#but the itch always returns
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
I don't really know how to explain it tbh, but I'll give it a go
When I was little, I wanted to be a NASCAR driver. My dad would put these old beat up muscle cars in our driveway and I'd grow up helping him fix them. I fell in love with the smell of burning rubber, the feel of oil between my fingers, the hum of a roaring engine. My grandfather took me to race tracks, and my love shifted from the mechanics, the engineering of these machines to the running of them. I got a shirt signed by a female racer who shared my first name, and I idolized her. I raced go-karts and never felt freer than when I was on a track going fast. Years later, when I started driving cars, that feeling... it never left me. And I still don't know how to explain it. Exhilaration? Awe? Contentment? I don't know. I'm just happy when I'm behind a wheel.
I'm not a NASCAR driver, and I've lost a lot of my engine knowledge (an embarrassing amount; if you don't use it, you lose it). But it's still a funny little dream of mine. I guess everyone has their passions, something they are inexplicably drawn toward and inseparable from, and driving is mine.
Sometimes I get this itch. I'm on the road, and I have an urge to just... keep driving. It's like wanderlust, but the destination couldn't matter any less. I just want to drive forever.
People who like driving are actually weirdos to me
#I'll find any excuse#i have tripped across the country just to buy BBQ wings#and i dont even like BBQ wings normally#but i wanted to drive#and drive i heckin did#but the itch always returns#i know for a fact that if my family hadnt kept a handle on my adrenaline junkie teenage years#i wouldve become a drag racer#i dont know man#i dont have a âgoodâ reason#i imagine my love for cars is just as reasonable as your love for trains#or someone else's love for painting#or writing#or food#how much of a reason do we really need to love the things we love?#and its not like i dont love trains#i just love driving *more*
530 notes
·
View notes
Text
karlacha > zevrans
decided to go back to my old url!
#it's been a while i was itching to switch back :')#i still love karlach to bits! but i always return to this url for some reason đ„ș
33 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ok so I was wondering like
Top 0.005% of listeners. That's Pretty Damn Small. But I was wondering Just how small...
357.1k monthly listeners
0.005% of 357.1k is... just under 18...
Guys. I'm within the top 20 listeners for IAMX. Period. đ«Ł
#speculation nation#16K MINUTES OF MY 59K TOTAL MINUTES FOR THE YEAR...#A LITERAL 27% OF ***ALL*** MUSIC I LISTENED TO THIS YEAR........#cant help gettin emo i guess#like i knew he'd be indisputably my top artist but. holy fuck.#THIS ALSO ISNT INCLUDING THE SNEAKER PIMPS ALBUM... which ive listened to obsessively too#as an extension of the obsession with his music. bc he sings in it.#SOMETIMES AN ARTIST HITS U LIKE A FREIGHT TRAIN and ur left like. yeah. yeah .#helps that hes got so many albums so i spent Months slowly making my way through them all.#but then i just kept listening to him bc his music just... scratches an itch in my brain idk.#in part it's the grief. Metanoia was a crutch of an album after my uncle died.#and also with my cat... it was just. nonstop IAMX. for Months.#ive been branching out more again recently bc i do like some variety in the music i listen to#but if i want music but dont know what to play it just always ends up going back to IAMX#because it's dependable. it's enjoyable. it's Comfortable.#his music feels like a reset button for me. like returning to a dark room to sleep at night.#it's not dark for the sake of darkness. but for the comfort of it. existing honestly. existing without fear of judgement.#and bringing the analogy together i really have listened to his music to help me sleep a few times#not often just bc i usually dont listen to music as i sleep. im a light sleeper so i need white noise.#but there were a few times i found myself without a working fan. so i turned to his music to act as white noise instead.#not actual white noise of course. but the function of it. the Comfort. the familiarity.#pick one of his lowkey albums and just let it keep going. and it works. it does.#so like. it makes sense. it does. i understand entirely why i rank so high in his monthly listeners.#it's just a bit mind boggling to actually see the tangible numerical value hfkshdjd bc. man. man...
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
AHHHHHHHHHHHHH, god i wanna cry at work. Just finished Two Twisted Crowns T_T what a great series, what a great ending!! Absolutely will reread it again in the future! I love all of these characters so much. What a great sequel!
AND NOW, for a little break, with Four Seasons in Japan.
THEN
We're starting the Crescent City series.
#My friend who lent me the books asked if I started yet and she finished Iron Flame so I felt like I had to bump it up on the list#I don't like keeping people's books/things long#I'm always itching to return them asap#SO I GUESS WE'RE GOING IN!#800 pages dear lord#I keep pushing back the Stolen Heir books heh sorry...#two twisted crowns#the shepherd king#reading#reading journey#books#booklr#ereader
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
playing veilguard is bad for me cause i just keep getting ideas for vigilant pcs smh
#at this point? kinda over emyr#i miss rhydian and want to dig into whatever he's been up to#but ALSO#i have a pc idea that i'm foaming at the mouth over#just take lucanis's whole Situation but make it an ex-templar đ#the vibes are killing me#i have simply Perished#i really should just return to my lil rogue guy#but my brain is always itching to play new concepts#so rip to me i guess#nancy's d&d adventure#campaign: the vigilant
3 notes
·
View notes
Photo
A few more âcanonâ designs, a few more new ones (Patreon)
#Doodles#Villainsona#Just Desserts#A quick distraction-foray into a Winx style since I'd gotten the Enchantix itch for a second haha#Other than making her wings doubled I really didn't know how to make her Classic design more Winx-like lol#I was going more for the first transformation rather than Enchantix and I mean - Techna is covered from head to toe so it's not Out of style#I am unabashedly biased towards her Classic design lol âȘ#Not having a fixed design for her TVAU outfit did at least encourage me to try Something a bit different for an Evil Enchantix at least#(Gods now I'm just imagining Dark Bloom Enchantic?? Yo - thankfully some artists have given their interpretations :D)#Anyway tho lol - the bottom half of her design seems to be what always trips me up#At least for Enchantix there's kind of the excuse that she needs the fairy vine-shoes thing - she normally wears regular shoes haha#All that said I think the Winx style doesn't completely suit her anyhow :0 She's not really meant to have such stylistic curves haha#All the more reason to return to WOY! It's fun :D#Two semi-canon outfits - the first one much moreso than the second since that's her self-designed TVAU outfit!#To be fair Kaiein rejected that one and not me lol probably on account of the cape muddling her silhouette#No Capes! No matter how cute she looks in them haha#And then the second (especially happy with her expression on that one hehe :3c Watch out) being from when she cornered Cherry Shortcake!#I was incredibly correct about her wings at that point - I think both versions having their own appearances is very good#Denoting influence and emotions and points of time - kind of like her wings and Evil Time in Classic!#The Staff looks so tiny in this style as well haha âȘ#And then the last three! More rejects but mostly just done for funsies anyway haha#I still prefer Charm in more fantasty-adjacent fashion but she's cute no matter what so a bit of semi-modern is fine every once in a while#Spooky mask leaves some mystery and fear of the unknown lol#More ink themes - it suffers from the same problem as her drip-modified outfit just not a strong silhouette! I think it's a neat pose tho#And finally trying to find something that would work well with the wings - they can appear pretty much anywhere on her back so#It can be kinda hard to have a definitive ''No matter where they sprout from this look won't clash''#A loose top with a tube top underneath is cute tho :) Might be willing to give a slightly more thematic version pulled into the JD style#And so help me I will find a proper top-hem style for her pants! Gosh!
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
I read a book on the plane today with no wi-fi which meant that I couldn't get distracted by needing to look things up I didn't understand, and I actually got through a solid chunk of it? That's totally unlike me I should do that more often
#when I read it stresses me out when there's a word I don't understand or a reference I don't get and then I go search it out and get#very sidetracked by the internet. I always have this fear that I'm not really ''getting it'' if I don't look things up#but that means I really can't focus and don't end up finishing the book anyway#I'm trying to focus on just enjoying the spirit of reading and not worrying so much about understanding everything the first time around#because you can always return to the text after you're finished and have the full context and focus on the smaller details#but yeah. It kind of made me feel like my insides were itching but it ended up being a better way of going about it#I started good omens finally. It has a lot of references I don't really get because I'm young and have a different pop culture background#sometimes there'll be a literary device that I think is interesting but I cant remember the name and my English major brain gets mad at me#but anyway I'm enjoying it so far#I'm very neurotic about reading because I'm insecure but I'm Trying to just chill
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
â â â â â â â â â ââ âHOT ROD !
After getting hooked on your taste, pornstar!satoru invites you and your pornstar boyfriend to shoot a threesome in the countryside.
pornstar!suguru x pornstar!satoru x fem!reader | part one, two
cw; â â â â â â â â â âshe/her pronouns used for reader, unprotected sex, creampies, oral (m and f receiving), anal (m receiving), mmf threesome, voyeurism.
The sun has barely risen, the typical tangelo orange of a morning sky is yet to developâinstead, you watch a dull pink canvas the sky, turned more of a rose colour through the car's windshield. Suguru Geto, your lover and costar alike, keeps his hand on your thigh as he drives. Occasionally, he'll tap his fingers against your exposed flesh along to the beat of the old niche rock song blaring through the radio. You have the volume up too highâwhich isn't good for your ears, but is great for the soulâand the windows rolled all the way down. The wind is in your hair, which aids the setting heat of Summer in Japan. It's quite pleasant out here. You're filming at a location you can only reach through an open road that goes right past some very scenic hills, and you're having a lovely time just enjoying your lover's company. Nothing but the two of you.Â
That being saidâsomething sits at the forefront of Suguru's mind. You can tell his thoughts are preoccupied, having been with him so long gets you a sweet look into that pretty mind of his. So, when the strings of an electric guitar die out, you turn the radio down and shift in your seat to face him better.Â
âCold feet?â You ask.Â
His hair is up and out of his face, save for a stand that falls over his eyes, though itâs pushed back by the wind regardless. He glances at you, smiles, and looks away.
âI donât get cold feet," he says flatly, looking at you for half a second before his focus returns to the road. âI'm just interested to see if he'll fuck as good with me there, of if the poor guy will get performance anxiety."
Ah, jealousy it is. The flat kind, because your sweet-boned lover never gets openly jealous. You have to settle for half-bitten quips. You smile, "he didn't seem like the type to get performance anxiety."
Suguru hums in a noncommittal way, his lips pulling inwards. He squeezes the fat of your thigh and taps a finger against your skin. Your skin heats under his touch, it always does. You might earn your living through the most sensual of touches, but none of them quite set you alight like Sugurus does.
Well, except for Satoru. You try to avoid closing your eyes, in fear of being met with the memory of his cock sinking into you rather than the darkness of your closed eyelids. You feel half-guilty, despite Suguru's obvious itch to see you laid out for Satoru Gojo of all people. You know him, you wouldn't be driving forty minutes through the countryside if Suguru wasn't at least a little bit obsessed with the fantasy.
Satoru Gojo, a known name in the porn industry, got to fuck you stupid only a week ago. He had asked you out for drinks after, and though you rejected him verbally, youâre starting to fear that your mind didnât reject him in the same regard. You had come home that night to your sweet Suguru, and told him all about being hit on by your co-star, to which he laughed.
And oh the irony, that your Suguru was balls-deep inside of you that night when the two of you got an email from Satoruâs agentâ an offer, an expensive one. One shoot, a week from then, a threesome between his new favourite love birds and, of course, him.
Suguru remembers Satoru like he was the season prior, like the winter that bled into you, the spring. They did a few films together, Satoru got a little too stuck in Sugurus mind and then, once their contracts were up, they never spoke again.Â
The rising sun makes him squint against the roadâ he almost misses the turn off to the countryside estate you had been told to meet at. The place is nice, big, and youâre starting to wonder just how widely distributed this porno will be if the producer is shelling out so much money just for an estate to rent out for half a day.Â
âWith how much theyâre paying us, I half expected the budget for location to allow for a crack den at most,â Suguru snorts as he pulls in through the large paved driveway.Â
âNo kidding,â you hum. With this paycheck, youâd just be greedy looking for work in the next few months.Â
Suguru parks and undoes his seatbelt with a sideways glance in your direction. âWeâre a bit early,â he notes. âBut it never hurts to get a feel for the place, talk to our co-star for a minute or two.â
You smile. âMhm, talk.â
âReady to get fucked for cash?â Suguru snorts, and opens his door to get out of the car. You follow suit, rolling your eyes at his crude words when your feet hit the ground and youâre closing your door behind you.Â
You walk around the car to meet your boyfriend, and he greets you with a pinch to your ass and a kiss to your temple. Youâd recognise something poetic in the contrast of his actions if your mind wasnât so preoccupied with thoughts of performing for him in only a few moments.Â
Despite both being pornstars, you rarely take scenes together. Threesomes arenât a frequent ventureâ this is something relatively untapped for the both of you. And though youâre sure it would never jeopardise your relationship at all, you canât help but entertain the worries that creep in. Will Suguru really not mind sharing?Â
You arenât sure whatâs worseâ the thought of him getting overly jealous of Satoru and cutting the scene short, or the thought of Suguru not minding in the slightest as you get fucked stupid by another man. A little possession never goes unappreciated on your end.Â
âHey,â Suguruâs silken voice brings you back to the now. âYou okay? We can turn around and speed off into the sunrise if you want to leave.â
You grin. âIâm good. Excited, even.â
Your boyfriend nods and leads the way to the estate's front door. Itâs closed, which is a little odd considering the production crew will be coming in and out with equipment and the such. You furrow your eyebrows and realise your car is the only one hereâmaybe youâre earlier than you realised.Â
âYou checked the shoot time, right?â you ask.Â
âYes, love,â Suguru makes it to the front door and tries the handle only to find it locked. âFuck, maybe I should have triple checked.â
He presses a thick finger to the doorbell button and glances to you as the sound of an overly upbeat chime echoes through the estate. Maybe itâs the wrong place, too lavish to be true. Maybe itâs the wrong date, even. Maybeâ
The door swings open, and standing to greet you with a knowing grin is Satoru Gojo.Â
His eyes meet yours first, and then drop to take in the rest of you. Something soft flashes over his face. Lust, perhaps, or appreciation, maybe both. His arms cross over his chest, leaning his body weight on the doorframe as he flits his gaze to your boyfriend, and his eyes return.
âLong time no see, lovebirds. Just on time," he chirps, stepping aside to let you in. "Excuse the mess, I just moved in."
It takes a moment for your brain to register his words, and Suguru is right behind you in thought. "This is your place?" he asks, appraising the foyer as he walks in.Â
âMhm,â Gojo replies, and though you expect his lilt to be more cocky, he speaks smooth like silk. âThe city is too⊠busy for me. Plus.. saves a dollar on renting out a house to film in, right?â
You canât help the smile that pulls at your lips: from the looks of his home you doubt heâd blink an eye at paying rent for a night of filming. Still, you donât know if heâs just trying to show off, or if he really wants his home to play backdrop for the shoot. But whatever the case, he definitely thinks itâs clever on his behalf to lead the both of you here. It worked, you give it to him, but damn.
You look around, taking in everything that catches your eye â the sleek furnishings, a wide kitchen to the left, and an elegant living room straight ahead. All of it feels clean and welcoming. You wonder, idly, what it's like for Gojo to live in a space like this all alone â if he is alone, that is. The question remains unanswered as Gojo leads the two of you down the hall until you reach another door and slip inside.
The bedroom you end up in is stunning; a double bed dominates the centre of the room with fluffy duvets thrown haphazardly over top, whilst the walls are painted a warm, calming shade of grey. The carpet is plush and dark brown in colour, the curtains hanging at either side of the grand windows allow for plenty of natural light to flood the room. There's a tripod set up with a very expensive looking camera pointed directly at the bed: Satoru points to it and grins at you and Suguru, "our camera crew."
You furrow your eyebrows, but Suguru speaks up before you can. "It's just us?"Â
Satoru nods, crossing his corded arms and he flits his gaze between the two of you. "Yes. I did specify it was a private shoot, lovebirds."
Your boyfriend settles in closer beside you than before, you can feel the heat from his body as he crosses his own arms, a mirror of the white haired man in front of you. "I figured it was a private production shoot," he speaks cautiously. "The email I got was from an agent, not you directly."
Satoru looks unperturbed. "'Course," he says languidly. "She handles all my correspondence."
Gojo turns to the dresser and, from the top drawer, pulls out two white envelopes. Your eyes linger a little too long on his slender fingers as he hands them over to you, one each. As you peek into the envelope handed to you, you find an obscene amount of cash neatly sat inside.Â
"As agreed, plus... a little extra for the commute," Gojo shrugs. "You can take it and go, if this isn't what you want. If it is, well..." He gestures to the bed. "I'm kinda dying here."
