eyes going predatory under heavy lids.

“It might be your last opportunity for a while, since I’m gonna be pretty fucking jealous of that hand if it steals too much time in my territory,” you admit with a meaningful glance towards his crotch. 

He laughs at that, but it doesn’t dampen the flame in his vision. 

“Okay,” he murmurs devilishly. “Get comfortable.”

It will be a cold day in hell when Azriel denies such a request from you.

He makes a show of shifting to rest comfortably against the cushions, his wings extending lazily to drape across the pillows and trailing to the floor. The wide expanse of his chest shines in the low faelight, his swirling tattoos prominent even in the dimness. The hard ridges of his muscles contract rhythmically in time with his powerful lungs. His nipples are hard, he shivers in the slight chill as he rubs a hand through his dark hair, tugging roughly. 

You come to rest just above his knee on his left thigh, essentially kneeling in the center of his bed. The slight contact has you boiling as you watch him trail a hand along his torso, one hand still teasing his hair. Your focus trails his toned abdomen down to his prominent arousal. 

“Well you won’t have to use your imagination, like I did, for the first part,” he begins lowly, “because, if you must know, I was already this hard before I could get out of my leathers.”

  If you weren’t dripping already, you are now. You’d been joking earlier, but this show really was worth some hard gold. Anyone would kill to see the fearsome Illyrian splayed out like this. 

Azriel hisses as he strokes slowly down his abs, his chest rising and falling in a tortured cadence. After some time stimulating himself in this way, his moans become breathy. 

With one hand, he deftly pulls himself out of his undershorts, and you can’t help yourself from reaching out to slide them a little further down his hips. Your mouth falls open at the sight of his sharp hip bones and the delicious stretch leading to the base of his heavy cock. 

Its red tip bobs temptingly at your knee, but you restrain yourself. You shift slightly, looking for some relief, and your knee accidentally brushes the edge of his wing. His hips buck involuntarily, a whine falling from his lips at the contact. 

“Shit, baby,” he cries. He hasn’t even touched himself, but his dick is straining against his stomach. 

“Sorry,” you say weakly.

“Liar,” he growls, seeing the hunger in your gaze. 

You shrug, unapologetic. Let him see what he did to you. It was his funeral at the moment.

He was focused on you, indeed, eyes roving around your naked form as he flexed his thigh beneath you. You start to circle your hips, your breasts bouncing with the sudden movement, until you hear him hum in pleasure. He was getting off from the vibration. 

“Don’t cheat,” you scold. 

He just whines, reluctantly stopping his thigh flexes. 

“Good boy. I’d hate to have to punish you, baby,” you warn.

You meant it playfully, but his breathing falters and his wings twitch. Interesting. You file the information away for another time.

His fingers catch your attention as they come to play with the soft underbelly of his cock, just under the head. He used two fingers to rub small circles on the tender flesh. The spot was right where it had landed on your tongue when you’d taken him in your mouth briefly the other night. Again, interesting. 

“This- this is supposed to be erotic,” Azriel struggles, “and you’re studying me like, like…”

“You’re a very compelling study,” you inform him in your most sensual voice as he struggles to speak.

“Fuck,” he says, “don’t tease me.” 

But you see the effect your praise has on him. His fingers finally circle his length fully, pulling short strokes at the head. The whimper that falls from your lips would be embarrassing if it wasn’t so melodic in company with his grunts and moans. His expression is so unguarded, lit as it is by ecstasy. 

“You’re doing so good for me,” you murmur. 

The shadow singer's back arches off the bed at one particularly harsh tug, his rhythm never faltering. His accuracy is almost uncanny. He must have honed the art of his pleasure with the same rigor and precision as the rest of his work. The test of the room fades as your focus is wholly captured by the male sighing below you. You’re obsessed with the unholy picture of his hand wrapped around his cock.

His shadows shift along his wings in time with his strokes. Sluggishly, you realize they must be stimulating him as well. The thought renders the ache at your core unbearable. 

Even through his euphoria, Azriel is receptive to your every expression. He sees your frustration.

“What do you need, angel,” he hums. 

You respond reflexively, your hips grinding into his thick thigh. Your face heats as you register the motion. It was just what you needed, though. You certainly didn't want him to stop what he was doing, his fist pumping wickedly.  

“Go on then,” he purrs.

The desire in his eyes encourages you to resume the motion, rocking your pelvis against the solid muscle of his thigh. 

“You look so perfect,” he praises. 

“And you’re sex incarnate, Az.”

You position yourself further up his thigh, balancing on your shins as your knees brush his wingtips again. You’re rewarded with a throaty groan for your flirting. The sight and vibration of your riding his thigh has the male slowing his hand, and gripping at the base of his cock. You’re not faring any better. 

You brace yourself against his chest with your arms, both of you sensitive to the barest touch. The slight pressure on his chest has him hurtling towards the edge again. As he holds off his own strokes, he sends his shadows towards your form, your makeshift rules be damned.