You glance down at his insinuation and find that he's beyond hard. His pants are tight and tented, making his arousal painfully evident. You have to force your gaze elsewhere â to Suguru, who is staring almost shamelessly at Gojo, his brows creased in the middle as he thinks.
The silence is deafening, you can feel the tension rising between the three of you, vibrating off the surface of your skin and permeating the air itself. Suguru seems to have made his mind up, because he turns to you with an awfully familiar look on his face: desire.
"Thoughts, darling?" he asks, and your stomach flips.Â
There's no point in pretending that there aren't things wrong with how your mind still reels after Satoru's touch. This entire thing has been confusing and disorientating; you're confused about everything â your feelings, your career, your sexual desires â and now, in your current situation, youâre downright torn. And yet, despite that, despite all the questions swirling around in your mind, as soon as your eyes land on Satoru's again â you know you'd die without another taste of his pink glossed lips. That feeling, the desire, the forethought of how he'd pant and whine after you've fucked him senseless â you'll do anything to achieve it.Â
This doesnât feel like work anymore, not with the way these two men are looking at you. The camera isnât even rolling yet, and yet you find yourself ready to fuck them both to the brink of oblivion.
So, without so much as a second of hesitation you pull away from your train of thought and turn to press your lips to Suguru's in a searing kiss. The action, so swift, causes Gojo's breath to hitch in his throat at the sight. Suguru kisses you back, of course, the hand that isn't holding his envelope quickly makes its way to your waistline and pulls you flush against him, leaving nothing but your clothes between the both of you. You wrap your arms loosely around his neck as Gojo watches the two of you intently, gaze burning into the meeting of your lips. You can feel him watching you, his spectatorship dizzying, and you bite Suguru's bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the moan bubbling up your throat.
âJeez, didnât know this was a cuckolding shoot,â Satoru sounds whiney, threadbare with lust. âThough I wouldnât mind that⊠another time maybe.â
You place a hand on the planes of Suguruâs chest as you disconnect your lips and turn your head to the white-haired pervert with heart-shaped pupils. Your grin is sweet, sultry - "another time, huh?"
You pull apart from Suguru and move past Gojo, making a point not to glance in his direction, until you're crawling onto the bed and turning to rest with your elbows propping you up. Both Suguru and Satoru standing, your observers - admirers, is a sight for sore eyes. The camera sits between them, propped up and set on you. In spite of it, you feel oddly at home. The same sweet excitement builds within you that you normally feel when itâs just you and Suguru at home. You didn't know the air could weigh so intimately in front of a camera.
It takes a moment of staring at you, jaw slack, for Satoru to finally spring into thought. He steps towards the camera, makes sure everything is looking good, and then clears his throat as he presses record. He almost looks nervous, and if he weren't so cocky in his usual demeanour you'd think he's getting cold feet. But you remember the way his eyes glossed when he pushed into you, how that confidence of his melted into carnal need in just one thrust. You know what you do to him, and god does it seem amplified tenfold with Suguru here.
And your black-haired lover must know it too, because the second Satoru makes a move to speak, Suguru cuts him off with a step towards him and a burning kiss pressed to his lips. Satoru's sound of alarm at Suguru's lips on his is almost enough to send you dizzy, but the true aphrodisiac is the sight of your lover taking charge with him; lips locked onto one another, the lewd noises they make as Suguru cups Satoru's face with one hand and scratches into the back of his hair with the other. Satoru's moans become louder and more desperate, as Suguru's tongue explores the recesses of his mouth, sucking hungrily upon the flesh of his lower lip. When the two break apart they're both breathing heavily, panting as they catch their breath. An undoubted look of longing is etched into every last one of their handsome features.
You feel your stomach roil with anticipation as you watch them, realising the camera is only pointed at you, capturing your wanton expression. But then, it snaps, and suddenly your lovers are pulling apart to instead lay their gaze on you, resting back on Satoru's wildly comfortable bed sheets with a lust-driven smile pulling at your lips.
âYouâre a fucking lucky man, Suguru,â Satoru coos, blue eyes raking over you in appreciation. Youâre hardly undressed, and yet you feel naked under his gaze. âDonât know how you can do porn when youâve got such a pretty thing waiting for you at home. Itâd ruin my performance.â
âI know,â Suguru says plainly, truly. "You've never been good at multitasking, have you Satoru?"
"Harsh words," Satoru pouts, giving his best imitation of an overly dramatic frown. "I can multitask just fine, do you need me to prove it?"
Without a word further, he plucks the camera from its tripod and points it at Suguru. "For example," he sing-songs, "I can fuck and film at the same time."
âCanât do it dressed,â you point out, to which both men turn to find you already stripping yourself of your clothes. Satoru turns the camera onto you, finding it a sin to not capture you revealing yourself with such delicate fingers. You look into the lens, eyes sultry as youâre known for doing, and wonder just how many people are going to slip their hands under their waistbands at the sight of you.Â
Once youâve laid yourself bare, your naked skin feels static with the tension in the air, you reach your hands out and make grabby-hands at Satoru. âPass the camera,â you hum. âItâs your turn.â
A glance between themselves, and then Satoru is leaning over the bed to slot the camera in your hands. Itâs heavier than youâd thought it would be, but feels nice and cooling against your otherwise sweaty palm. Satoruâs fingers brush over yours as he hands it over, something electric stills the room for a moment, and then he pulls away with a cough.
He hadnât realised that Suguru had fallen into place behind him, because when he steps backwards and his back hits your boyfriend's chest, Satoru gasps. You capture the pink blush that speckles at his cheeks, and the beautiful way in which Sugurus hands snake around his body to caress down his chest.
Suguru has always been gifted in the way of sparking intimacy. Itâs why the porn he shoots is usually so artistic, heâs sensual. And Satoru, not for the first time, is falling victim to his seductive ways. The gentle traces of his fingers down Satoruâs chest is testament enough to just how narcotic Suguruâs touch is. When he reaches the hem of his shirt and starts lifting upwards, unwrapping his next meal, Satoru canât help but lift his arms and help move the process along â heâs feeling beyond restless.Â
Now exposed, Satoruâs chest and torso are now at the mercy of Suguruâs searing touch. Each trail of his fingers down the white-haired manâs chest, each tweak over his surprisingly sensitive nipples, each rough kiss against the column of his neck, they all elicit the most pornographic moans from Satoru Gojoâs throat. You study them both through the cameraâs screen, and watch as Suguru presses his lips against Satoruâs ear.
He speaks in hushed tones, enough so that you know the camera isnât going to pick up on his words. You can hear them though, only just, they're low and sensual and entirely full of sin. "You're lucky I'm letting you fuck my girlfriend for a second time," he purrs. "You know, she hasnât stopped thinking about your last shoot. We watched it together the other night, I matched your rhythm, let her pretend it was you. Sheâs obsessed."
You're almost embarrassed by the confession, a burn sheens your skin, but the way Satoru's eyes darken impossibly further calms you. Suguru grins, catching your gaze from over Satoru's shoulder, and presses a kiss to his earlobe. "It brought me back, too," he says. "To when I got you to myself. You remember our films, hm? You're just like she is."Â
Satoru nods, the tips of his ears turning redder. His breathing is shallow, ragged, needy; and in a split second he's turning around and returning his lips to Suguru's. Desperate hands lift at your boyfriend's own shirt, exposing his tattoo-laden skin underneath. His jeans soon follow, and then so do Satoru's pants.
For a moment it's just the two of them, all clothes bar their boxers discarded to the floor and hands exploring bare skin. The warmth of Satoru's fingers digging into his chest, his ribs, his hips, the hard planes of his body, their bodies pressed together as if to become one. Their lips connect again, hungrily, their teeth knocking together with every brush of tongues. Satoru takes Suguru's lower lip between his teeth and bites hard enough to elicit a choked groan from the back of Suguru's throat.
And when they part, it's obvious just how much heavier the air has gotten. Suguru turns your white-haired tryst and pushes him towards where you sit on the bed. "Move your ass before I fuck that too," he deadpans.
Satoru doesn't blush like you expected he would. Instead, he grins. "That would be a big change from last time, don't you think?" he sing-songs, eyebrows raised as he steps further towards the bed. "Or maybe you don't remember crying from how well I stretched you out, I sure do, all pretty andâ"
This time Suguru does flush crimson, and you laugh out loud at this revelation. "I didn't know you bottomed for him," you shake the camera a little with your laughter, capturing the way Suguru glares at Satoru from beneath long eyelashes, "that's something I've got to see."
"Hah," Suguru climbs onto the bed and snatches the camera from you, settling on his knees as he points it down at your form. There, his fingers graze lightly against your bare skin, making you arch your back in anticipation. "Tough luck, pretty."
His black boxers are beyond tented, and he slips them off easily enough, allowing his cock to spring free, perfectly poised and ready for your hand. The sound of Suguru's moan as your fingers wrap around his length is paired with the shuffle of Satoru climbing onto the bed too. He hovers above you for a moment, watching you stroke Suguru through the camera, before taking it from him with a grin.Â
Satoru returns the camera to its stand and checks its positioning before climbing back onto the bed and settling himself just behind you. You turn to smile at him, and then gasp as his hands tentatively find your shoulders. He peers over you, to the sight of Suguruâs drooling cock in your hand, and presses a kiss to the skin just under your ear.
âYou know Iâm fucking obsessed with you, right?â He purrs, glancing down to your boyfriend's cock before pressing another kiss to your shoulder. âHavenât stopped thinking about you. I dreamt of breaking you and your boyfriend up until I found out it was Sugu, here. Wanted you all to myself, pretty thing, but I think Iâm happy enough to share now, because god do I want to see your lips wrapped around his cock.â
âMm,â you hum, turning your head to meet his gaze. âYou havenât even kissed me yet, and youâre making demands?â
Satoru smiles, his lips glossy and so perfect you could cry. âI want to taste him on you.â
His words light a fire in your core that licks through your body, ravenous. You can't help but oblige at his words, returning your gaze to sweet Suguru before dipping your head down and pressing a chaste kiss to the weeping tip of his cock. Suguru and Satoru both inhale sharply when you do so. You wet your lips with your tongue and then meet his cock again, drawing lazy circles across his tip before closing your lips slowly, reverently around the shaft of Suguru's cock.
Satoru's hand pushes down a little on your shoulder, and you're forced forward onto your lover's length. Your moan betrays you and sends narcotic vibrations down his shaft, making Suguru grunt and buck his hips forward a little. Satoru, who remains behind you, gently takes hold of your hips and manoeuvres you into more of a doggy-style position â your fingers splayed over Suguru's thighs to try and find purchase as Satoru leans over you.Â
Gojo's chest presses against your back, skin-to-skin intimacy broken by the feverish kisses he presses to the back of your neck, down to your shoulder blades, your spine, His kisses become hotter, wetter, open-mouthed as he moves down to your waist, large hands playing with the flesh of your ass as he kisses a path down. You moan and shift against his grip, moving your hips in an effort to push yourself back against his boxer-clad erection, but Satoru only snaps you forward, and you choke a little as you're forced to take Suguru's cock even deeper down your throat.
"Fuck," Suguru hisses, pretty purple eyes meeting yours as you look up. Drool glosses his length, slick and hot and heavy against your tongue when he finally gives you a moment to breathe.Â
Your mouth immediately goes back to work again once your breathing steadies, hollowing out your cheeks and dragging him down, deeper, faster, more desperately. The receipt of pleasure etched into Suguru's tight-wound face is enough to spur on your own needs, but you nearly choke when Satoru Gojo bites into the fat of your ass. Your body arches up and you squirm and whine, but Satoru is relentless, licking over the indentations left behind as Suguru snaps his hips into your open mouth over and over again.
You barely have room to move before Satoru is pushing your knees apart with a strong hand, the heel of his palm firm against your ass as he spreads you open. He takes a moment, heavy breaths fan against your exposed slick, and youâre suddenly all too aware of yourself. Youâd protest, tell him not to stare if your mouth wasnât full with your heavy-lidded lover's cock. You donât even know why youâre embarrassed â youâre a pornstar, your job is to lie subject to the most intimate of ogling.
Your thoughts melt into the bedsheets, however, when Satoru groans and connects his lips to your pussy. Stupid off the taste of you alone, he whines against your slick heat, enamoured. His tongue flicks over you, circling your clit repeatedly and making your insides burn. You moan, and it comes out muffled and breathless around Suguru's dick.
"You taste so fucking good," Satoru speaks against your cunt. One hand slips between your legs, running two fingers through your folds in collection of your arousal, whilst his other hand tugs down at his own boxers, pulling his cock free and growling against your pussy as he starts to stroke at himself. "Fuuuuuckkk..." He pushes two fingers into you, easy with just how wet you are, and curls them in tandem with each pump of his cock.
Each thrust of his fingers pushes you just that little bit further onto Suguru's length. And you're thanking god that he's there, because without his muscled thighs to hold onto, you fear youâd be fucked too dizzy to keep yourself upright. You figure you must look a mess now, hair mussed and eyes bleary and drool rolling down your chin and all over Suguru's pulsing cock.Â
You feel pathetic with how quickly your orgasm crests. Satoru must feel it too, how you clench around your fingers, the subtle tremor in your thighs, because his tongue only speeds up in its assault. He's still stroking himself, keeping you open and willing as he sucks your clit harshly. Once you're right at the brink, teetering off the edge of ecstasy, Suguru pulls out of your mouth and leans down to crash his lips against yours.Â
"Come," he orders into your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. "Come for us, darling, come on now."
You're overwhelmed by Suguru's rakish lips over yours, and Satoru's relentless tongue over your sex. Before you can even try to present yourself for the cameras, you're cumming, hard. You writhe against Suguru, and your nails scrape across his thighs until you can hardly draw breath. The world slows down around you, leaving nothing but pleasure to consume.
"Holy shit," Satoruâs breath comes out in a hitched sort of laughter as he pulls back, not bothering to wipe away the sheen of your lust that coats his mouth and chin. âMy headâs spinning, I think Iâm in heaven. Do I still have a pulse?â
He makes a show of checking his pulse, despite the way you roll your eyes. Youâre still coming down from your climax as Suguru peppers feather-light kisses over your face. Satoru, feeling more hungry than doting, brings his two fingers to his own mouth, licking them clean. Suguru catches sight of the action and gently pulls back from you, something knowing in his eyes.
You assume heâs going to redirect your head back to his cock, let you finish your job, but instead he tuts and nods his head to your shared tryst, who is still diligently working at tasting you some more on his fingers.Â
âThink someoneâs a little pussydrunk,â Suguru grins, and you do too at the sight of Satoru Gojo so blatantly desperate for more. Your eyes drift down to his cock, long and hard and weeping with precum.Â
Though, you donât want to neglect Suguru, so you turn back to him â âyou didnât finish,â you make a move to reach for his cock, still rock hard and achy-looking, but your lover shakes his head gently.Â
âGot other plans,â he nods subtly to Gojo. âHow about we show our stalker here just how much better the real thing is?â
You grin, catching onto his drift, and watch over your shoulder as Satoru rolls his pretty blue eyes. âYou know, Iâve had the real thing, from both of you.â
âYou havenât had both of us,â Suguru shrugs. âAnd I know youâve fucked your fist to the thought of it. Donât lie, or you wonât enjoy this as much as you could.â
Satoruâs loaded remark gets stuck in his throat as Suguru pulls away from you entirely, though not without a gentle kiss to your forehead first. He stands by the bed, rolls his shoulders and nods to Satoru â âgo on,â he gestures to you, still on your hands and knees. âTaste me on her lips.â
Satoru would probably blush if he werenât so dedicated to the promise of a taste, because heâs got a hand under your stomach and is flipping you onto your back with ease in only half a second. You sigh at the reprieve of the strain on your hands and knees, and revel in how soft Satoruâs mattress is, when heâs collapsing on top of you with a strangled growl and his lips are meeting yours.
Itâs a strange thing, to taste both Satoru, yourself, and Suguru at the same time. You taste Satoru in the way he kisses, hungry and listless, with knocking teeth and exploratory tongues. You taste Suguru in the remnants of his cock in your mouth, the precum that has coated your tongue, mixed with your saliva that now mixes with Gojoâs. And you taste yourself glossed on Satoruâs lips; your climax, the buildup of pleasure he had gifted you with both his mouth and fingers.Â
A strange mix, maybe, but a perfect one nonetheless. You have to close your eyes to stop yourself from growing too dizzy, and also partly to stop yourself from worrying too hard â how were you meant to enjoy anything to its full potential now that you know how this tastes?
Satoruâs cock presses against the inside of your thigh; you can feel the gentle thrum of its pulse â a testament to his aching need. His arms box you in on either side, settled comfortably between your still-shaky legs. When he pulls back, a string of saliva connects your lips to his, and his eyes are darker than you remember.Â
âI need to be inside of you, need. Youâre fuckinâ... god I canât think.â
As if by instinct, your legs part further, allowing him the access he so craves. Itâs a fluid movement, the way he moves one hand down to direct his cock to your slick folds. He rubs himself against you, his tip kissing your clit teasingly. You suck in a shaky breath between parted lips, and when he doesnât hurry up despite his desperation, you feel like you could cry.