The sighs you breathe are far from a complaint. His shadows lick up your form with tender phantom touches, and you feel the pleasure build in your core. Your rhythm starts to slip as you chase your release. His sculpted thigh should not be making you feel this good, but you start to see stars and you know the male can’t be fully mortal.

“That’s it, baby, let go,” he pants, as enthralled with your euphoria as he is with his own. 

You barely register his praises as your orgasm shatters you, his shadows licking along with the pleasure racing through your body. As the waves wrack you, he drinks in your scrunched features, the soft cavity of your gasping mouth. You meet his eyes as you hurtle over the edge, the image of his carnal devotion seared into your mind. It would be unnerving if it wasn’t such a reflection of your own feral interior.   

“That was so hot,” Azriel praises. 

“Pervert. You were supposed to be giving me a show,” you pant, frowning as you catch your breath. 

“I think I gave you a proper show, if that was your reaction.” 

He’s earned a smug attitude, you figure. Your vision is still a little blurry, but you feel his shadows and fingers rubbing soothing patterns along your upper thighs. A different warmth blooms as you cool down from your blistering orgasm. 

As you marvel at the intimacy of his gestures, Azriel’s head is clearing enough to fully appreciate the sight of you in his bed. 

He had been on the brink of the most mind blowing orgasm of his life, yet he doesn’t even care about the urgency he’s feeling from his dick as he commits the image of you in his room to memory. It feels so right to have you here, just like it felt right to share a drink with you at Rita’s, and to sit down for a meal with you with his family. 

Azriel reflects on the thought he’d had days ago, how he’s fallen into the gravity of powers like this before, but never in such blissful hues. His mind flashes back to battles he’s fought, the enemies he’s faced. Every time, the contact of such powers results in a brief conflict, a decisive end. The conclusion is inevitable; the force of the challenge undeniable in its strength and direction. This attraction, though. What to make of it? 

The intensity is similar– his current adrenaline certainly feels like he’s just seen someone draw a sword, but it’s different. Your power was a challenge, but an invitation too. 

The feeling is like the gravity in his gut at the beginning of a flight, when he’s leaping off of a cliff, that brief tension borne in the short moment between the stability of the ground and the strength of his wings. The feeling is prolonged, like he’s suspended there with you. 

He finds that he doesn’t mind it so much, with you there, caught up in it just as much as he is. Besides, he’s tired of keeping everyone at arm’s length, he decides. He’s always loved flying, even if he came to it later than the others. Why should love be any different?

“Can you fuck me now?”

Your unsubtle words break his delicate reverie.  Oh, he’s in serious trouble, he thinks as he sees you bite your lip. 

“I’m not going to last,” he warns. 

“Same here,” you admit. You were already feeling overstimulated, you doubt you’ll last long at his pace. “I want to feel you though.”

He presses a messy kiss to your mouth, savoring the moment. You’re just as unhurried, glad to linger in any moment with the gorgeous male below you. Strong hands guide you to straddle his hips, his legs bent slightly to support your lower back as he leans against the headboard. 

When he finally enters you, he groans lowly. 

“Fuck, I’ve missed this.”

Your response is garbled by your euphoria. What you feel is euphoric relief, his cock filling you with a satisfying burn. Despite his size, the pain is minimal, your wetness helping him slide in easily. He grips your forearms, bringing your hands to anchor on his shoulders. 

“It’s like you were made for me,” he slurs, delirious already. 

The position is intimate. As he begins to rock you over his hips, your focus falls to explore the stunning male. Azriel is so fucked out already, raw from having edged himself earlier. His body is slick with perspiration, his face set in concentration, eyes blown out. Your hands on his shoulders are broiling with his heat. 

His dark hair falls limply against the cushions, and his wings are hanging loosely, like he has no extra stamina to hold his posture. He meets your gaze, and the eye contact somehow feels even more intimate than the position you’re in. He seems entranced. The agony on his face is underscored by his attention fixed on your every move. It's like he’s seeing your soul, plucking the thread of your need and following it faithfully. 

Using his broad shoulders as leverage, you start to fuck yourself on him. You’re rewarded with a stuttering groan as his hips thrust in time to meet you. Your head falls back in pleasure when your clit is ground deliciously against the coarse hair at the base of his pelvis as you bounce on him. Between his thick cock and his hard abdomen, you're perfectly stimulated. 

The room becomes thick with the heat and scent of your sex. All of your senses are riveted to the male below you, to the pleasure being delivered to your core. Soft sighs and deep groans fill the air as you fuck at an agonizing pace. 

His hands release their death grip on your hips, moving to explore your thighs and chest. The rough sensation of his hands over your skin is fuel to the fire of your appetite. 

Desperate for somewhere to release your energy, you lean forward to connect your mouths. He hums in delight at the sudden kiss. You taste his sweat and his fervor, and it’s intoxicating. 

When you pull away, his lips are shining with spit. Azriel looks like a male possessed. 

“Shit, angel. Can we do this, like… all the time?” he begs. 

“We haven’t even– even finished, and you’re– you’re thinking about doing it again?” you manage. 

“Can you blame me?” he retorts. He emphasizes his words with a particularly vicious thrust that has you gasping. 

“Please,” you cry. “We had better do this often.”

“ Awesome ,” he cheers breathlessly with a small smile to himself. 

Your heart sputters at the sweetly boyish comment. Here he was, inside you, and he was excited at the idea of fucking you again later. It isn't just your body either, which was a major plus, but he likes you . Earlier he’d confessed that he wants more than sex. He wants to bring you into his life in a more serious way too. 

You envision yourself bringing some belongings here, working at the library during the day, dining with Azriel and his family in the evenings. And at night, he would bring you here, to his bed, where he would ravish you. You relax into his body further as you realize you’ll have many opportunities to fuck him. He’d gotten excited earlier when you’d suggested some kinkier things. And, sure, he’d laughed when you’d joked about fucking in the kitchen, but he’d not seemed opposed. 

“Are you with me?”

You blink, coming back to the present. If you were going to blame him for getting excited about future sexual escapades in the middle of fucking, you were guilty too. Thankfully, your body kept up the rhythm on reflex, cause you were just miles away in a diaphanous dream of your mutual future. 

“There she is,” he smiles at you fondly as he rocks you mercilessly onto his cock. 

His stamina was impressive. Despite your fatigue, arousal has your body pulsing with adrenaline. The familiar pressure mounts in your abdomen as you grind onto him. 

As he eases your pleasure along, he’s transfixed by the sight of your bodies meeting, your hips swallowing him into your soaking hole. The feeling of your nails scraping at his scalp plunges him further into rapture, the slight sting heightening his sensitivity. 

“I’m close,” you warn him. 

“I’m with you, angel,” he pants. “Come on, baby.”

You abandon your bouncing to grind selfishly against him, chasing your bliss. He’s content with the debauched sight and the warmth of you around him. When your hand tugs his hair again, his dick twitches. Then your fisted knuckles brush his wings ever so delicately and his hips lurch, his shadows rioting. 

Azriel is dangerously on the edge, but he’s determined to watch you unravel first, his competitive and generous spirits united under his indecent desire to see you come undone. Even as he appears depraved, he feels devoted. Your ecstasy was his own. 

One last delicious shift of his cock scraping your walls, and your release staggers you. Your eyes flutter shut as crystalized bliss shatters over you. His scent envelops you, the salt of sweat mixing with tangy citrus. It transports you to a realm of bliss, where the only presence is yours and his, a delicious meeting of your senses. 

The agonizing image of your ecstasy has him spilling inside you, his whines cresting as he climaxes. His teeth scrape yours in a sloppy openmouthed kiss. You ride out your orgasms, hips jerking erratically, waves of pleasure ebbing languidly. 

You’re left with a warm buzz, even the discomfort of your stickiness feels rather like sweetness as you take in the glorious male. When your eyes catch, his lips curl into a smile. Your heart skips a beat at the tender sight of him spent and glowing beneath you. His shadows bleed into the cushions, baring him to you completely. 

“Can I lie down?”

“Please,” he shifts to help you off of him. 

You hiss as he slips out of you. “Sorry,” he mumbles, concerned. 

“You’re good.”

“Are you okay?” His shadows rove over you, assessing for damage, and he winces at the mess between your thighs. You laugh at his concern, waving it off. 

“I feel great. Just overstimulated,” you assure him as you curl into his pillows, your muscles grateful for the break. He nods and kisses your temple. The gesture is endearing, even as your thighs burn. You pull him down to rest next to you. 

His eyes never leave yours, monitoring your movements and drinking in the image of you snuggled into his bed. You reach out to trace his features, avoiding the intensity of his gaze. It isn’t uncomfortable, you’re just so overloaded already; you aren’t sure you can handle its palpable energy. His skin is soft under your fingers, the fleshiness of his sharp face surprising you. Azriel hums under your soothing touch. 

The unmistakable sentiment in his gaze has you melting into the comfort of his cushions, utterly relaxed. After all the uncertainty of the past few days, the surety of this moment is crisp, intoxicating. Nothing was guaranteed, of course, but you like your odds with him. You'd never been one to back down from a challenge. 

“I thought you were going to ask me to leave,” you confess into the tender silence of the aftermath.

He frowns. “When?” 

“Before,” you explain. “Right before you told me how you felt.”

He groans, regret clouding his features. “I’m so sorry. I haven’t made things easy for you. I definitely didn’t want you to leave.” 

You shrug. You’re here now, what was passed is past. “You’re worth a little torture.” 

“Why did you think that?” he asks, ignoring your lighthearted response. He avoids your eyes, fidgeting absently with the edge of the duvet. 

“Well,” you begin, unsure of how honest to be. You opt for full truth, the words rushing out of you. “You didn’t fuck me! I was throwing eyes at you all night and things were going well–”

“Things were going well? Do you really think that?” he interrupts. “‘Cause Cass said I ‘grilled you on border security’.”

You snort at his air quotes. 

“Well, yeah,” you frown, recalling the conversation, “but only after I asked you about how recovery efforts were going here, which is kind of a killjoy topic anyways.”

“We suck at this,” he decides brightly. 