Though, before a complaint can leave your lips, you're watching as Suguru joins you two on the bed, kneeling behind Satoru and running his long fingers gently down the white-haired man's bare back. Satoru's head falls forward at the touch, and as your boyfriends hand runs lower and lower on his back, you realise exactly where this is going.Â
"You're gonna fuck her good," Suguru purrs, graceful in his touch. "Because I'm going to help you -- that okay?" He reaches back up, brushing his knuckles from between his shoulder blades, down the curve of his spine until he reaches his tailbone.Â
Satoru's eyes are locked on yours as he answers your lover. "Yes," his exhale is beyond needy. "Please, god. Yes."
And from there, things move with practised ease. It feels normal to submit yourself, your body, to Satoru. As Suguru takes hold of either side of his waist and guides him into you, the stretch is searing. You remember just how hard it was to adjust to his size the first time, having to try and keep your face melted neutral for the cameras. You don't feel that same pressure now, despite Satoru still filming, and your nose scrunches up at the feeling of Satoru inside of you.
"You're..." you try, words stuck in your throat as Suguru pushes Satoru's hips into yours a little more. "Please."
Satoru takes control of the pace, his breath hot and heavy on your cheek, his body moving in sync. You moan as he starts thrusting slowly in and out, stretching every muscle in your body as you get used to the feeling. With every thrust, you feel him getting harder and deeper within you, and his mouth dips down to trail along the sensitive skin on your neck.
It's a narcotic, the way he fills you. He's longer than Suguru, though not quite as thick, but he reaches depths that aren't typical for you. As he sheathes himself deeper and deeper inside of you, with the help of Suguru's hands on his waist, You slowly become spineless; relaxing into the pleasure of his sweet push and pull.
Sweat beads at your skin as Satoru quickens the pace, pulling out and plunging back in again with unbridled whimpers as Suguru works on taking his fill. Your boyfriend, domineering though still gentle, starts working your tryst open with one of his fingers.
"Ah- fuck," Satoru's words are heady with need, the initial discomfort of Suguru's fingers pushing into his ass are quickly forgotten, replaced with a deep yearning for more sensation. It sends his hips snapping into yours, bottoming out inside of you at such depths you can't help but cry out. It's a symphony of wetness and gasps of air, each syllable punctuated by Satoru's frantic movements. Your body grows tighter and tighter around Satoru with every pass as he gets worked open so beautifully by Suguru.
Your mind is clouded by everything Satoru has done to you and by the sheer force of him filling you with his cock and all that comes with it. You're completely and utterly lost in the moment, consumed by Satoru, who is consumed by Suguru, who is consumed in the pleasure of serving you both in turn.Â
"More," Satoru is barely able to get the word out as he slams deeper and deeper inside of you. "Fuck, more."
And Suguru isn't one to deny a pretty thing like Satoru such pleasures; he's pulling his fingers out of him in seconds and replacing them with the head of his cock at his ass. Suguru is gentle, but unrelenting as he thrusts himself into Satoru in one fluid motion. The pressure is enough to prick tears at Satoru's pretty blue eyes, which you reach up and wipe away from underneath him.Â
A moment is shared, a chance for Satoru to breathe the best he can, before he's testing the waters and pushing back a little, onto Suguru's cock, before thrusting his hips forward, into you.Â
This is ecstasy incarnate. The two men seem to merge together, their bodies melting as they meet. Suguru fucks you through Satoru, each thrust into him is a thrust into you, into the both of you. It almost hurts, you'd wager, the way your whole body throbs in synchronization with theirs, the way Satoru moans as Suguru drives you both to insanity. It's a weird way to connect with your lover, but one that works nonetheless, the both of you seem to share an awful yearning for the man sandwiched between you, fucked mindless.Â
And then he's driving your entire being towards the edge, and you feel the orgasm coming on, the rush of blood to your head, your muscles tightening around Satoru. It's a strange feeling of being connected to something bigger than yourself, a system working in tandem with each other to chase climax, but it's a feeling you're quickly growing addicted to. It's warm, it's comforting, and most importantly, it's yours. This man right here, his body pressed tight between yours and Sugurus, is yours. Even if only for the early morning.
"Gonna cum," you whine, lips ghosting against Satoru's. He nods, eyes locked onto yours.Â
"Mâfuckâme too, baby. God, you have to let me come inside of you, doll, can't deny me, please. Youâ"
"You better," Suguru cuts in, his voice biting from behind Satoru. He thrusts sharply into Satoru, sending him keening forward into you, pressing right into your sensitive g-spot as Suguru hits his prostate in a mirrored pleasure. "Wanna watch you claim her," he bears down, "gonna fill you up, you fill her â watch her face, Satoru. Watch what you do to her."
You gasp as Satoru's fingers dip down to rub frantic circles over your clit, pushing you closer and closer to orgasm with each knock of his hips into your, of Suguru's into his. the room is filled with a chorus of moans and whines and desperate pleas for more and more and more. You know you'll never recover from this level of arousal if you don't come soon, but before you can find purchase in your body and begin your descent into bliss, Suguru is first to come undone.
His hips snap forward into Satoru, head craning into his neck, biting down on the muscle of his shoulders for some sort of physical gag â ever the one to stifle those beautiful noises of his. And the feeling of being filled in such ravaging volumes must be enough to send Satoru over the edge, too, because he's knitting his eyebrows together and cumming ropes into you in only moments.
"Fuck," he whines, once again tears prick at his eyes, overwhelmed by the duality of his pleasure, of you and Suguru, so close to you but also never close enough. He wants to be one with you, a complete unit, bound by sex and soul and the sweet sounds of the most powerful orgasm he's ever had in his life.Â
You come in tandem with him, it's completely blinding. Your legs fall apart as you cry out, nails scraping across Satoru's bicep as the world melts away and the sensations start swirling about in your mind's eye and the last thing you register is Satoru collapsing forward, breathing raggedly into your ear.Â
You catch the salty flavour of him as you suck in a lungful of air and smile in response, fucked stupid and blissful and never ready to give this feeling up. Never ready to give anyone else this feeling- god, you already despise whoever gets to taste Satoru Gojo next.Â
Suguru has to pull out of Satoru slowly, and you wipe at his face with the pad of your thumb when it scrunches up in protest of the loss of Suguruâs stretch. Before he can truly call the scene over, though, Satoru leans down and presses the most gentle of kisses to your lips. A myriad of âthankyouthankyouthankyouâs spill from his tongue as he does so, each word cut by a kiss to the expanse of your face.
And when he pulls out of you a sickening gush of his cum follows. It spills from your aching pussy and onto the bed sheets beneath you, though Satoru doesnât seem to mind in the slightest. He swipes his finger through the mess heâs made of your sex, smiling when you hiss at just how sensitive you are, and brings his cum-coated finger back to his mouth, eyes never leaving yours.Â
Your stomach flips at the sight. Great, heâs gone and fucked you lovestruck.
âSatoru,â a clean voice cuts in. Your head constricts in your fucked out daze when you turn to see Suguru standing by the tripod, his eyebrows raised and pretty purple eyes beyond amused. âItâs not even fucking recording.â
Instead of being confused, Satoru looks sheepish. He flops down onto the bed next to you, eyes glossy and cheeks blushed pink. âIâŠ. can explain? I think Iâd rather die than share the two of you with the world. But Iâd really die if I didnât get my hands on you both.â
You meet your boyfriend's gaze. Something passes between you, something knowing. In a weird, probably unhealthy way, you both feel the exact same. This was never a scene for the cameras, anywayâ not when such strong⊠feelings are involved.
âIâm not proposing marriage here,â Satoru huffs when he catches onto your shared gaze. âI just, you enjoyed it, right?â
You giggle from beside him, your sweat-soaked skin cool against the air. Suguru chimes in with his laughter, melodic and beautiful. He folds his arms and watches the two of you laid across the bed.Â
âLetâs get you both cleaned up, then,â Suguru hums. âIâm not fucking either of you again until weâve shared a shower.
TAGLIST: @sugurubabe @fullbelieverheart @starrysho @meowforluv @ch3rryistheg @miizuzu @okayiamkassandra @inconcise @sexcults @hotgirlgoob @mistalli @ourfinalisation @graceloveslanadelrey @blessed-princesa @plinkuro @pe4rl-diver @sugojosgf @beachaddict48 @chimmysoftpaws @blendingcaramal @dongh9e @caramelised-onions @kyluskaye @sammywo @4evrglow @hiraethwa @stinkinstuffie @tomiokasecretlover @ser0t0nln @yuzu-ku @lagataprrr @dear-fifi @hel-lhound @kensqueent @sserafin @dabisdolly @zoroisminty @angelkazusstuff @reinam00n @kaeyakaikai @bunny416 @littletittygothgirl @glitterbitch1 @saccharine-nectarine
cont in comments !
#jjk smut#satoru gojo#suguru geto x reader#satoru gojo smut#gojo smut#geto smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#gojo x reader#gojo x you#satoru gojo x reader#geto x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru smut#satoru gojo x you#jjk gojo#satosugu smut#suguru geto smut#jjk geto smut#jjk geto#geto#gojo#jujutsu kaisen
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
go about things the wrong way
description. LOGAN HOWLETT proves himself to be a bit of a hypocrite
includes. SMUT 18+, age gap (reader is implied to be mid20s, logan assumed to be mid30s), protected piv, denial is a river in egypt logan fucks them younger, logan calls reader "kid", insomnia trope, slightly brat reader, remnants of angst, set during early x-men
wc. 5k
a/n: photo creds unknown. title from how soon is now? by the smiths
You should be in your own bedroom.Â
Itâs a nice room, decorated better than your childhood room in your parentâs house, likely because youâve grown since your mint green and chevron phase. Itâs silent in your room, no other inhabitants except you and your pet fish that was somehow still hanging on. Thereâs no reason for you to leave your room, it has everything you need. But itâs not right.Â
The loneliness is uncomfortable amidst your inability to sleep. It hovers over your bed, staring down at your shuffling frame as you try multiple positions, each one leaving you as restless as the last. You know thatâs why you venture off to the kitchen, the search for companionship outweighing the desire for a treat. You just need to talk to someone, remind yourself that you arenât all alone. There are other people like you, and you live with them. Youâre safe.Â
You ended up finding what you desiredâa non-freezer burnt ice cream bar buried beneath frozen waffles, and a warm body to stand opposite of as you steadily made your way through it.Â
You wouldnât admit it to anyone else, maybe not even yourself, but you had hoped to run into Logan the entire time. Ever since his return you had been itching to get a glimpse of him, but between shadowing Storm, Scott, and Jean, and tending to whatever menial chore Professor Xavier tasked you with, you didnât have any time for run-ins. Nothing but quick passing in the hallway where you were too shy to do much other than meet his eye for a second, wave, and then scurry along towards the end of the hallway.Â
But you had gotten what you wanted when you heard the soft thud of feet followed by the sound of Logan speaking.Â
âIs there another one of those?âÂ
You face him with your mouth stuffed with ice cream. It takes you a second to chew enough to speak around the food without making a complete fool of yourself in front of Logan.Â
âThis is the last one âŠâ you swallow, ignoring the sting of the cold at the back of your throat. âSorry.â
Logan shrugs like itâs no big deal and he steps to the fridge. You move out of the way, even though you werenât really in the way at all, and try to be casual as you chew the remains of your bar, ignoring the sudden warmth in your body now that heâs here.Â
Logan doesnât say anything. You watch the top half of his body disappear as he reaches into the fridge for something, coming out after a minute and some soft shuffling later with a beer bottle in his hand. You donât know when it got there, and youâre amazed that it was still there and not stolen by some eager teenager. You try not to stare as he takes his first sip, but you sneak a few glances.Â
You finish your sandwich, throwing the wrapper out in the drawer trash can and trying your best to ignore Loganâs eyes on you the entire time. He gets halfway through his beer before he says something.Â
Leaning against the counter, legs crossed at the ankle and one arm tucked across his chest, he asks, âCanât sleep, right?â
You nod, not shocked at all that he has you pegged. Itâs not unsurprising for a mutant in this place to be unable to sleep.Â
Logan nods as if he understands and you know he does, you remember the incident with Rogue just a year or so ago, that and the stories you hear about him wandering the halls at night. Itâs why youâd always been so eager to slip down here during restless nights, constantly hoping that this would happen to you.Â
And now that it has happened, you donât know what to do. Thereâs not much for you to discuss with Logan, the two of you donât have all that much in common. Heâs far older than you, for starters, at least a decade and a half on you from what youâve gathered. Heâs been gone for a while, but you think the others have caught him up on everything that heâs missed already.Â
So you just build onto what you have.Â
âI just canât fall asleep. Every time I start, I shake myself awake.âÂ
Logan takes a swig from his beer and pulls his lips tight, a face of sympathy sliding over his featuresâeyebrows pinched, lips downturned, eyes a little narrowed.Â
âYeah?â You nod your head. âSounds horrible, kid.â
Kid. You know youâre younger than him, itâs obvious, but youâre not a kid. You donât see why he thinks of you that way. Rogue and Bobby are kids and youâre older than them. More mature, no longer a student but now practically a teacher.Â
You donât want Logan to see you as a kid. You know what you want him to see you as, but it seems to become more and more impossible by the day.Â
You donât say anything, lifting your foot enough to press the toe of your slippers into the cleaned grout between the tiles at your feet.Â
âTell you what,â he begins, promoting your head to lift, ânext time that happens to you, you come find me, alright? I know how much it sucks to be alone like that so if you need me, come find me.â
Thatâs what you did.Â
After you left the kitchen, finally letting your grin break free since no one was around to see it during the trek back to your room, you told yourself you would only go to Logan if you needed him.Â
You tried to sleep, snuggling yourself in a cocoon of blankets and pillows around your head. You lit a candle, counted sheep, made up scenarios to doze off (ones that definitely didnât involve Logan tenderly holding your hand and stroking your cheek andâ), but nothing seemed to work.Â
So you found yourself standing in the doorway of Loganâs bedroom, one hand still on the doorknob and the other toying with a loose thread at the bottom of your tee shirt. The bedroom is dark, save for the moonlight peeking through his opened curtains, but from the hallway light behind your back you can see Loganâs frame under the sheets.Â
His back faces you until you harshly whisper his name, which at the call of he lifts his head, looking at you, and then rolls over completely to click the lamp on his nightstand on.Â
âWhatâs wrong, kid?â
You feel so meek when you explain, like you are a kid, crawling to your parents after a nightmare.Â
âYou told me to come find you.â
His squint relaxes. His entire frame relaxes actually. He sits up, jerking his head in a beckon. You click the door shut behind you as softly as you can, approaching the bed timidly until you stand on the other side.Â
And then you just hover. You stand there hesitantly, staring down at the slightly unmade side of the bed. Logan doesnât say anything for a minute, but once the silence and hesitance stretches to an uncomfortable end, he speaks up, his voice groggier and raspier than it was before.Â
âYou gonna sleep from there? Is that some mutant power that I didnât know about?â He says it like heâs teasing you, and when you look at him you can see the small smile on his lips. Itâs similar to the one he sports when heâs messing with Scott but with more softness in his eyes.Â
You scoff, trying to play it cool when Logan lifts the sheets for you and you climb under them. This side of the bed is cold and unused and you wonder if youâre the first person to use it.Â
You get as comfortable as you possibly can. You fluff the pillow and create the perfect indent for your head, you pull the sheets up to your shoulders, you lay on your side and face the window, and then when Logan clicks the light off, you close your eyes and try to sleep.Â
You donât know how you thought this would be any better than struggling to sleep in your own bed, because itâs so much worse.Â
In your own bed, you were left with the out-of-reach fantasies of Logan. You laid in bed, giggling to yourself as you imagined what it would be like to lay next to Logan. You filled your head with blurry images of Loganâs frame, what he would look like with his eyes closed and his face completely relaxed. You tried to imagine the heat of his body in the cold of your room, trying to change your body temperature just with a thought.Â
But now itâs all right beside you, left there for you to catalogue so you could never forget this moment.Â
The feeling of his body so close yet so far from yours. The sound of his breathing. The smell of his body wash and the way it lingered on his sheets. Youâre finally in Loganâs bedroom, but youâre not getting what you want. You truly donât think you ever will.Â
Itâs impossible for you to sleep now. You try to keep your tossing and turning to a minimum, only moving when absolutely necessary and doing so with tentativeness. Youâre trying to be meticulous with your movements, all with a goal to disturb Logan as little as possible. Youâre a guest here, after all.Â
But even if he wasnât an attentive mutant you knew he wouldâve eventually gotten fed up.Â
He calls your name, soft yet sounding like a warning, and youâre quick to apologize.Â
He doesnât say anything else for a second, then, âWhateverâs on your mind, squash it. Jusïżœïżœ let it go.â
You donât mean to sound as bitter as you do when you say, âEasier said than done.â
Logan shifts and turns around until heâs facing you. You stay facing the window.Â
âWhat usually turns your mind off?â he asks. âA glass of warm milk?âÂ
When you laugh itâs halfhearted and maybe this is the final indicator that something about you is off.Â
âLook at me.â You obey embarrassingly quickly.Â
You canât really see him in the dark, but the white light from outside illuminates the slope of his nose and the apples of his cheeks. You can sort of see his eyes too, the usually light green darker because of the environment, but the shadowy fan of his eyelashes is as distinct as usual.Â
âSeriously, tell me whatâs going on. Anything I can help you with?â He lets the question linger in the air for a second before adding on. âYou need me to rough a few kids up? You being bullied?â He says it like a joke.
âNo,â you say.Â
Logan makes an âahâ sound. âYeah Iâm sure you could handle yourself.â The sheets lift again. âCome âere.â
Shit, shit, shit.Â
You listen to him, scooting closer until youâre wrapped in Loganâs arms, enveloped in his warmth. Itâs nice and comfortable, the sound of Loganâs heart right next to your ear, the security of his arms wrapped around your frame.Â
âDoes this help you?â
You hum affirmatively, already starting to feel more comfortable than you had before. Your heart beats painfully hard in your chest and you start to get self-conscious, knowing that Logan can definitely hear it.
Right on cue, he laughs a bit against your head.Â
âNervous?â
âNo.â God, youâre so obvious.Â
Loganâs laugh grows until heâs snickering, doing a terrible job of stifling his laughter. ââs alright,â he eventually says. âNothing wrong with that.â
You make yourself as comfortable as possible, pressing your back to Loganâs chest, trying to ignore the hard feeling of his body behind you. You can basically feel everything, the plane of his chest pushing through his tee, the ridge of his sweatpants against your lower back, his legs against yoursâtempting you to intertwine them together, his feet hanging right under yours. Youâre not exactly dressed for this and your shirt has ridden up, bunched at the top of your ass and exposing your panties. You wonder if he knows. You wonder if he cares.Â
This is helping you a lot, but thereâs still something on your mind. Something you need to solve before you can go off to sleep.Â
You donât know what it is that makes you confident, that makes you want to ruin a good moment. Maybe itâs the dark providing you comfort, but you lay it all out.Â
âYou treat me like a kid.â
Logan takes a second. You can just barely make out the hitch in his voice. â...Yeah?â
Youâre glad he canât see you when you pout. It wouldnât have done much to help your case. âIâm not a kid, Logan. You donât treat Rogue like a kid.â
âRogue is different.â
âHow? Iâm older than her.â
âJust ⊠can we not argue?â
âWeâre not arguing.â
âYeah? Then whaddya call this?â
âA conversation between two adults.â
He hums as if heâs unconvinced.Â
You wonât let it go. âHow is Rogue different?â
âGo to sleep,â he admonishes.
âCanât. Not until you answer my question.â
Logan sighs. ââcause Iâm not attracted to her, alright?â
Oh.Â
Oh.Â
Wait ⊠what?
Youâre sure your silence is enough to express your confusion because Logan adds on.Â
âIâm trying to set boundaries between us, kidââ
âDonât call me that.â
He corrects himself with the use of your name instead, but it comes out the same way. âWe need boundaries between the two of us. You think I donât see how you look at me? âs not good.â
âIf youâre setting boundaries why did you invite me in here.â
âBecause I wanted to help you.â
Why is he making you feel crazy? He just told you heâs attracted to you, but he wants to set boundaries? There are barely any boundaries here. Youâre alone with him, in his bedroom, tucked away at the end of the hall surrounded by mostly empty bedrooms instead of bedrooms of asleep mutants, curled up against his chest. This is the most opportune time, yet he didnât want to make a move.
Maybe you were reading too much into it.Â
You go to pull away from Loganâs embrace but he keeps you pulled tight to his chest.Â
âDonât do that,â he says it like a command and just to piss him off you consider pulling away. But youâre really comfortable and this is a comfort you arenât sure youâre ever going to find again.Â
âJust go to sleep, alright,â he says your name again, much softer this time. He says it like heâs coaxing you like your name is the final tune in a lullaby.Â
Maybe Logan has other powers you arenât aware of because just that one sentence is enough for you to let it go and submit to the sudden exhaustion that settles over your body like a weighted blanket.Â
You donât know if Loganâs been avoiding you. Mostly because youâve been avoiding him.
Itâs not often that the two of you would have to run into each other, but there were a few times when Professor Xavier extended the invitation to observe an upcoming class, and you declined upon learning that Logan would be subbing.Â
You kept your distance as much as you could, even keeping yourself locked up in your bedroom throughout the night, no matter how restless you got. You were miserable, not only because you wanted to be near Logan, but because you were fucking exhausted.Â
You could barely stay awake throughout the day, always sneaking off for power naps, taking whatever you could get even if it was only five minutes.Â
But you finally have the rest of the afternoon to yourself and you intend to use it to sleep. Uncaring of how much it threw off your sleep schedule, you just needed a solid half hour curled up at the foot of your made bed like a dog, sleeping to your heart's content.Â
Of course, itâs on your way up to your room that you run into Logan. You try to ignore him, continuing your path up the stairs, praying that Logan will continue on his path downstairs.Â
You donât know what it is about you that says come talk to me! but Logan stops in his journey, turning to face you. He calls your name, continuing even when you donât respond. He follows your trek up the stairs and down the hallway, always right on your heels and within arm's reach.Â
By the time your hand reaches for your bedroom door, Logan is practically breathing down your neck.Â
You know thereâs no avoiding him now, but you also donât want to.Â
You stand still, hand wrapped around the doorknob, waiting for Logan to say his piece.Â
âWhyâd you lead me to your bedroom?â The way he says it, with such arrogance and assurance woven into that same joking manner as if he wasnât the one who turned you down just a few nights ago.Â
âFuck off, Logan. I just wanna get some sleep.â
You twist the knob and this is what wakes Logan up. âOkay, wait.â His hand reaches out and rests on your elbow. Just this one touch strikes you still. âWill you look at me?â
You turn around, trying to keep your gaze hard even as you take in his appearance for the first time in days.Â
The bags under his eyes, the relaxed smile thatâs constantly on his face when heâs around you, the thickness of his eyebrows, the points in his hair. Youâre staring at his hair, wondering if itâs naturally like that or if he does it himself, and when you look at his eyes again there isnât a connection. Heâs staring at your lips instead.Â
You lift your eyebrows impatiently, already imagining the sleep youâll get after you ruminate until you canât form a coherent thought.Â
Logan opens his mouth. âLook, Iâm sorry if you got a little hurt from the other night. Is just this age gap and your little crush is not gonna worââ
Youâre already turning around, deciding whatever else heâs going to say isnât important at all, but Logan stops you. His movements are fluid, they flow naturally from his body and straight into yours, causing you to move with a coordination you didnât expect. He spins you back around and pulls you straight to his chest, your hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself, while his hands rest on your hips and your cheek.Â
The movement is quick, it happens within a couple of seconds, and it makes the moment after feel so much longer. Nothing but shared blinks as Logan looks at your lips and you look at his. Youâre so close to him, even closer than you were the other night, but neither of you makes a move.Â
Youâre considering making the first move, opening your mouth as if to ask him a question that was still unknown to you, but then Loganâs grip on your cheek tightens as if heâs holding you still and he moves in closer, and closer, and closer until his lips ghost over yours.Â
In the end, itâs you who crosses the bridge.Â
Your lips touch, sandwiched together, but neither of you do anything. Not until you take a tiny step closer, really nothing but an adjustment of your feet, is Logan pulling you into him. He digs his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, that one hand possessing all of the aggression that doesnât exist in the hand holding your cheek.Â
Itâs like the touch of two different menâone who wants to devour you whole and the other who wants to treasure you. You hope that theyâre able to coexist as you desperately want both.Â
You let Logan kiss you feverishly, an intensity unlike anything youâve ever seen him display settling in his lips. The Logan you knew was always relaxed, walking around the mansion with a carefree, practically laissez-faire, attitude. He didnât meddle, he kept his hands to himself, always wrapped around a cigar or a beer.Â
But now those hands were wrapped around you for the second time this week.Â
You press your hands into the shoulder of his white tee shirt, starting to slide them up towards his hair before you resist. You want to get comfortable kissing him, but youâre still out in the hallway.Â
Having the same thought, Logan pulls away from your lips with enough time to open the door, latch his hands onto your hips, and blindly steer you backward until youâre in the room. He stares down at you the entire time, that same smirk on his lips as he kicks the door closed behind him with a single boot.Â
And then he has you pressed against the wood, sandwiched between a rock and a hard place.Â
He looks at you for a second, his gaze lingering, and then he gets back to it.Â
If even possible, Logan has more passion this time around. He sinks his hands to your thighs, pulling one up by his hip. He slots his legs into the opening until your center is hovering over his thigh. You donât know what to expect, but when he flexes the muscle and presses his limb right up against you, youâre already trying to get more.Â
Logan smiles as he kisses you, clearly entertained by your anguished need to get off. He doesnât verbally reassure you, he doesnât help you grind yourself down, he doesnât do anything but continue kissing you.Â
When you need to come up for air, knocking your head back into mahogany as you intake large gulps, Logan dips his head down and explores as much skin as he can. He creates a path of kisses from your jaw, down your neck, to the exposed parts of your chest.Â
You tilt your head down, locking your hand into his hair and trying to redirect his lips back to yours, but he stops you with a hand pinching your cheeks.Â
His eyes flick back and forth between yours, nothing but mischief and arrogance in the green. You wrap a hand around his wrist with the initial want to tug him away, but you like the hold he has you in. You like the look in his eyes.Â
âGood?â His voice is softer than his grip.Â
You nod, trying to grin as best as you can when your lips are forcibly puckered.Â
Logan smiles right back at you. âYou got a rubber?â
You nod again, scurrying to your nightstand once Logan lets you go. He tells you to get on the bed and you take the liberty of throwing your shirt off and bra as you go. You have enough sense to step out of your shoes, unclasp your jeans, and tug the zipper down in the path.Â
By the time youâre sitting on your bed, you can feel the anxiety thrumming through your body. Itâs a good kind, the kind youâve been seeing less and less of lately. Youâre still a little tired and still desiring a solid nap, but it can definitely wait. This is your main priority.Â
Logan speaks to you as he undresses.Â
âYou still doing okay?â he asks as heâs pulling his tee over his head. When you nod, he moves to his belt, thick but deft fingers undoing it and leaving it hanging open and hooked into his belt loops.Â
âYou tell me if you wanna stop,â he says as he pulls his jeans down, stepping out of them right after he steps out of his boots. You give him a look and he clocks it immediately.Â
âYou think you can take it, bub?â He laughs. âYeah? Donât you think youâre talkinâ a big game?â
Petulantly, you roll your eyes. âLogan, Iâm not a fucking kid, Iâll be fine.â
Wrong. So, so, so stupidly wrong.Â
You are fine, but the sight of Loganâs dick sends nerves down your spine. Youâve talked yourself up, you canât go back, so you do what you can. You let him peel your jeans and panties off, hoping you look as seductive as he does. You keep your eyes on his abdomen, tracing the vein that runs from the right of his navel down to his cock, breathing as well as you can while Logan lines himself up. The first push burns, just like you expect it to, but you adjust quicker than you thought. Eventually, all you can feel is pleasure. Youâre so full when heâs only halfway in you. You feel stuffed as soon as he bottoms out, his heavy ball sack resting flush against you, a thick forest of pubes pressed against your cunt.Â
Logan is so much, itâs everything youâve ever wanted and more. Hovering and staring down at you as his hips rock into yours, slowly and experimentally at first. Itâs not until you draw a leg up over his hips that he increases the strength of his rocks.Â
He has one hand keeping himself steady and the other holding your waist. Itâs so intimate, and not only because heâs fucking you, but because heâs staring down at you the entire time, his teeth bared as he watches you for every single reaction. His eyes rake down your body, watching the way your tits jiggle before dipping lower to watch the way heâs entering you. You canât see his gaze, but you can feel it, the weight of it comparable to the weight of his cock in you.Â
Thereâs an inhuman nature to it, hidden deep below the surface as if heâs trying to hold back, but itâs there. Youâre made aware of it when you clench around him and he growls. It comes from the back of his throat but itâs a sound youâve never heard before. Itâs so Logan, you donât think anyone other than him could make a sound like that as erotic as it is. You want to hear him more, you want your moans to blend together amongst the four walls of your bedroom, but he keeps his sounds to himself. Itâs like thereâs a disconnect between the both of you, like Loganâs still holding back even though heâs balls deep in you.Â
âLogan,â you whine, getting his attention. He looks at you with concern in his eyes, his hips slowing down. You shake your head, pushing more towards him. âPlease,â you beg, praying he knows exactly what you want.Â
âWhat? What dâyou want?â
âMore.â
Logan gets rougher. Heâs grinding up into you like his life depends on it, blunt nails delving into your skin as if he wants to break it. You wish he would. You arenât regenerative like he is, but you still desire the broken skin, the beads of blood, the marks left behind.Â
Youâre thinking about it, eyes lidded and falling closed when Logan knocks his forehead into yours once. He moans, closed-mouthed as his head lolls to the side, a shiver shaking him from the bottom of the spine up.Â
âJesus, baby,â he says. Itâs all he says, but itâs more than enough. He keeps going, digging his tip into you deeper and deeper until it feels like heâs swimming in your guts.Â
He drags his head down until he can wrap his lips around one of your nipples, licking and sucking before moving on to give the other one the same treatment. You desperately want him to mark you up, you want a reminder that thisâthe thing youâve been wanting since Storm and Scott came back with two new mutants in towâactually happened. Bravely, you reach out and tangle your hand in his hair, surprisingly softer than you thought it would be. You donât hold him down much, just enough to communicate what you want nonverbally. And then after a few tortuous seconds of hesitation, his lips wrap around the skin atop your left breast and he sucks. The strength in it stings, it reminds you just how strong Logan is, but it feels so good.Â
Unexpectedly, you feel your muscles seize. It starts in your tummy, deep down near where Loganâs been massaging, and then it just doesnât stop, likely because he doesnât stop.Â
Itâs like heâs spurred on by the feeling of you cumming, motivated by the way your back arches and you reach for the heavens as you clench around his cock.Â
He gets a burst of energy, fucking you like he has something to prove when really itâs you with something to prove.Â
Youâre overstimulated, struggling to keep up with Logan, but you donât want to tap out. You talked a big game, you canât back down now. So you remain silent while Logan pulls another orgasm out of you, hoping he wonât notice the way your eyes brew tears without your consent and the way your lips quirk with the impending request to slow down.Â
Of course, he notices.Â
Heâs grinning with sympathyâyou donât know if itâs sincere or fauxâwhen he takes a hand and strokes your cheekbone.Â
âI see ya, kid. Feels good, yeah?â
For some reason, when he calls you kid like this, you donât completely hate it.Â
Thereâs no point in lying, so you nod.Â
âSo tight,â he winces, eyebrows pinched together as he flashes his teeth, a dimple in his right cheek appearing with it.Â
Just as you didnât warn him before, he doesnât warn you when he cums. You feel it though, the way his thrusts get sloppier and faster just before he gives you one punctual one, and then you feel the confined warmth of his cum shooting into the condom.Â
You wish you werenât as exhausted as you were, because the next time youâre conscious, itâs dark out and the bedsheet is covering your body. Youâre hot, hotter than you usually want to be when youâre sleeping, but youâre bare naked. That and you only have a thin sheet covering your body.Â
It doesnât take much investigation to figure out whatâs making you so hot, not when itâs attached to your back with one meaty bicep slung around your neck and keeping you pulled against him. It takes you a bit to fall asleep, but once you do, youâre out for the rest of the night.Â
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
toji x reader // sfw!
đđđđ doesnât remember the last time he was gifted something.
âyou got me what?â he asks again, kicking his sandals off at your front door for what seems like the millionth time.
you rise from your couch, the wood creaking slightly as you do so. âjust some stuff for you to keep here so you stop using mine,â you reply, the shrug of your shoulders indicating how little of a deal it is.
in the kitchen, you rinse out the glass youâd been using. tojiâs footsteps are barely audible over the sound of running water.
âthereâs a few pairs of sweats in the hall closet,â you tell him, setting the glass down to dry. âand some other stuff in the bathroom. shampoo, body wash, toothbrushâŠâ
the assassin lets out a small huff, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorway. âyou tellinâ me i reek or something?â he accuses, more so to brush off the odd feeling building in his gut.