“Excuse you!” you leap to defend yourself. “I'm amazing at this– anyways! Totally not the point. You didn’t respond to my hints, so I thought maybe you’d changed your mind, and that you weren’t into me.” 

Azriel shakes his head, and his rough fingers tenderly brush your hair away from your face.

“You were way off target, cause I’m totally into you. Remind me never to hire you for intelligence,” he teases, the words affectionate. 

“In my defense, you are kind of hard to read,” you admit.

He hums, not denying it.

“Holy shit! See? I was just about to tell you off and you slithered out of it!” you look at him, equally impressed and incredulous at his evasive skills. 

Now it's his turn to be unnerved, clearly caught out by your acute perception. You’re satisfied with yourself. 

“Wow. Okay, I'll take it back, you’re hired,” he dodges. You don’t take the bait. His words make you think about his long career in intelligence. Suddenly, it makes perfect sense how he struggles with expressing himself verbally. He knew firsthand what the wrong words falling into the wrong ears could do. Pair that with whatever other… unique emotional baggage he has going on… shit. He’s probably actually very well adjusted, given everything he’s experienced. 

Shit. She’s good , he thinks as you watch him silently. It was a classic technique, one he used often in interrogations. 

He sighs. “Alright. So you may have picked up that I’m… guarded.”

“ No ,” you say with sarcasm. 

“ Yes ," he laughs, before groaning and sitting up to look you in the eyes as he continues. “I’m sorry I wasn't upfront about how I felt. Like I said, I can't do casual. So I didn't know what I was doing. I was trying to protect myself from, well, doing what I did, and spilling my guts to you.”

“You were very brave to do that,” you tell him seriously. 

He rolls his eyes.

“No, I mean it,” you press, suddenly sure of your recent revelation, desperate to assure him. “I’m glad you decided to trust me. I’m honored.”

You really are. Every glimpse you’ve gotten into his inner world has only deepened your affection for him. Strangely, you feel like you fit into his world, as new as it all is to you. 

Occasionally in your work, you would come across a book from the archives, and it would be just what you needed for your project, even though you hadn’t known it had existed. What a thrill it always was, to find a gift in the world, unasked for and unplanned. The same sweet serendipity floods your senses now, as Azriel’s eyes shine with emotion. 

“I might need you to be patient with me,” he whispers, like the words are too dangerous to handle in the open.

“Of course. Whatever you need,” you promise him. 

With that, you press a kiss to his lips, thick with feeling.

His hand grips your jaw, holding you there to convey the depth of his adoration. He strokes your face fondly.

You pull him close, and he envelops you in his strong arms and soft wings. You lay there for a while, nestled in the security of his warmth. 

“Bath?” he offers eventually.

You hum thoughtfully. “Honestly? I’m too tired to move.”

“I’ll carry you.”

A luxurious soak later, Azriel slips one of his shirts over your clean, drowsy form. Drained as you are, you keep yourself awake to watch him towel his hair dry from your place on his duvet. 

You exhale abruptly, and his attention fixes on your drawn brows. You raise them as you finally ask the question you’ve been deliberating. 

“I was just thinking… you have libraries here, right?” you search meaningfully. 

“Yes, we do,” he answers casually, lips curling into the beginnings of a smile. “There’s one just down the hall, actually.” 

“Huh?”

“Why do you ask?” Azriel continues coyly, coming to stand before you. “Are you thinking of settling down here, or something?” 

“I said, huh ?” you repeat. Does he have a home library? Oh, you’re a goner. 

“Come on, I’ll show you.” 

You shake your head in amusement. “You are so full of secrets,” you accuse.

“Full of surprises,” he corrects, rewarding you with a wide grin. 

You wonder if you’d ever reach the last of them, you muse as the lovesick Illyrian moves to make good on his words. You imagine you never will, but it sounds like a nice fate to die trying. 

After all, it seems like you’ll be needing a new hobby, now that you’ll have to give up recreational flirting. Azriel is happy to keep you occupied. 

✸✸✸ 

Later, when the night was deep, the stars shining brightly with the soft promise of new beginnings, Azriel remembers a threat that he needs to make good on. 

I’m gonna fucking kill you guys , Azriel projects to Rhys and Cassian. You’ll never see me coming. It will be long, and painful. NEVER mess with my plans – never again!

Well! Rhys' response arrives instantly, dripping with sarcasm. That sure was a delayed reaction… I hope you’ve had a productive evening.

Cassian’s reply is more direct. You’re welcome, brother dearest!  

Despite his vexation with his brothers, Azriel smiles into the dark, content as he is to have you in his arms. He thinks dimly of your face under the flashing lights at Rita’s, how close he had come to losing his nerve to speak to you, how grateful he’d been to have an excuse to talk to you, and how foolish he’d felt when he left you alone on your doorstep after your last date. 

His racing mind quiets as he traces your features, sleeping soundly in his bed. He has no intention of letting you go this time. 

_

A/N: I hope y’all enjoyed!! I really fell in love with these two. It was so fun crafting their dynamic in part one, I had to expand the plot a little to allow their connection to develop more in this one. Sorry to make you read like 9k of plot and banter before the sexy part! 