âmaybe.â comes your playful quip, your head tilting as you rest your weight on the counter and look at him. âbut seriously, you just come around so often,â- his nose wrinkles at that, as he knows he crashes here much more than he should- âthat i figured iâd just get you your own things. itâs not like it cost me an arm and a leg.â
with a yawn you stroll toward your room, lightly poking his chest as you pass him. âplus, you use up all of my stuff, dummy.â
he grunts, his eyes following you until youâre out of sight. âi donât need fancy clothes or any of that crap,â he murmurs to himself, taking a few steps toward the hall closet.
his large hands wrap around the handles, sliding the doors open until he sees a pile of clothes resting on one of the shelves. three black tees stacked atop three pairs of sweats, some boxers and socks in a little box, all for him.
he picks up a shirt without hesitation, the fabric smooth against his calloused fingers. his brows furrow in concentration, maybe unease. this is for him, itâs his, and maybe thatâs why this shirt is the softest one heâs ever felt.
with a gruff exhale, he snatches a pair of sweats and a clean pair of boxers, his steps unhurried as he heads for the bathroom.
the fan hums above him as the lock clicks into place, his eyes immediately darting to the shelves to see the new toiletries. his stuff.
inside the shower, tojiâs shoulders sag.
itâs as if the water is washing away his defenses, the rugged, nonchalant exterior he wears now melting away in the comfort of your shower.
toji pops open one of the new shampoo bottles, taking in the scent and pouring it onto his palm. he wonders if this smell reminds you of him, if you put some thought into each item.
while he rubs it into his hair, he thinks about if he should pay you back. itâs not like he asked you to get him all this stuff, but still.
even when youâd first started letting him crash on your couch, you hadnât demanded much in return.
âjust donât make a big mess and be decent, alright?â he remembers you saying.
and he was just fine with that. free room and board just for something so simple? heâd be a moron to decline.
it was only after around a week that he felt a familiar itch. he wouldnât be in your debt, wouldnât wait for the day when youâd inevitably ask for something.
so, he offered what he always did- himself. thatâs what women usually wanted from him, anyway.
his idea didnât exactly go as planned. if anything, it made him feel more conflicted, made him wonder why the hell you kept him around.
were you just lonely? did you enjoy his company?
âoh, no⊠i donât do that,â youâd said, holding your hands up, flustered but adamant. âyou donât have to sell yourself to me or anything. who does that? like, what?â
the water patters on the tile floor, his body and mind feeling more clear and clean than theyâve been in a long time.
when the faucet squeaks shut, he steps out and snorts as he sees a new, fluffy black towel hanging beside yours behind the bathroom door. he grabs it, rubbing his scarred skin dry and running it through the damp strands of his hair.
the new clothes feel like heaven, truly.
in your room, engrossed by your phone, you barely hear the sound of the bathroom door opening. tojiâs steps are almost silent, his arms crossing over his chest as he watches you beneath the covers.
heâs amused as you snicker at some post, the dim screen lighting up your face in the otherwise dark room.
âlet me crash here, yeah?â he suggests, though itâs more of an order.
youâre startled, rightfully so, hiding your phone against your chest while you sit up straighter. âoh, you scared me! new clothes and you think youâre all that, huh? too good for the couch?â
yet, even as you chide him, youâre peeling back the covers for him, grabbing the extra pillows and moving them out of the way.
a satisfied grunt leaves him as he spreads out on the mattress, careless of the space he takes up. he tugs the blankets over his person, settling in like a big cat.
he curls into you. you donât mind.
while you scroll along with one hand, the other supports his head and absentmindedly strokes the skin of his cheek.
his eyes watch you, his breaths becoming more steady and even. heâd never admit how much it means to him that youâd gotten him new clothes, new toiletries, practically a new home.
itâs more than he deserves, but he finds himself wanting to take as much as he can get.
heâs yours, even if he doesnât know it. and, as the days go by, he wonders if you can be his, too.
#jjk x reader#fushiguro toji x reader#toji fushiguro x reader#toji x you#toji x y/n#toji x reader#toji fluff#more toji fluff ofc#my heart yearns for him#soft toji my beloved
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
choso kamo â the boy next door
synopsis you were completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. but choso liked it that way. cw nsfw, stalking, somnophilia, voyeurism, overstimulation, dirty talk, cream pie wc 4.1k
author note i received three separate requests for pervy!choso, dom!choso, and boynextdoor!choso so i decided to combine them into one story to celebrate hitting 250 followers! eeek i love y'all so much, i hope this scratches the right itch in y'alls brains ⥠proofread and edited up by my favorite person in the known cosmos: @remlionheart *+:ïœĄ.ïœĄ thank you for pushing me to finish this
Choso was a constant fixture in your life. For as long as you could remember, it was always you and him. His house neighbored yours and your families had become close over the past fifteen years. Your childhoods were intertwined, filled with joint pool parties, barbecues, and movie nights. The two of you even shared a babysitter when your parents would go out on double dates. You carpooled to school, played in the cul-de-sac until the streetlamps came on, snuck through each other's windows when your parents thought you were sleeping; inseparable. You guys even ended up at the same university after graduating high school. You were finally home for the summer and you couldnât wait to spend time with your best friend, uninterrupted by the hecticness of college.
A brisk knock resonated through your home, the door answered by your mother.Â
âHey! Itâs so nice to see you again,â Choso grinned, nodding gently as he stepped into your foyer. You perked up at the sound of his voice echoing through your house. It was difficult to see one another as much as you had wanted this semester; you both explored different hobbies and found separate friend groups while in college, but you always made sure to find the time. You hadnât seen him in a few weeks, though; the stress of final exams kept the two of you apart. It had been far too long.
âHow have you been, honey? How was your semester?â your mother chirped as she engulfed him in a quick embrace. The two of them shared genial words as they caught up with one another. They continued to chat before being interrupted by the heavy sounds of your excited feet thumping down the staircase. He turned to greet you, only to be entrapped in a bearhug, the momentum pushed his body into the wall behind him.
âChoso! Missed you so much,â you squealed, voice muffled as you buried your face into his chest. You breathed him in, the familiar scent of his cologne dancing through your nose. His cheek found the top of your head as his warm hands rubbed gentle circles into your back, rocking you side to side. Your mother smiled with adoration at the two of you. He squeezed you tight before he pulled away, peering down at you. You noticed a light dusting of pink that surfaced on his skin as you looked up at him, but chalked it up to the sweltered heat of summertime.
âI missed you too, sweetheart,â he replied before returning his gaze to your mother while still holding on to you. âExams were tough but Iâm happy that itâs finally over,â he added.
His attention fell back to you as his hands rubbed against your arms, âBut, Iâm all yours for the summer!â
*à© â©â§âË
You sat next to him on the floor, backs pressed against the foot of your bed. The two of you shared a pizza as a silly rom-com played on your TV. You took turns catching up on each otherâs lives while the film faded into background noise. You felt renewed in his presence, the youthful glow of his features reminded you of how he was when he was younger. But your chest began to ache as you thought about how the time you spent with one another would become harder and harder to come by. The conversation lulled a bit, and you willed yourself to voice your concerns to Choso.
âSometimes I wish we could go back to how things were,â you blurted, hands fidgeting with the pizza box. Choso quirked his eyebrow at the statement. You met his gaze, smiling softly, bringing your knees to your chest. You sighed deeply. Being away from him hurt more than you thought it would, and you never recognized how much you needed him until you saw less of him.
âI miss being a kidâŠI miss the way we were,â you continued, âNot a single care in the world. I feel like the older we get, the less weâll see each other. I donât want that, Cho,â you mumbled, reextending your legs. His heart thrummed at your earnest confession as he leaned forward and captured your hand in his.
âIâm not goinâ anywhereâŠI can promise you that, sweetheart,â he reassured, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand.Â
The conversation quieted, his words of consolation seemed to ease your mind enough for you to fixate on the screen. He watched you through his peripherals as you giggled at the corniness of the movie. Choso tried his hardest to follow along, but there you were, sat before him in a thin tank top and skimpy pajama shorts. He sent a silent âthank youâ to the heavens; the record-high heatwave that plagued your city gifted him such a magnificent sight.
He side-eyed you, his vision tracing along your body. He took another bite of his pizza as he drank you in; dinner and a show. His vision followed every dip and curve of your almost fully exposed legs. He was thankful that you felt comfortable enough around him to dress how you pleased, but his dark heart wished you were sitting in just a thong, or better yet, fully nude. His eyes meandered north, hovering over the peaks of cleavage that your shirt didnât cover. He swallowed thickly, nearly choking on his food when another giggle erupted from you, your breasts bouncing as you laughed.
He smiled inwardly, your fear of losing him warmed his heart. He wasnât going anywhere. How else would he be able to see you like this; all nostalgic for him, the desperate expression on your face sent waves of arousal through his veins. His desire to know how youâd look splayed out underneath him rocketed through his body as he envisioned your fucked out face when he feathered hot, wet kisses along your neck and plunged two thick fingers deep inside youâŠhow pretty youâd look just for him. What sounds would you make when his throbbing cock was fully enveloped in your gushy walls? Would you whimper and whine? Would you cry out for him? Rake your nails down his torso with your eyes blown wide? He so badly craved the answers to his searing questions.
Your laughter panged through his chest, snapping him out of his trance. You were completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. But he liked it that way. You continued to sit so good for him, eyes casted toward the TV. If only you knew the innocent relationship you had manifested in that sweet little mind of yours was one-sided. For him, it was dirtyâdownright filthy and sinful. But you would never know that.
Blood rushed between his legs as he shifted on the floor. The movie had about twenty minutes left; he was trying to hold out until then. He was desperate for release, anxiously anticipating the thick load he would shoot out at the thought of you, though he would pretend that it was going inside of you, instead. Oh, how he wanted to breed you. How soft youâd look carrying his spawn. He shook his head as he cleared his throat, single handedly fighting off every demon known to man that was telling him to pounce on you. He couldnât. It would ruin the close friendship that took years to curate. It would kick him off the pedestal you placed him so highly on, tarnish the clean-cut version of him in your parentâs mind. He battled with his own thoughts as he mindlessly stared at the TV.Â
The end credits rolled and Choso stood abruptly.
âIâll catch you tomorrow, okay? Gotta get some sleep,â he said, readjusting his pants. You looked up at him, confusion evident on your pretty face.
âI thought you were spending the night,â you pouted, before pushing yourself off the ground.
âI knowâŠIâm sorry, sweetheart. But knowing us, weâd stay up all night watching TV and talking instead of actually sleeping,â he played off. The ache between his legs intensified at the thought of sharing a bed with you like you usually did when he slept over. But he canât. Not tonightâŠnot like this. Normally he was good about keeping his composure, but tonight was different. Your puppy dog eyes didnât help, either. He so badly wanted to see those same eyes gaze up at him while his cock was shoved down your throat. His dick pulsated against the soft fabric of his shorts as he shadowed you toward your bedroom door, taking an internal note of how good your ass looked as your shorts rode up between your plush cheeks. He nearly lost it as you skipped down the stairs, your precious mounds bouncing in all the right places. You opened the front door for him, spreading your arms to hug him goodbye. He opted for a side hug, knowing damn well you would have been able to feel his hard on from the full-frontal contact.Â
*à© â©â§âË
You closed the door, pressing your back against it as you wondered what had gotten into Choso this evening. He was always up for a sleepover. You shoved your hurt down, embarrassed by your apparent clinginess. A shudder ran down your spine at the thought of your neediness pushing him away. Your warm body glided toward the fridge, throwing it open and basking in the cool air as you grabbed yourself a drink. You shook the shame from your mind as you shuffled back up the stairs. You peered out your window and into Choso's room; it was dark. He mustâve gone straight to bed. You opened the bay windows to your bedroom. The cool air danced through the panes, swirling around the confines of your dwelling. You inhaled deeply before stripping down, settling peacefully atop your sheets; it was far too warm to be under the covers. Â
Choso surveyed you from the comforting shadows of his room. He did this frequently before the two of you had moved away, watching you get ready for bed with a firm grip on his shaft.Â
âThatâs it, prettyâŠtake it all off fâme,â he muttered. His strokes sped up as he watched you undress, the moonlight that seeped into your room illuminated your heavenly body so perfectly. He huffed as he watched you retreat to your bed, his hand stilling around his cock. The thought of you wasnât enough for him tonight. He needed you.
An hour or so passed before he ascended the tree that stood tall next to your window. His clammy hands gripped the railings that lined your small terrace as he heaved his body over, careful not to make a sound. He had done this many times before, whether his presence was expected or unbeknownst to you. He crept through the open window and entered your room, settling himself in the chair next to your bed. Your nude frame emanated the most ethereal energy, your bare chest rose and fell rhythmically, the soft gasps that fluttered from your parted lips sent blood straight to Chosoâs groin. He palmed himself through his pants, leaning back a bit to shove them down his legs. His hand paced up and down his length agonizingly slow, before he stopped dead in his tracks as soft groans emerged from your throat.
â-oso,â was all that was audible. His blood ran cold as he leaned closer to your slumbered body, ears ringing in hopes to hear more. Was thatâNoâŠit couldnât have been. You shifted a bit, another moan breaking through the silence of your room.
âMmmâŠChoso,â you whimpered dreamily, one hand moving to rest just under your navel. His heart rate spiked. He watched as your hand traced lower, snaking its way to your precious cunt. You rubbed sleepy circles in your clit as your head lulled to the side, soft, sweet whimpers dancing from your parted lips. It was now or never. He pulled his shorts back up as he situated himself on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hand against your shoulder.Â
You stirred a bit after a few gentle shakes of your body, your eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of the room. Your body went rigid as your eyes focused on the outline of a person sitting before you, but the familiar smell of Choso met your nose and kept you from jumping out of your skin. You closed your eyes again, the hand that was playing with your wet cunt moved over your body to grab his hand, squeezing gently. Choso nearly broke down at the contact, the stickiness that he so badly needed graced his skin, numbing his brain.Â
âHey, ChoâŠyâscared me. Thought you werenât sleeping over,â you murmured. Chosoâs conscious worked overtime to keep his composure leveled as he exhaled deeply.Â
âSeems like you needed me, though,â he chuckled. You hummed in response, your sleep-ridden mind not registering his comment. You began to doze off once again before panic rumbled through your body as you finally recollected the dream you were just immersed in. Then the realization hit. You shot upright, tearing your hand away from Choso as you grabbed for the covers, attempting to shield your naked body from him. You clicked on your bedside lamp, turning to Choso with your brows furrowed deeply. Your best friend just caught you in the middle of a wet dream. A dream about him. Embarrassment coupled with shame as you held the sheets tight against your body. You were thoroughly confusedâwhat was he even doing here? How much did he hear? You wanted to protest, to plead your case, to interrogate him. A million questions buzzed around your brain, but his hand was quick to cover your mouth.Â
âSâokay, sweetheart. Itâs just me,â he soothed. He kicked his shoes off and kneeled beside you, hand still firm against your face. Your shoulders were tense, but you relaxed a bit at the baritone voice that fell from his lips.
âDid you have a nice dream?â His question seemed rhetorical. He felt your face flush underneath his palm as you nodded slowly. He removed his hand and you spoke up immediately.
âHowâd you know Iââ
âWas watching you sleep,â he shrugged. âIâve wanted you for so longâŠfigured it was a lost cause. But it seems the feelings are mutual, huh, sweetheart?â he cooed, his body loomed over yours as his palm brushed your face, cradling your cheek.
âYou were tryinâ so hard to fight itâŠto pretend those dirty feelings for me didnât existâŠisnât that right?â He mused. You glanced down at his crotch, the heavy bulge pressed firm against his thin shorts. You audibly gulped, your breath caught in your throat before meeting his eyes. You nodded at him again.
âBet you dressed like that on purposeâŠsuch a tease,â he chastised, thumbing your cheek.