Here’s a little of my thought process behind this part 2: The more I thought about it, I just realized Azriel can’t do casual relationships. 

In the books, it’s heavily implied that he pined after Mor for centuries, so like he’s a truly long-suffering loverboy. It would actually be so out of character for him to casually date. Even if he were to turn a new leaf and pursue someone, he's too guarded, too high profile to be comfortable with just a fling. If he’s in, he’s all in. 

So I was like how do we break the ice? I imagined that Cass and Rhys could sense how invested he was in Reader, and that they knew he’d flounder in his attempts to approach it casually. Devotion and quiet intensity are just so key to Azriel’s personality. I wanted to explore what it would look like if he felt the green light from someone - personally I think it would unlock some of his private nature and allow him to safely express his feelings (which we see him try for the first time here!). Normally, I don't like it when fics have a love confession after one whole date, but in this case it just felt right.  

Not to write a thesis and spend hours critically thinking so that my premises perfectly align to support my porn with plot LOL just girly things :) 

[strrykais]

(❤︎) ── “ i couldn’t help myself ”

its not seungmins’ fault he finds you so attractive, its also not his fault that you promised him you would let him do this. and it’s especially not his fault you turned him on right before he was gonna start a match.

𐀔𓂃 kais note: hi! this can totally be read as a stand alone or if you have prior knowledge to CAL ! heres that extra i promised you!

warnings : fingering, cockwarming, unprotected sex, and anything else i missed. not proof read… 1.5k words

back to library | control alt + love masterlist

‘ill be home in 30 minutes, hyunjin had to use the bathroom’

you stared down at your phone replying back a quick ‘ok’ to jeongin, walking down the stairs hoping to find your boyfriend, since he wasn't in his room. seungmin was sitting in his gaming chair, staring at the loading screen. seungmin must've heard you walking behind him as he slowly turns his body smiling at you.

“well don’t you look pretty. are you still hanging out with hyunjin and jeongin?” seungmin leans on his arm rest taking in the cute top and skirt combo you were in.

“yes, hyunjin wants to go to this galla and he has extra tickets, though i'm third wheeling. unless you wanna come with us.” you put on your best puppy eyes in hope that you can convince him, stepping in between his legs. 

“cant today baby. i'm teaming up with atz today. we wanted to try out that new support character.” he places the palm of his hands on the back of your thighs, rubbing them softly. he leans forward placing a kiss on the small sliver of skin peeking from under your shirt. 

you place one of your hands on his shoulder as the other wraps around to the back of his head, softly playing with his hair. 

“do you wanna help me?” he mummers against your skin, as his hands travel up your thighs landing on your ass, giving it a squeeze. 

“i don’t really want to play, plus jeongin is gonna be here in thirty and i dont wanna afk.” seungmin wasn't really paying attention after he asked that question. he was more focused on how pretty you looked in this skirt, so much so that he started to feel his dick harden in his sweats. you slightly jump when you feel his fingers reach out and rub against your slit over your panties.

“seungmin, we can’t.” you grip tighter at the back of his hair, as you feel his fingers dip in your panties lightly playing with your clit. you softly moan as you feel him entering his finger in you. your head falls back when he slowly drags it against your walls, inserting another one.

as we start rocking your hips in the rhythm of his finger thrust seungmin leans back pulling his fingers out of you. 

“oh my game is starting.” he gives a smirk at the face you are giving him, in absolute disbelief. “come here baby.” seungmin quickly pulls his sweats down letting his hard cock spring free, slapping against his shirt. you start to go down when he stops you, shaking his head with a soft smile. “no baby, i need to be in you. right now. this instant.” he helps you slide your panties to the side, and helps you slowly sit down.

you slowly make your way down his dick, completely filling you up, both of you letting out a moan when you sink all the way to the bottom. you slowly start to grind against him, when you see his hands reach around you grabbing his headset and putting it on. 

“you arent seriously gonna game right now with your dick in me?” you stop your hips, turning back to see his beautiful smile looking at you. he places a quick kiss on your nose, “you promised me remember?” he then kissed you on your lips.

“promised what?” feeling the ache in between your legs from the lack of movement. which only makes you grind against him more.

“i just need you to sit here and look pretty, my love. don't move, it defeats the purpose.” 

“what purpose?” you were starting to get irritated with this little game he was playing.

“cockwarming baby, now don’t make any noise you know these mics pick everything.” was all seungmin says before he reaches around you, his hands on his keyboard already talking to one of the guys in the party. 

you hold in your voice from the small movements seungmin is unintentionally doing mind completely on the game in front of him. but as for you, you felt like your skin was on fire. you felt extremely turned on with seungmins dick in you, you could feel it twitch every now and then. beckoning you to bounce on it. you lay your hands on the edge of the desk in front of you, letting its cold touch try to get your mind off the need to move. 

seungmin thrust his hips up, loving the way your hands completely flew up over your mouth to stop you from being heard. seungmin turns off his mic, “you okay baby?” he places kisses on the inside of your neck, his eyes and hands never leaving the game. 