âGotta make up for lost time, yeah?â He ripped the duvet off of you and moved so he was hovering over you, your body laid out underneath him, his arms placed on either side of your head.Â
âChoâŠIâwe shouldnât,â your voice wavered, suddenly unsure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. Your hands rested on his broad shoulders. âI donât wanna lose youâŠdonât wanna ruin what we have,â you added, worry painted across your face, eyes fluttering back and forth between his. You were splayed out beneath him, fully nude, every dark secret of yours laid out in front of Choso. The hungry look in his eyes caused your arousal to drip onto the sheets beneath you.Â
âWanted this for years, pretty girl. I already told you Iâm not goinâ anywhere,'' his head dipped down to lick a thick stripe down your neck. âYou gonna let me take care of you now?â he questioned, lips pressed against your flesh, nipping at the sensitive skin. Your back arched immediately at the sensation. You moaned softly in response as you ran your hands up and down his toned back.Â
âTell me, pretty girl,â his fingers danced down your body, teasing the skin around your core. âTell me you want me as much as Iâve wanted you,â he whispered in your ear.Â
âW-want youâŠCho. So badâŠneeded you for s-so long,â you begged, your brain fogged and voice airy while your hands clawed desperately at his back. He smirked at you as he sat back on his heels, tearing his clothes from his body. Your eyes dragged up and down the man you had grown up with. A part of you knew how you felt about him, knew how much you needed him. But you didnât understand the full depth of that need until he was kneeled before you, perspiration glistening along his toned body as he repositioned, laying himself along the bed, his face settled right above your dripping cunt. The way he looked at you through his luscious, jet-black lashes set your pounding heart ablaze.Â
You couldnât fully comprehend what was happening. All you could feel were the sharp aches in your core as he teasingly ran his fingers through your slit. He smiled against your thigh as he plunged his fingers in immediately. You gasped at the intrusion before succumbing to the pleasure as the pads of his fingers massaged your sweet spot.
There was a sense of urgency behind his movements; the lack of time he gave you to adjust to the stretch, the way he was thrusting so fervently into you and how hungrily he bit at your fleshâit was overwhelming. He pumped into you, tirelessly working to coax an orgasm out of you. The first of many. He tilted his head down to watch his fingers disappear inside of you. He used his other hand to rub your sensitive clit, before quickly replacing it with his tongue. He wanted to drink you in for as long as he could, your juices satiating the hungriest part of him. Â
His eyes blew wide, âFuckâyouâre so sweet, pretty girl,â he breathed, lapping at your core. He needed more, needed you to fall apart on all of himâhis fingers, his mouth, his cock. You were going to take everything he gave you. You cried out for him, your hips spasming against the bed. He grinned before latching back on to your clit, sucking harshly, working into you like it was his lifeâs mission to please you. And in his mind, it was. He was set on releasing a decadeâs worth of pent-up frustration on your pretty little body.
âF-fuck Choâah!âIâm gonnaâŠâ your voice trailed off as your pussy clenched down on his fingers. He groaned at the tightness, tongue still swirling around your sensitive bud. A shudder ran down your spine as your orgasm ripped through your body. He continued to pump into you, suckling harshly against your clit before swirling around your entrance to ensure he drank up every drop.Â
He knew he should wait and give you time to recover. But the way your body twitched and writhed for him ripped away the sense of gentleness and morality that he usually had. It was all too much. He wanted to ruin you, to punish you for holding out on him for so long. He needed to be balls deep, needed to mold you around his cockâhe had waited years for this. He sat up abruptly, wrapping your shaking legs around his waist as he lined himself up with your soaked entrance. Your chest heaved and your eyelids grew heavy while your body worked through the comedown. He pushed into you, fully sheathing himself inside your pulsating walls. Your eyes widened while your hands pushed against his abdomen.Â
âWait, Choââ
âSâokay, sweet girl. I got youâŠfocus on me,â he soothed, his pelvis flush against you as he took a hold of your wrists, pushing them over your head and pressing them against the headboard. He found an unrelenting tempo in you. You body spasmed and squirmed at his pace, jolting each time his thick cock brushed against your still sensitive g-spot. He was stuffed so deep inside of you, savoring the way your messy pussy sucked him in. He released your hands and leaned back, finding his bearings on your hip bones, pulling you toward him to meet his thrusts. Grunts rumbled from deep in his chest as he felt you clench around him. He looked down to watch himself disappear inside you, the squelching sounds and labored moans that filled the room made him choke.
âNasty fuckinâ girlâŠyouâre lovinâ this arenât ya?â he teased. You couldnât fathom a response. Your body had passed the point of overstimulation as his brutal pace pulled another earth-shattering orgasm from your wrecked body, painting his abdomen with your squirt. He dropped his head back, animalistic sounds flying past his lips as the warm spray splattered onto his skin. He pulled out of you before shoving right back in. You cried out, body trying to squirm out of grasp.
âC-canâtâŠsâtoo much,â you sobbed out. You meant it, it was too much. But the pleasure that clawed its way through your trembling frame was unreal; addictive, even. He simultaneously numbed your body and made you feel every sensation in the known universe.Â
âUh uhâŠalmost done, prettyâstay right there,â he growled, âJust give me one more.â He wanted to live in this moment forever. Every stolen glance, dirty thought, and shameful ejaculation to the thought of you was nothing compared to the way your pretty little pussy clenched around him. He had ached over the mere thought of you for years and his body brimmed with arousal at his darkest dreams coming to fruition. And though he wanted to paint your sloppy walls with his thick seed, the wanton desire for you overpowered his need for release.
Your eyes rolled back in your skull as your shaking hands searched for any part of him to hold on to. You were a panting mess, fat tears running down your face. And it was all for him. He was drunk on the way your fucked out face lazily looked up at him as you fell apart on his cock. He made quick work of burning that image on the inside of his eyelids.
âDoinâ so good. Stay with me, sweetheart,â he grunted, his hips slamming into you. It was so sloppy nowâŠso nasty. He fucked into you with feverish passion, and your body shook as the coils in your tummy crept up once again.Â
âCâmonâŠjust one more. Know you can do it,â he urged, his aching cock absolutely obliterating you. His fingertips gripped your flesh so tightly, he prayed it would bruise. He hoped his mark would be left on you, an aching reminder that you belonged to him. You always had. He fucked into you, his tip kissing your cervix so perfectly. You cried out, clenching down on him again, your third orgasm crashing through you in a blinding haze.Â
âS-shitâŠso good. Godâyouâre fuckinâ milking me,â he growled out as he twitched inside, swears and praises cascaded from his parted lips as he chased his own release. It only took a few more thrusts before his hips stuttered against you and he finished deep inside, pumping you full of his cum. He remained sheathed within your walls, his palms running up and down your dazed out frame.
He leaned down, catching your lips in a needy, wet kiss. You were stunned into silence, your body cemented to the bed, convinced that you had lucidly dreamed this entire ordeal. You winced at the ache of Choso finally pulling out, missing the deep stretch of his cock as he leaned over to scour your drawers for a rag to clean you up. He feathered gentle kisses after each pass of the cloth. He laid by your side and you curled into him immediately, his arms snaking around your fragile body.Â
âI canât believe that just happened,â you whispered, breath shaking. He smiled before kissing the top of your head. âBut Iâm so happy it did,â you added, pressing yourself deeper into his side as his fingers brushed along your skin, soothing you toward a deep, satisfying slumber. Choso reveled in the dream-like trance he found himself in. His heart soared at his achievement that was years in the making, his body crossing the line that divided reality with heaven. He finally got you, and he was never, ever letting you go.
*à© â©â§âË
author notes: thank you so so so much for 250 followers...i literally cannot believe it. if i could remove a piece of my heart and send it to y'all i would
my inbox is open and i'm always working thru my requests, feel free to send your suggestions here âŸ
every like, comment, and reblog makes me sob uncontrollably...your support means the world to me xx
© bratbby333 on tumblr. all rights reserved. please do not distribute. 2024.
#âwritten by jade đż#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jujutsu choso#choso#choso kamo#choso smut#choso x reader#kamo choso#jjk choso#jujustu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen writing#jjk smut#jjk fanfic#jjk oneshot#choso kamo smut#choso x female reader#choso kamo x reader#choso x you#bratbby333
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
â© â§âË â©ăi know you still think about the times we had
synopsis. satoru will always comes when you call him, he just never thought youâd stop calling
â word count. 5.2k (where did i go wrong)
â contents. college au, rich boy! gojo, break ups and make ups <3, itâs the cliche trope where the rich guyâs parent forces you to leave him aka gojoâs father is the villain, angst with a happy endingâi donât want my cause of death to be angry rb! gojo stans, emo gojo ft. marvinâs room (iykyk), cliche rain sceneâthis fic is so cliche iâm sorry, reader is gn! but gojo is mentioned to like pics of girls on instagram (he was being petty)
â notes. well, it finally happened. the long awaited break up. this oneâs for you niku đ€đœ AND DABITEE ANON
you open the door when satoru knocksâjust barely, though. itâs just enough to hand him the bag with the remaining things heâs left at your apartment. it feels familiar, being here, but it feels so different too. itâs always been happy knocking on your doorâhe never thought heâd dread letting his knuckles meet the cool wood. itâs like taking the last bite of something sweet when youâre too full. when the sugar is too decadent on your tongue and your head spins and your stomach twists and itâs too much even though it used to be so good.
itâs too much being here. itâs too much trying to meet your gaze and get nothing in return. itâs too much being handed back that sweater he basically let you keep. and yet, itâs good to see you. he wants nothing more than to be here with you, wherever you are, even if you donât want him to stay.
âthat should be everything,â you murmur, still looking down. âlet me know if thereâs anything missing.â
satoru would never tell you if thereâs something missing. heâd never come back and demand back something he gave you, he doesnât think he could ever take back something he gave youâbeing handed back his heart after pressing it to your palms is hard enough. but then again, maybe he should look for small things you probably missed. just so he can come back. just so he can see youâhow else will he see you now?
âno, itâs alright,â he says quietly. he doesnât miss the way you quickly let go as soon as his hands grab the bag, almost like youâre being careful enough not to let your fingers meet each other. âyou can uhâŠyou can just keep them. orâŠthrow them out if you donât want them,â he mumbles.
you nod, standing there silently. itâs quiet, and then itâs quiet some more. and finally, you look up at him for the first time since he got here, staring at him a little expectantly. oh, right. now would be the part where he leaves.
âcan iâŠcan i just know why?â he croaks. fuck. heâs not supposed to cry. you ripped his heart out and threw it at his feet, you didnât even care to hand it to him even after you tore every artery apart. but he sniffles anyway, lips wobbling as he stares at you. âwhy are you leaving me?â
your fingers twitch, like you itch to reach over and wipe that tear that rolls down his cheek. in the end, you cross your arms instead. âi already told you, satoruââ
âthatâs bullshit,â he clicks his teeth, shaking his head as he stares at you frustratedly, âyou gave me some bullshit reason.â
satoru has worked so hard to be hereâto be with you. hadnât he done enough? hadnât he told you about himself, things he didnât want to? hadnât he tried to become something, someone more than just a guy swimming in trust funds? hadnât he worked for your attention, waited outside classes and walked opposite directions in the hall with you just to seem dedicated? fuck, he even burned his hand trying to learn how to make pancakes to impress you, let the maids laugh at him as he twisted the stove the wrong way to try and turn it on.Â
why wasnât it enough? what more could he give you than everything? how can the guy who has everything not have enough to give? he doesnât understand.
âsatoru, we werenât gonna work,â you pinch your noseâitâs like youâre the one who doesnât understand why heâs being like this. âthe sooner you accept that the more hurt youâre saving the both of usââ
âwe were working just fine,â he says exasperatedly. itâs like you insist heâs crazy when heâs nothing but sane. like heâs trying to tell you the sky is blue, and youâre refusing to believe itâs anything other than green. itâs clear. itâs practically a fact. you were doing just fineâwhy donât you see that? âwe were happy,â he takes a step forward and cups your cheeks, pressing his forehead to yours, âwas it someone? did they tell you something? just tell me who, babyâiâll fix it. iâll put them in their place, okay? no one can bother you if i get them to leave you aloneââ
âthen you leave me alone,â you whisper. he stills. you pull away from his hands. âsatorâgojo. please just leave me alone. itâs better that way.â
you close the door, and he stands there. numb. maybe a little shocked. entirely ruined.
gojo. he laughs quietly after a moment at thatâitâs a laugh meant for men whoâve lost the last thread to sanity. gojo. itâs like a slap in the face, being called the name he worked so hard to get you to drop. it took him weeksâmonths, even, to convince you to call him satoru. then he upgraded to toru. then it was baby. sometimes you teased him and called him pumpkinâhe called you peaches in return. when you introduced him, you called him your boyfriend.Â
not anymore. now heâs back to gojoâthat god-forsaken name with everything but what he really wants attached to it. his grandfatherâs legacy. his future. business deals. fancy invites. more money than he knows what to do with. the name gojo comes with everything but you.
but he had you for a bit, didnât he? when he was just satoruâbut now heâs gojo again, and youâre gone. the only sign of you left is in the faint traces of your perfume in the sweaters youâve returned.Â
and satoru still isnât sure what brought the break up on. he thinks itâs the part that stings the mostâwhen everything seems perfect one second, and then itâs not. had he not tried enough? maybe he was too much. maybe he didnât understand you the way you needed him to. maybe he was too overbearing. maybe he asked for too much too fast.Â
heâs not sure. he tried asking when you broke it offâyou only shook your head and said it wasnât going to work out between the two of you, that it was a mistake to try at all. mistake? how could you call this a mistake? things were so perfect, werenât they?
satoru doesnât think there was even one second he wasnât smiling when he was with you, and he used to think the same was true for you too. had you been faking it this long? or was it real at one pointâhad he really failed you so badly, seen past you so blindly that he didnât notice when your smiles stopped reaching your eyes?
itâs too late, he figures. you and satoru are broken up.Â
you ask him to come over one morning, and he doesâbecause he always comes when you call. he brings your coffee order from that cafe you like, the one you donât go to often because the coffee is more overpriced than any other coffee shop youâve ever seen. heâs grinning when you open the door, leans in to kiss your lips excitedly. you turn your head then, and his lips meet your cheeks insteadâhe supposes he shouldâve known it at that moment. he shouldâve seen that your lips werenât smiling. your eyes were tired, a little red. you were hugging yourself in that way you do when youâre nervous. you didnât let him kiss your lips, you made him kiss your cheek.Â
and then you sat him down on that worn-down couch of yours, took off that bracelet his mother gave him to gift you on your anniversary, and pressed it to his palm as you said we should break up. break up. you wanted to leave himâand satoru didnât understand, still doesnât understand.Â
heâs tried for so long, replayed the last month of your relationship in his head over and over and fucking over. you always smiled. you kissed him first. you held his hand, and even squeezed. you asked to see him. you laughed when he was around. you said i love you. you were happy. but then you werenâtâwhen did you stop being happy? and how could you have stopped feeling it with him?
âââââ
breaking up with satoru is the hardest thing youâve ever done. how long can people live without the sun? you think not longer than a few minutesâthatâs what it feels like without satoruâs warmth, anyway.Â
gojo satoru has always smiled as long as heâs been with you. he smiled smugly on your first meet, smiled bitterly after every rejection, smiled in pure glee when you finally said yes, and smiled like his fingertips could touch the sky every time he saw you after that.Â
satoru has never looked sad for long in your presenceâyou have that effect on him, you make his lips curl and his eyes brighten in that way that they deserve to shine. but for the first time ever, his eyes dim with you around, his lips curl into a frown at your words, and he cries for you. his eyes glisten with tears instead of wonder, and you think for a moment that you might be making a mistake.Â
but then you remember that this is for the bestâthat if you really love gojo satoru, youâll let him go instead of clipping his wings.