“baby please, i can't.” you pant out, losing every strand of self control. you needed him to fuck you, and you need it bad. 

“just a few more minutes baby, seonghwa just has to level up and then i can fuck you my love.” you moan at his voice gently rubs your ear. you could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks, you continued to sit on him scared to move, because you knew if you did he wasn't gonna be happy. 

your eyes were shut completely, focusing on your breathing you feel seungmin pull you up, bending you down over the desk careful to not ruin the setup. 

“since you have been such a good girl for me, let me give you a treat. especially since hyunjin and jeongin should be here any minute.” with the thought of your friend walking in on you, you moan out. 

“oh does my pretty baby want to be seen taking my cock like the little whore she is?” seungmin was giving you a chance to reply as he pounds into you from the back. pushing up your skirt to get a better view of his dick getting lost in you. seungmin was in pure bliss letting the moans and noises coming out of his mouth. you loved when seungmin was vocal, it always made your heart swell knowing he was getting off to this as much as you were.

“fuckkk.. baby.. you feel so good. god..” he pants in between, you turn your head to glance at him from behind. to see his head leaned back, eyes screwed shut taking in the way you are so warm and wet for him. 

you feel seungmin softly rub the top of your ass before he lets out a loud smack right on it, forcing out a moan from you. seungmin leans over right in your ear. “i feel you baby, i feel you about to cum.” you whimper out, turning to capture his lips on yours. seungmin pulls back, kissing your cheek, before going back to his original position and plowing straight into you. 

“god , if you keep squeezing me like that, i might just cum in you.” you couldn’t help but feel yourself squeezing even hard on him, in hopes he got the idea to actually do it. 

you could feel your legs getting numb and your high getting higher, seungmin could feel it too as he started to pull you back into him. 

“min.. im .. gonna. i'm gonna cum.”

“do it baby. let's cum together.” 

it didn't take much after that, you could feel seungmin releasing into you. while he could feel you fluttering around him. seungmin pulls you down to sit back on top of him, kissing at shoulder and whatever he could get his lips on. “i love you min.”

“i love you too baby.” he wraps his arms around your waist basking in your warmth not ready to pull out yet.

the swinging of the door pulled you both back to reality. “yo yo yo! dude sorry we took forever, jeongin drives like a grandma.” hyunjin's voice echoed across the room. you quickly jump off of seungmin as he lets out a hiss from his dick being so sensitive. you pull your panties back to where they were, slowly feeling seungmins and your cum pool at your panties making you cross your legs to try to stop it from leaking . seungmin wasn't in any rush to put himself back in his sweats until he started to hear jeongin's voice ring out.

“sorry i abide by the traffic rules, you know every 3,700 people die everyday due to road accidents?” 

“when the fuck did i start dating google? you ready babes? oh your blush looks so good, new placement?” hyunjin looks at you as seungmin smirks, going back to his game.

“yeah.. new placement. let's go!” you place a kiss on seungmin saying a quick i love you, walk out the doors before hyunjin and jeongin could gather what just went down a few minutes ago. 

“the communal space is for the community, captain. not for you to practice exhibitionism with her.” jeongin groans, turning back from your disappearing figure to see seungmin laughing.

“shes just so pretty i couldn't help myself.”

hyunjin gags and jeongin groans as they follow after you unknowingly about to get teased like no tomorrow.

© strrykais ⋅

cal tags: @onlyhyunjin @chenlesfavorite @hippopotamusdreamer @vegetablesarefuntables @soondoongdoriii @jeonginplsholdmyhand @nappynapnaps @sincerely-sun @staytinyluv @kimseungminpabo @seungzsmin @sweetasmarie @hinanitiram @tricky-ritz @ayyonoona @hanniemylovelyquokka @toplinehyunjin @missystay @binniesbabe @tirena1 @jihoons-kitten @skz-ot8-stay @darlingz99 @khandzilla @icouldntcareless22 @rihaee @thatshroomiegirl @sillyhal @livixcore @dazzlingjade @h0rnyp0t @drewsandsebastianswife @jabmastersupriseee @flaminghotyourmom @velvetmoonlght @mihoonz @jazziwritesthings @thisrandombitch @vixensss @galbiirocher @skzstannie @babrieeee @ladybeautiful18 @hyeon-yi @lknosemole @night-storm7 @spearbinnie0327 @goldenmellow @jisungs-iced-americano @charlieg1rl @seungminsteddybear @sskzlover @abbiestearsricochet @isaenme @dreamerwasfound @ihrtlix

reblogs, likes and replies are appreciated! feel free to send constructive feedback/thoughts in my asks!