âheâs picked up his things,â you speak quietly into the phone. you donât sniffle even as you desperately need toâitâs the last bit of control you have left, and you intend to keep it. âi wonât be seeing him again.â
âgood,â his father speaks, âthatâs good to hear.âÂ
satoruâs father is a cold man, you learn that on the first meet. he doesnât look at his wife with a soft look that tells you thereâs any love built between the decades of marriage, and he doesnât look at his only son with any affection for the boy he raised. instead, he stares at satoru like any businessman would an opportunityâwith a calculating gaze that tries to work out the best course of action for the most profit.Â
satoru is young, but heâs charming and conniving and knows how to get what he wants when he wantsâheâs quick on his feet and rarely lets himself get cornered into a wall. in the last three generations of the family business, no heir has shown as much promise as gojo satoru. thatâs what his father tells you, anyway. you believe himâsatoru is smart and knows how to play his cards right, you wonât deny that. his future is set to be comfortable, and heâs never known anything outside of that, never built any other plans for himself.Â
you canât rip that away from himânot for your own sake, not for your own happiness.Â
âyou promised you wouldnât freeze his trust funds once i ended things,â you remind him, âand that heâd keep his inheritance.â somehow, because the world grants you this one favor, your voice doesnât shakeâitâs steady and firm as it reminds the stone-cold man at the end of the line of your agreementâand he offers a slow chuckle that makes your jaw clench.Â
âyes, i do recall,â he hums, âiâm glad we could come to agree. you understand, donât you? it is my job as his father to do whatâs best for him.â
you know what heâs sayingâwhat that means. youâre not whatâs best for him. maybe heâs rightâmaybe satoru needs someone whoâs equally as promising to build a successful company into even more success. maybe he needs someone who can take him out for a change to those fancy places he takes you every few weeks. maybe he needs someone whoâs heard of half the brands he wears and doesnât scold him to turn the lights off so the electricity bill isnât high. maybe he needs someone who can keep up with everything that gojo satoru isâand that someone is not you, no matter how deeply you love him.Â
ââthe offer still stands, should you change your mind. iâm willing to compensate you for the trouble this must all be.âÂ
your lips curl into a scowl at his words. thatâs the thing about rich people, you thinkâmoney is always enough to sugarcoat everything. why worry about the dead grass in your lawn when you can paint it green? but you donât leave satoru for extra cash on your handsânothing can be worth auctioning off the only man whoâs ever made you feel anything. you leave satoru because he deserves to continue living comfortably, to make a name for himself that isnât just a ghost of his fatherâs. if that means being cut from the corner of the picture, youâre willing to pick up the scissors yourself.Â
âno thanks,â you hiss, âi donât need the money.â
âi would disagree,â his father sneers, âbut suit yourself.â
the line ends, and for good this time, satoru is no longer yours. was he ever to begin with?Â
âââââ
you try to forget your ex-boyfriendâkeyword, try. every hour of your life consists of you using your burner account to refresh his instagram page to see if heâs posted anything new. you unfollow satoru from every social media platform the same day he picks up his belongingsâyou know heâs noticed within the first thirty minutes because all of his pictures with you are gone, just like all your pictures with him.Â
in what you assume is an attempt to be petty, he likes every picture of every girl he sees, and he even blocks you on twitterâyou know he picks twitter because twitter is the only social media that blatantly states youâre blocked. but then youâre unblocked in two days, and you know he must be missing you now that the initial anger is faded.Â
it makes you laugh a little, even through your tears. satoru is not satoru without petty fits of emotion, and you canât bring yourself to be mad, not when itâs your fault heâs hurting like this. heâs extra sad today, you gatherâif the way marvinâs room is posted to his instagram story on a blank screen is of any hint. it makes you scoff in amusement that in true gojo satoru fashion, heâs effectively told all eight-thousand-something of his followers heâs pathetically in his feelings.Â
you scroll through suguruâs story, tooâhe didnât unfollow you even after satoru temporarily blocked you, but you figure suguru is the only person satoru really has. you shouldnât keep yourself close to him, not when it could hurt satoru more, so you remove him too.Â
suguru is, as always, drinking at some fancy party with obnoxiously rich college students who have not a care in the world for midterms around the corner. who needs to pass when youâre swimming in money whether or not you have a degree? the first thing you learn about the rich is that most of them are only at college for the experienceâthey donât see college as the stepping stone to better opportunities, thereâs nothing education could offer that trust funds already donât. but satoru attends college for himselfâhe enjoys business classes, you learn, and especially finance ones. for someone who spends money so carelessly, he understands it particularly well.Â
thereâs no sign of satoru at whatever party it is suguru is at, thereâs no trace of strikingly bright white strands anywhere in any cornersâyou do see naoya in a corner, though, and you crinkle your nose in distaste. if satoru were here, heâd say something bitterly under his breath about the asshole, and you would giggle. but satoru is not here, and even naoya the women-hating jackass makes you miss your obnoxiously whiny ex-boyfriend.Â
everything reminds you of satoru. that bear he won you at the fair (after maybe six tries) by your pillows, those polaroids at your desk that you canât bring yourself to take down, that sticky note on your fridge he left promising to replace the creamer he finished (heâs replaced it more times than heâs needed to by now), that extra big blanket you keep on the couch because the old one barely covered his legs, that pair of silly matching mugs you both had for coffee in the mornings.Â
every corner of your apartment has something that reminds you that satoru was here, that he was yours, that for a short while, he was the best thing you ever had. itâs your fault, you thinkâthat satoru and you are here in this mess in the first place. heâs always looked at life through a hopeful lens. having everything does that to you, makes you ignorant to the misfortunes of the world, makes you think everything is within the realm of your reach. you, on the other hand, knew this was bound to happen. the two of you together is like hot oil and cool waterâwhat feels like sparks is just the oil shooting out to burn you. you shouldâve known this would have never lasted.Â
in a way, you think you did. itâs why you hated him so fiercely at firstâmaybe deep down, you always knew you wanted him, that he would never be yours. maybe thatâs why you were so adamant about rejecting him, that even when he was clearly trying, it would never be enough. satoru has always been enough, has always been what everyone has wantedâyouâre not so sure you can say the same for yourself.Â
you love gojo satoru. he loves you tooâhe falls first, and you think maybe, he might have fallen harder too. no one loves like satoru. they say if you press coal hard enough, it turns to diamondsâyou think if you gave satoru coal, he would hand you back the sun and all of her stars. itâs just the kind of guy he is, the one that turns everything dull into something bright and warm and worth it. you wish you didnât have to break his heart, you wish you couldâve walked out of this the only one hurt. but maybe, at the very least, if you break him good enough that he hates you, heâll move on quicker, maybe have something to look forward to while you continue to work your way up and cheer him on.Â
before you can refresh suguruâs page one more time to stalk his story, youâre pulled from your thoughts as someone knocks on your doorâcorrection: pounds on your door. you jolt on your couch, standing up and making your way to the front door quickly and looking through the peephole.Â
satoru. of course.
heâs soaked to the boneâitâs raining outside, and of course, just as on brand as always, he mustâve rushed here without an umbrella.
you shouldnât open it.
but you canât just leave him in the rain, can you? but heâs not your problem anymore, you agreed to leave him, didnât you? but how could he not be your problem when heâs all you think about? but this could cause him trouble if his father found out he was here, right? but can you really leave someone, ex-boyfriend or not, in the pouring rain? you canât be that cruel can you?
before you can make up your mind, he speaks up, âi know youâre standing there. open the door,â he demands.Â
âsatoru, go home,â you sigh, head pressing against the surface that separates you, âdonât make this anymore difficult than it has to be.â
âif itâs difficult, that means you donât really want to do this,â he argues. heâs still as good as ever at sweet talk, still as persistent and charming as ever at getting what he wants. âplease,â he croaks, âjust let me in.â
you know it means more than one thing. you know it means more than just your home. but you shouldnât, you canât let him know why you did all thisâhow can you protect someone from something if they donât let you? satoru would never let you if he knew, and thatâs why you canât let him know.Â
âsatoru, if you donât leaveâŠiâllâŠiâll call the cops,â you warn.Â
âno you wonât,â he says instantly. âiâm not leaving until you open the door. and if i get sick, iâll send you my bill for the emergency room visit.â
âyouâre not going to the emergency room for a common cold, you idiot,â you scoff.Â
the rain doesnât slowâin fact, you can hear thunder. satoru is still stubbornly outside, knocking away.Â
âiâll start screaming,â he insists, âyour neighbors will complain for noise again. do you want to be kicked out of this apartment? just let your cold, wet, heartbroken ex-boyfriend in if you have a heart.â
and because you are, and always will be, weak to the charms of gojo satoru, you open that damned doorâeven though you shouldnât, even though you canât, even though you said you would never again. but you do. because itâs satoru, and he always comes when you call, and youâll always let him in when heâs here.Â
âyou donât come to your exâs house less than one week after the break up,â you sigh once you open the door. he takes a step in, shutting the door behind him.Â
âwhy did you leave me?â he asks.Â
âsatoru, you canât keep bringing this upââ
âwhy? just tell me why.â
âi donât have toââ
âtell me why and iâll stop bothering you. i just need to know why,â he insists.Â
and then you break.
youâre only human. youâve lost the man youâve given everything to for over a year in the span of one week. youâll never see his lovely mother again who spoiled you rotten, youâll never hang out out with his funny best friend who treats you like family, and youâll never be enough for gojo satoru, the rich, loud, sheltered, obnoxious, handsome jackass you met and had to do a project with and accidentally fucked over and over again until you fell in love.Â
so you shove his chest, once, then twice, then a third time, each time getting weaker and weaker than the last as tears slip down your cheeks as you simply break down. âjust leave, satoru,â you sob, âwhy canât you just leave? why do you keep coming back?â
you hate seeing him here. you want him gone. you never want to see him again. you hope he never leaves. youâre glad to see him. you hope this isnât the last time. you hate that he seems to not be getting enough sleep. his eyes are hollow. he must not be eating properly. he probably hasnât attended class. he has a quiz next week. he most likely forgot about that. his clothes are wrinkly. he definitely hasnât showered in days.Â
âlast month you said i was it for you,â he glares at you, his eyes red and swollen and every shade of heartbreak. you miss when they were blueâthat beautiful, bright, perfect shade of blue. âlast week you said we were a mistake. what the fuck do you mean, huh? what are you playing at?â
âyou can realize a lot in a monthââ
ânot enough to erase over a year,â his voice booms. it makes you flinch and hug yourself tightly. tears slide down your cheeks, your vision is blurry. this might be the last time you see satoru, and even if heâs angry, you want to remember the curves of his features. so you wipe them away. they keep coming back. âso tell me,â he clenches his jaw, âdid you string me along for a year or did something happen last week that youâre not telling me?â
âi realized you were bad for me,â you say quietly.Â
satoru stares at you. itâs a piercing gazeâhis eyes are electrically blue and his lashes are unfairly long and every time he stares at you, you think he almost sees into your soul. theyâre tiredâthere are purplish bags under them on that pale skin of his, and the whites of his eyes are concerningly bloodshot. he stares, and stares, and for a second, you think youâll die like this. watching him stare at you as your heart bleeds out.Â
âi spent weeks,â his voice shakes, âi waited outside your class. i followed you to the next one. i memorized your fucking schedule.â
âsatoru, you need to leaveââ
âand then you fucked me and left every morning like i was nothing,â he glares, sniffling. you donât know where the rain drops on his face start and where the teardrops end. âand then i begged you for a chanceâbegged. i burned my hand, got laughed at by the maids to learn how to make those stupid fucking pancakes for you.â
âi didnât ask you toââ
âit took you two months to call me baby for the first time. did you know that? i waited two months to hear that. i thought it was the best two months i ever waited.â
âsatoru,â you plead.Â
youâve given up on trying to wipe away the tearsâheâs given up on crying altogether. youâve never seen him so hollow, so dead in the eyes and so, so tired.
satoru has never gotten tiredânot when heâs fighting for you.
âand then you kept pushing me away, acting like i was some shallow guy who wanted to get in your pants and leave cause i had some money to my name. i took you everywhere, introduced you proudly, let everyone say what they wanted to say about me because i loved you, andâŠand i thought you loved me too,â he shakes his head.Â
his voice breaks, and god, so does your heart right along with it.
âi do love you,â you admit it before you realize what youâre saying.Â
âthen why did you fucking leave me?â his voice is loud.
satoru never yells, not at you. his voice is always gentle, patient, like he worships the ground you walk on, like heâll get on his knees if you ask him too. satoru never yellsâbut he does tonight.Â
âbecause i had to,â you sob, fingers digging into your temples as you shake. the words spill from your lips faster than the tears, like a swarm of angry bees, one following after the other. âor youâd lose everything. the trust funds, the inheritance, the company. i couldnât let that happen to youânot for me,â you whisper.Â
it feels like defeatâin the end, you couldnât keep satoru, and you couldnât leave him either. you couldnât love him like you wanted, and you couldnât let him go like you should have. what else is there left to fuck up? what more can you ruin in less than a week? the bees feel like maggots in your mouth, swarming a dead carcass. Â
âso you left me because my old man threatened you with my trust funds?â he asks in disbelief. you think something in satoru dies at thatâsomething in his shoulders falls and his eyes almost seem gray.Â
satoru gets his blue eyes from his motherâtheyâre bright and kind and deeper than the ocean. but unlike the ocean, theyâre not scary to fall into, to lose yourself in no matter how far you are from shore. his fatherâs eyes are grayâcold and blank and not laced with a single hint of emotion.Â
you canât help but think that blue suits satoru so much better than gray ever could.Â
âit wasnât just that,â you shake your head, âthatâs not fair, satoru. what was i supposed to do? know you were about to lose everything and stay?â
âyou could have talked to me before you decided for me,â he hisses, âwhat do you want me to say? thank you? thank you for breaking my heart? thank you for making me feel like a worthless piece of shit who wasted a year for someone who didnât seem to care? thank you for walking out on me?â
âyou know iâd have stayed if i could,â you argue, voice breaking.
âthen why didnât you? why the fuck didnât you?â
âbecause i couldnât!â
âyou could!â he screamsâyou realize, for the first time in your life, you hate when satoru screams. he never screams. âall my life, that old man has been making decisions for me. satoru, wear this. satoru, go here. satoru, donât do that. satoru, put that away. satoru, stay away from them. satoru, come with me. thatâs all heâs ever fucking doneâmake every choice for me. and nowâŠnow youâre just like him,â he breathes, lips wobbling as he stares at you with hurt.Â
itâs like that for a bitâyou stare at him as he crumbles, and he stares at you like he doesn't know you anymore. you donât know who leans in first, if itâs your hand or his face, but one second youâre feet apart, and the next second his face is cradled in your hands, thumbs swiping away at his tears. you catch them, one by one, waiting to wipe them away no matter how fast they come. because satoru always comes when you call, and youâll always be there for him to find you.Â
âi donât want to leave,â you mumble, âi never do. you are it for me, i meant that, you know. who else will melt extra chocolate in my hot chocolate?â
âthen donât leave,â he begs, voice cracking, âi donât want you to. iâll handle that old geezerâmy grandfather will knock some sense into him. fuck, suguru and i can even hide his body, itâs fine. just donât leave, okay?â
you let out a watery chuckle, pinching his cheek as you shake your head. âi donât know if iâm worth homicide, satoru.â
âi think youâre wrong,â he huffs, âyouâre wrong about a lot of things, you know. so wrong.â
âi never said i was perfect,â you pout.
he buries his head into your neck, clinging to you tightlyâyou cling back, because nothing is as safe as satoruâs arms. youâd melt into his skin if you could, live in that spot right where his heart is so you can make sure itâs always beating.Â
âyouâre still perfect,â he mumbles, âbut youâre always mean to me. this was the worst youâve ever been.â
âiâm sorry,â you murmur, slipping your fingers into his hairâitâs still wet, you realize. heâs soaked, and he could catch a cold but you donât care. satoru is back. heâs here in your run-down apartment with the mugs and the blanket and that toothbrush you forgot to return and that pair of socks you found in your drawer. satoru is finally home. âiâll never leave you again.â
âpromise?â
âyeah. as long as you donât block me on twitter again.â
âyou deserved that.â
âand for the love of god, toru, delete that marvinâs room story. that was so dumb.â
âare you stalking me?â he pulls away with a grin, making you glare with a huff. he chuckles, kisses your forehead as he murmurs, âmissed me that bad, huh? yeah, i would too.â
âwell, obviously not enough to post marvinâs room on my story.â
âyou canât be mean to me after you broke my heart!â he whines.
yeah, you think, satoru is home. heâs still that loud, obnoxious, pestering brat that he always wasâand heâs still the only love youâve ever known.Â
âi love you,â you press your forehead to his, kissing him slowly. you want to kiss him harder, you want to kiss him desperately like youâll never kiss him again. like you lost him and miraculously got him back. like youâll never see the sun again without him.Â
but thereâs time for thatâlots of it, in fact. because satoru is home.
âi love you too,â he whispers, âwanna shower with me? if you really love me, you would.â
read the makeup sex sequel ;) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
if this fic was a person i would want it dead.
#teepods.writings#fics.#rich boy! au#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo angst#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen angst#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk angst#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru angst
15K notes
·
View notes
Text
Service Dog
Monstertober 2024 - day 18 [ Hybrid ] by @ozzgin
[ m!dog hybrid x gn!reader ]
Nobody is as loyal and obedient as your boyfriend. He was like that from the start. Once he spotted you, he followed you like a shadow, sometimes from afar, sometimes up close. You thought he was being stalkerish, but your friends explained to you that dog hybrids are simply like that. Soon, you weren't able to live without him. You moved in together quickly after starting your relationship.
He loves being at home with you, but he enjoys the outdoors and his friends as well. Your dog hybrid boyfriend respects your family and friends, he loves whoever you love and dislikes whoever you have beef with.
But he is always so desperate to have you for himself. Alert and cool, sometimes even boorish in front of others, when you're alone, he turns into the most doting, gentle and clingy boyfriend. His horny levels are off the charts and he immediately notices when you get aroused. Well, you don't feel that itch for long. In the shower, in the kitchen, in the bedroom. He would fuck you in every room, on every surface that was able to withstand your weight and force of his thrusts. And you still broke several pieces of furniture before learning your lesson.
You both have jobs and friends, and have to spend some time apart. He never deals with that easily. If you have to leave first, he follows you to your office door or café parking lot. He has a nasty habit of growling at every person he finds mistrustful. Sometimes you have to scold him. He dislikes that, but only because he can't immediately show you what a perfect service top he can be. But at least he can demonstrate his submissive side later.