[bratzsturns]

disregard

in which; your brother gives you one warning. don’t get involved with matt. but you completely disregard his advice.

contains; smut (praise, unprotected p in v (wrap it before u tap it!), oral (both receiving), finger gagging?? idk just read it), angst. not proofread; lowercase intentional.

you’ve known matt for almost as long as you can remember. from the time nick introduced nate to him and his brothers, matt’s been his best friend. nate, being your older brother, has always been so overprotective of you. you’re his baby sister, why would he wanna see you hurt?

that’s why when nate picked up on the signs of you liking matt, he did anything and everything to put a stop to it. every time matt would leave your house, or every time nate saw you ogling at him, he’d remind you ‘he’s only gonna hurt you, matt doesn’t love anyone. he’ll just play you, trust me i’d know.’

that didn’t stop you, especially when you noticed the lingering glances from matt. the way he’d grab your waist to move past you, or the way he’d always rest his hand on your thigh when you rode shotgun. it all drove you insane. and it made nate’s blood boil.

stolen glances turned into long text conversations, sending various messages back and forth. matt could be so sweet, but that wasn’t all he was. majority of the messages between you two were just filthy. videos of you, two fingers shoved inside yourself as the camera was propped up. eyes crossed, legs shaking as you moaned out matt’s name.

matt reciprocated the energy, sending back videos of him fisting himself. curses and moans of your name left his lips as he sped up, working himself to his orgasm. the videos would end with him groaning into the microphone, his thick, white cum painting his thighs and hands.

you and matt gradually got closer, even in front of nate. it wasn’t even like you two were trying to hide it anymore. he didn’t know what was going on, but he was so fucking sick of it. after seeing the way matt greeted you when he came over today, a long hug with hands wandering down to your ass, nate was done.

as him and matt sat in your brothers room, nate finally decided to stop biting his tongue. after setting down the control to his game, he turned his gaming chair to face matt who was scrolling on his phone whilst on nate’s bed. ‘matt, seriously you know my sisters off limits right?’

the comment took matt aback for a second, setting his phone down and looking up at his best friend. ‘what?’ matt scoffed, rolling his eyes. ‘i’m serious,’ nate replied, leaning back in his chair ‘i see how you look at her and shit. you’re not good for her, we both know that bro’

‘calm down nate, i’m not fuckin with your sister dude. she is pretty hot though can’t even lie-‘ matt gets cut off by a scoff escaping nate’s lips. ‘shut up, leave my sister alone i’m not playin with you kid.’

a few minutes went by, nate getting back onto whatever stupid game he decided to play. matt’s phone dinged, a message from you lighting up the screen. ‘need you matt, sneak to my room. please.’ that was all it took for matt to excuse himself to the bathroom, saying the food from earlier hurt his stomach.

matt opened the door to your room, not expecting to see you on the bed naked with your hand down between your thighs. ‘shit sweetheart, couldn’t even wait for me?’

you looked up, feeling as if you were caught red handed. you moved your hand away from your soaking cunt, bringing it up beside you. ‘’m sorry, was so needy’ you mumble.

matt sucks his teeth, climbing onto the bed. he places himself between your thighs, leaving soft kisses on them. you hum at the feeling, hips almost bucking. as matt kisses his way up to your heat, your hands tangle in his hair.

your orgasm hit you fast, and it hit you hard. your legs squeezed matt’s head, holding him in place. when he finally sat up, his stubble was completely covered in your arousal. you pull at the hem of matt’s shirt, and he obeys. he quickly discards it beside you two, leaning down and kissing you. his tongue makes its way into your mouth, still coated in the taste of you.’you taste so sweet’ he says, pulling back.

you weren’t even really sure of when matt’s sweats ended up on the floor, but you didn’t mind. as he pulled his length out his boxers, your hole clenched around nothing. he let out a low chuckle, rubbing his tip through your wet folds. your body jolts at the touch ‘y’like that baby? want me deep inside you?’

you nod eagerly, body anticipating everything. matt pushes his tip into your hole, a low whine escaping your open lips. ‘strechin this pretty pussy out, huh sweetheart?’ matt smirks, pushing himself in slowly.

for his first few thrusts, it feels so intimate. they’re slow, your body pressed against his as low whimpers escape the lips of you and matt. for a moment, you’d almost feel like he wasn’t just fucking you. no, instead he was making love to you.

you were snapped out of these thoughts by the matt you knew. rough, hard thrusts pounded into you as your headboard hit the wall. ‘open f’me’ he grunted, using his index and middle finger to press your lips. you obey, a moan quickly silenced by matt’s two fingers down your throat.

‘such a good girl baby, takin me so good. you see how that pretty pussy swallows me?’ matt bites his lip, silencing his own noises. the vibrations of your moans against his fingers don’t stop matt, instead they encourage him. his thrusts get harder, the sound of low grunts and your muffled moans bouncing off the walls of your bedroom.

your mind went blank, a coherent thought no where near. matt smirks at your state, speeding up. ‘you already close huh? wanna be a good girl and cum for me, sweetheart?’ matt teases, using his free hand to rub your sensitive clit.

‘oh god! yes matt- wanna cum f’you’ you cry out, tears forming in your waterline. you made matt’s ego so fuckin big, just knowing he’s fuckin you so hard you’re crying. matt looks down at you with a shit eating grin on his face. ‘then beg for it.’

your voice is still muffled, but you’re sure it can be heard through your walls. ‘please matt! wanna cum for you- wanna be your good girl’ your words are broken, almost completely babbles. your entire body is shaking, and matt isn’t slowing down.

‘cum for me baby, show me how good you can be. ‘m so close too- fuck- keep squeezing me like that i’m gonna cum’ matt pants out, shoving his fingers far enough that you’re gagging on them. with your whole body shaking, your nails dig into the soft skin of matt’s wrist. his cologne is strong, almost intoxicating to the point where that’s all you can focus on while you cum.

your eyes roll back while tears roll down your face. a cry of matt’s name and small curses leave your lips as you cream around his cock. matt’s thrusts are desperate as he fucks uou through your high. ‘fuck- you on the pill right?’ he asks, words broken up by grunts. you nod, eyes still rolled back as your gags vibrate against matts fingers.

his orgasm follows behind yours, his cum filling you up so deeply. he pants, pulling out as his cum leaks out of you. he takes his fingers covered by your spit from your mouth, using them to fingerfuck his cum back into you. as you finally begin to breathe again, you sit up.

matt leans back on his hands, cock getting hard again. he doesn’t say anything, you just know what to do. you lean down, the bed dipping under you as you kiss matt’s tip. you take the tip into your mouth, gaining a whine from the sensitive boy under you.

‘take the whole thing’ he tangles his hand in your hair, forming a makeshift ponytail. he pushes your head down, nose coming in contact with his well maintained hair at the base of his cock. you gag, the sensation only adding to matt’s pleasure.

by this point, nate had grown curious and worried for his friend. there was no way he was still in the bathroom, right? standing up from his chair, nate goes into the hallway. he notices the bathroom door open, but there was no matt. as he’s about to call out for his friend he hears a noise from your bedroom; gagging.

‘no fucking way’ he mumbles, walking over to your door. matt’s voice is heard from within your room ‘just like that, keep fuckin suckin sweetheart.’ nate’s stomach drops, anger boiling in the pit of it. he opens the door quietly, seeing his younger sister and his best friend.

‘what the actual fuck.’ nate speaks out, his voice angry. you and matt are snapped out of the moment completely ‘shit-‘ you sit up, fumbling for some sort of clothes to cover up from your brother. you grab matt’s shirt and pull it over your head. matt speaks, voice guilty ‘nate-‘ your brother cuts him off. ‘get dressed and get downstairs now matt. i don’t wanna fuckin hear it.’

nate shuts the door, the air in the room now heavy. matt stands up, quickly putting on his pants before looking back at you. ‘your brothers gonna fuckin kill me’ he sighs, walking out of the room. your left confused, shocked, and still full of his cum.

you hear matt go down the steps, the faint voices of the boys coming from downstairs. you sneak to the steps, matt’s shirt coming to your mid thigh. you sit high enough to see them without being caught while you listen to the argument.

‘are you fuckin serious kid? my sister? i told you leave her alone matt!’ nate says, jaw clenched. matt throws his hands up ‘i can’t help she wants me, and who actually cares? it shouldn’t matter to you what your sisters business is!’ nate scoffs, rolling his eyes.

‘you’re not serious right? i know you matt! you’re just gonna fuck her until you get bored and then leave her by herself-‘ nate’s angers obvious, his best friends betrayal sitting deeply in his stomach.

‘so what? we’re two grown ass people it doesn’t fuckin matter!’ matt responds, just as annoyed and angry. nate’s fed up, you can see it in his facial expressions. nate pushes matt back, his protective instincts kicking in.

‘keep your fuckin hands off me nate, i’m not playin witchu.’ matt says, pushing nate back harder. oh if nate wasn’t pissed before, he’s seething now. your brother swings, hitting matt dead in the jaw.

‘what the fu-‘ matt’s cut off again, another punch landing. he swings back, the sound of his punch filling the room. before you realized it, there was a fucking brawl in your living room.

you ran down the steps, pulling back matt and stepping in between the two boys. nate still tried to reach matt over you, his words laced with anger. ‘stop protectin ‘em kid! he’s just using you!’

you turn to look at matt, who yanks himself from your touch. ‘don’t fuckin touch me- fuck this shit.’ he’s seething, you can literally feel the anger radiate off his body. ‘matt-‘ your voice is soft, almost even gentle. ‘no, fuck this shit.’

matt’s voice isn’t sweet anymore, not like how it was before. ‘are you oka-‘ he cuts you off again, words covered with emotion. ‘shut up, this shit wasn’t even worth it bro. i didn’t even really want you, i just wanted to fuck.’ he speaks honestly.

before you can get a reply out, matt’s storming out your house and your brother is storming up the steps to his room. ‘fuckin told you, you’re so stupid.’ nate mumbles, looking down at his knuckles as he walks up the steps.

you’re left there; alone, dumbfounded, and betrayed. matt used you, and you let him. tears form in your eyes as words you cannot say bubble up in your chest. nate was right. as you walked back to your room, guilt settled in your stomach. you sat in your bed, clothes still on the floor. you balled up, inhaling the scent of matt from his shirt as tears poured down your face.

i guess you should’ve listened to your brother.

angel speaks 🪽; i wrote this for my friend guys , so thank u for all ur ideas and help i love u

part two here.