If he has to go somewhere without you, he whines and holds you tightly. "What if something happens to you while I'm away," he used to complain. That's why he installed cameras all over the apartment, and now regularly watches you over a phone app.
You made sure to give him a show from time to time, walking naked or masturbating in front of those low-res cameras, just to fire him up. Then he would return home and tie you to the bed, ass up, and fuck you into your pillows until your mattress was drenched from your juices.
#monster#monstertober#monstertober 24#monster romance#monster lover#monster fucker#monster fuqqer#monster boyfriend#monster fudger#monster smut#monster imagine#dog hybrid#dog hybrid x reader#monster x gn reader#monster x you#monster x reader#smut#slightlyknotinsane#ski.doc#ski.monstertober
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
I've Been Waiting For You | Azriel
summary: Azriel finally meets the one he's been longing for. His mate.
warnings: mentions of death (since the suriel & reader are friends); some angst but also fluff because Az deserves to be happy âĄ
a/n: This is part of my ABBA x ACOTAR series (masterlist) where I dedicate a song to a character (: The lyrics kind of reminded me of Alice & Jasper from twilight and how she had a vision of meeting him. This does go back and forth a lot in the beginning between past and present and came out longer than I thought it would. It's 9.6K words (which for me is long lol.) I apologize if there are any spelling errors. I've read this multiple times but somehow, always miss a couple.
As the moonlight dances upon the water's surface, the river transforms into a liquid ribbon of silver, weaving through the city of Starlight. Anticipation fills the air as Azriel walks across the bridge that spans the Sidra, his massive Illyrian wings glistening in midnight hues under the pale moonlight.Â
Shadows play hide-and-seek as they travel through the night, drawn to the silhouette of a female figure. An intruder. Yet, Azriel's shadows dare to whisper something different into his ears.
âIâve been waiting for you.â
Your voice, carried by the wind, reaches him like a sweet caress, daring to awaken something deep within him. Beautiful. His shadows respond with a frenzy, a whirl of darkness singing wild tales into his ears, urging him forward. Meanwhile, his brain screams at the potential threat.
More tendrils of darkness dart toward you, ignoring their masterâs orders to return. You donât seem bothered by them. In fact, you seem to welcome them as if theyâre old friends of yours.Â
Azriel swallows, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, unsure what to make of this.Â
âWho are you?â
Finally, you turn around and Azriel feels like the wind has been knocked out of him when his gaze meets yours. In the midst of the surrounding darkness, your eyes gleam with an inexplicable brightness. Specs of silver glimmer in your eyes, mirroring the stars above, as they shine back at him. Â
âThatâs for you to decide,â you reply with a smile that carries both hope and a sense of knowing as you follow after him and take a step forward.
âBut for now, Iâd like to speak with your High Lady.â
Months beforeâŠ
The brilliance of a thousand stars shine down on you and the night seems to hold its breath, as if it too, awaits the whispered prophecies from the celestial expanse above. Like always, you are itching to unveil them with your finely attuned senses. A gust of cool wind brushes through your hair, sending shivers down your exposed skin. Pulling your gaze away from the night sky, you turn in time to see a cloaked figure approaching like a shadow in the night.
Your lips curve into a smile. âHello, friend.â
ây/n.â The Suriel greets you, hovering beside you. Then, not missing another beat, he says, âI told her Rhysand was her mate.â
Your eyes widen in surprise, a gasp escaping your lips. âYou did not.â
âI did.â He grins back at you, flashing you his stained teeth.
You canât help but laugh a little at your dear old friend. The Suriel lets out a rattled sound you discern as a laugh as he joins you. Always the one for dramatics. You still remember hearing about his first encounter with Feyre Archeron and how he told her to stay with the High Lord.
âI told her she must stay with the High Lord.â
âDid you specify which one?â
âWhereâs the fun in that?â
âIâm sure she handled it well,â you respond but your smile fades, giving way to a wistful expression. âSheâs lucky. Not only is she made but the Cauldron has blessed her with a mate. The High Lord of the Night Court at that.â
The weight of his gaze settles upon you. Youâre aware that your words carry a tinge of envy, a sentiment that feels unjust when considering everything Feyre has endured. The Suriel, ever perceptive, acknowledges this as well. He chooses not to remind you and indulges you instead.
âThe Cauldron has blessed you as well, my child.â
âHave you seen it?â
Hope sparks in your eyes as you turn to face him. His eyes, pools of ancient wisdom, seem to pierce through the veils of time and secrets. You sense one of them unfolding. But he only gives you a teasing glimpse.
âPerhaps.âÂ
With a furrow in your brows, you lift your head back up to glare at the night sky. The stars seem to blink at you in a teasing manner, as if finding amusement in keeping this secret from you.Â
âHow come I havenât seen it?â
âYou will soon.â He reassures, following your gaze upwards. A dance of amusement swirls within the depths of his eyes. âHeâs waited centuries for you. Count your stars lucky that your waiting wonât be as long.â
Back to the presentâŠ
Velaris lived up to its name. A dream compared to the horrors of the city you grew up in. But as the city sparkles and comes to life at the darkening hour, all your attention is drawn to the male before you. Heâs even more breathtaking in person. Everything about him is classically beautiful and the moon seems to agree, shining down on him and casting an ethereal glow on the golden-brown of his skin.
As Azriel continues to approach you, his wings fold gracefully behind him. His gaze is locked onto yours and though his eyes are cautious and analytical, thereâs a warm shiver running down your spine. The desire to lose yourself in the hazel depths of his eyes becomes an irresistible pull.
Before you know it, the shadows brushing against your arms rise and come to rest against your eyes in a blindfold. Darkness engulfs you, and the sensation of weightlessness takes hold as Azriel winnows both of you. You land on a soft cushionâa chair. The dark tendrils leave your eyes and wrap around your wrists and legs, binding them together.
âStay here.â Azriel says, the shadows wrapped around your limbs tightening in a silent warning.
A chuckle escapes from you and when your eyes meet his again, you flash him a mischievous smile. It widens when heâs the first to fold, quickly averting his gaze. He has no clue. Youâre exactly where you want to be.
He leaves the room and your eyes finally take in your surroundings. Veiled curtains made of midnight blue silk drape the expansive windows, pulled back to allow moonlight to filter through. Shelves line the walls, housing collections of ancient artifacts and magical trinkets. A large desk, crafted from dark, polished wood rests before you. Your gaze fixates on the wall behind it, where a captivating portrait of the female you seek rests.
The door behind you swings open, and you turn to witness the graceful entrance of the female from the portrait. Feyre, the Cursebreaker and High Lady of the Night Court. She's a vision of night and beauty, her golden-brown hair cascading down her exposed back, revealing glimpses of moon phases etched along her spine.
âHigh Lady,â you say in greeting, bowing your head in respect.
Surprisingly, the High Lord doesn't accompany her. Instead, it's Azriel who trails behind her. Her calm blue eyes assess you as she takes a seat across from you. Azriel stands guard behind her and you feel his shadows watching your every breath.Â
"And who might you be?"
âIâm y/n,â you respond, choosing your next words carefully. âAn old friend of the Surielâs. Iâve come to pledge my allegiance to you and offer my help.â
Something flickers in her blue eyes at the mention of the Suriel and her stoic expression falters, if only for a moment. You send her a sympathetic smile, your own heart aching at the mention of the fearsome creature you both held dear.
âYour help?â She echoes.
"Sheâs a seer," Azriel interjects, his voice setting your heart alight as there's no hint of disgust or apprehension in his tone.
Your kind is often regarded with hostility. He might not know your connection...yet. But heâs paid you enough attention to recognize your abilities and appears to be indifferent about them. If the Suriel were still alive, you know heâd laugh at your slight delusion.
"I am," you confirm. "And I know your sister is one too." You donât miss the tension in Azrielâs body at the mention of the cauldron-made fae, but you don't dwell on it as you can also sense Feyre's protectiveness. "She has great potential. I can help her hone her skills. Together, we canâ"
"No," Azriel growls protectively. His sharp interruption has you startling in your seat and hope deflates as you feel the intensity of his glare.
Feyre raises a hand, signaling him to stand back. âWhy should I trust you?â
âLet me show you.â
Months beforeâŠ
âBy the Cauldron, what did you get yourself into?â
The Suriel grins mischievously, his tattered cloak barely clinging to his bony form. He graciously accepts the cloak you offer, a luxurious piece made of the softest velvet in the darkest shade of black you could find. A purr escapes him as he revels in its warmth. "Nothing," he responds coyly, the satisfaction evident in the bounce of his form as he hovers in the air.
You shoot him a pointed look, yearning to know what he was up to. Youâre certain it was no good. âSure,â you retort and then gesture toward the crackling fire you started. âI also made dinner.â
âYou spoil me.â
âItâs what friends do.â
"Friend," he muses, the white pools of his eyes burning into your soul, as he turns to you. "As a friend, I should tell you that your dress is absolutely atrocious on you. Cobalt blue is more your color."
With a glare, you playfully throw the roasted chicken over the fire at his face. He effortlessly catches it with his mouth, cackling as he chews on the tender piece of meat.
"What do you know about fashion? All you do is thirst for robes."
âYou forget that I am older than the bones of this world. I know everything about everything. I also cannot lie.â
"Doesn't stop you from hiding the truth," you respond cheekily, and he hums in agreement,
Silence falls as he seats himself beside you on the ground. He breaks it a couple of moments later. âRemember what I told you last time?â
You release a deep sigh because you do remember. The mere thought haunts you nearly every night, and youâre often burdened by the heavy weight of it. Your shoulders slump in response. âWhy can't you do it yourself?â
âIt is your fate, not mine,â he states simply, a reminder of the immutable laws of destiny.
âIâm not ready.âÂ
You donât think you ever will be and suddenly, youâre that fragile sixteen year old again, who had to run away from the only place you called home to escape a cruel fate. The one who was left to navigate through her new onset of divine abilities alone.
That is, until, the fateful night you had thrown your cloak over a tree branch to dry. It had been stained by blood after a rough and almost deadly encounter with a stray naga so you had spent all morning cleaning it in the river nearby. Completely unaware of the Suriel you were summoning.
âYou do not fear me?â
âThat is mine,â you had said through clenched teeth with a deep rooted glare.
In the midst of your tug of war with the Suriel, your cloak tore in half. In that moment, you braced yourself for the dark creature's wrath. However, something in you captured his attention that day, and he chose not to unleash his fury upon you. He decided to take you under his wing instead.
He recognized your lineage without a single word spoken about it. He could sense your power coursing through your veins, waiting to be unraveled. After decades of patience and practicing, he was there to witness the formation of stars weaving themselves into the depths of your eyes. The mark of your seer abilities.
As always, the Suriel reads you like an open book. He can sense your insecurity, your hesitancy. But, in equal measure, he can sense your power, your potential.
âYou will be,â he insists, his words carrying the unwavering certainty of the all-knowing creature he is. âYou must guide and open the eyes of Elain Archeron the same way I did for you.â
Your throat tightens. âWhen?â
âSoon.â
And when you look up to gaze at the night sky, the stars align for you. A cascade of visions unfurls, pouring over you like a celestial waterfall. Your eyes become a myriad of galaxies and ears are teased with glimpses of conversations and whispers from the stars above. One moment, youâre in a forest, standing before a female figure crouched over a cloaked one.Â
âThe trackingâŠI knew of it.âÂ
Then, a rattling breath. âLeave this world a better place than how you found it.â
Abruptly, the scene shifts, and you stand in an enchanting city of starlight, gazing at the expansive river before you as anticipation fills the air. He comes for you. Azriel, the shadowsinger. The name resonates in the echoes of your mind.
Then, the final vision envelopes you, drawing you into the depths of mesmerizing hazel eyes. The voice that accompanies it is carried by the enchantment of night, gently caressing against your ears.Â
âIâve been waiting for you.â
Mate. That is your mate. Azriel, theâ
âDo you see it now?â
With a sharp intake of breath, youâre pulled from the downpour of your visions, only to find your senses clouded with tears that pool at the corners of your eyes. How cruel, you think, your heart twisting in agony. And though meeting your mateâyour fated companionâwas among your greatest dreams, you no longer want it. Not if it means youâll lose your greatest companion.
You can live without knowing your mate. After all, youâre doing so at this very moment. The Suriel has been your friend for decades. Two souls brought together by their mutual loneliness. An all knowing creature and a seer. Together, youâre a powerful duo, navigating through the fated intricacies of Prythian. Youâd be lost without him.
âPlease donât go,â youâre begging.
The Suriel smiles but itâs not his usual mischievous grin. This time, a tinge of sorrow lingers in the curve of his lips, casting his expression in a veil of sadness.
âI have to. Itâs my time to go,â he says. âJust promise me one thing?â
âAnything.â
âThat when itâs your time to shine, youâll find Feyre. Help her make this world a better place.â
Back to Present
Feyre blinks back tears as she withdraws from your mind. She turns her head toward the Shadowsinger behind her, and for a moment, fear grips you. You allowed her to see the revelation of Azriel being your mate but only because it was deeply entwined with the other pertinent visions.
âRelease her.â
The shadows release their grip on you and you let out a deep exhale in relief. But the inky tendrils donât leave your side. They linger and hover over you and at this, Azrielâs eyebrows furrow.
Feyre extends her hand out toward you. Her blue eyes are warm, a gentle reassurance that sheâd harbor your secret for you. A smile graces her lips, one that you're happy to reciprocate.
âIâll gladly accept your help but let me speak with Elain first. You may stay here. Thereâs a spare room upstairs. Azriel will show you around.â
Following his High Ladyâs orders, Azriel shows you around the grand estate. Heâs a bit reserved around you and you donât blame him. Both a blessing and a curse, your visions offer insight into his world, yet you're a mere stranger imposing on the family he protects fiercely.
And as he finally shows you to your room, the one right next to his, you can only hope that someday, heâll welcome you too. After all, he is your mate.
Elain Archeron is infinitely beautiful. Inside and out. She is gentle and sweet and you see why some mistake her kindness for weakness. But it took only days for you to become well aware of the strength and power she harbors deep within.
While your abilities were limited to what the stars wanted to show you, you sensed that hers were limitless. With the right training, she could summon visions at her call, anticipate anyone's move. You wanted to help her achieve that and prove those people that saw her as something fragile wrong. Though reluctant toward your help at first, Elain was kind enough to listen to you and consider the advice you gave. It took some further convincing but you knew she was itching to unravel the depths of her powers too.
But it's proving to be a challenge. A hard and exhausting one. You're not surprised. It took you many years to become attuned to your powers. What is surprising, however, are Azriel's feelings for her. They're obvious and plain to see and could you blame him? Elain is wonderful...and you can't help but compare yourself to her. She's everything you're not.
Upon your arrival, you had been set on making Azriel fall for you. That was, until, you realized he was already entangled in the threads of another's heart. Could it be that the Suriel, in his all knowing wisdom, purposefully shielded you from such revelations about your mate? To delay the shattering of your dreams?
Now, you were just content to focus on your task at hand. To help Elain the way the Suriel did with you, even if Azriel was there as a safety net for her every session. Even if the way he was well attuned to every shift of her expression sent a sharp pain stabbing through your heart. He was blissfully unaware of your connection, clouded by his affection for Elain.
And you were tired of chasing after males. It's why you shot down Feyre's suggestion of confessing to Azriel. You dreamed of having a mate, pleaded to the Cauldron even. Now, you realize, that you want Azriel to like you for you. To chose you too the way Feyre did with Rhysand. If Elain was the person he chose at the moment, then so be it.
"I don't chase. I attract," you told Feyre. The same words you had uttered to the Suriel years ago after he poked fun at you over a failed romance. One of many, unfortunately.
"The only thing you'll attract with that attitude of of yours is a dark cloud of shadows," The Suriel had laughed at you, earning an icy glare from you.
But Feyre is much nicer about it than your dear old friend. She gives you an encouraging smile instead and wishes you luck on your upcoming session with Elain.
Your session with Elain ends terriblyâwith her screaming in pain and Azriel glaring at you and telling you to go, despite your attempts at apologizing. You spend the following days, weeks even, trying to make up for it. You slowed down in pace in your exercises with Elain, despite her protests. She held no animosity toward you at the dark turn that session had made.
You also buried yourself into any book you could find about seers in the magnificent Night Court library, grieving and longing for the Suriel. He would know what to do, and know exactly how to help. Itâs the mere thought of him that fuels your determination to keep trying, despite how much you want to leave. Itâs laughable almost, how in the midst of so many people, the sense of loneliness weighs heavier on you than it ever did in the solitude of Prythian's forests.
But perhaps, a break wouldn't be such a bad idea? You think as your gaze lands on an intriguing cover. It's a work of pure fiction. The ideal escape from reality. Retrieving it from its shelf, you settle into one of the plush chairs and immerse yourself into the words etched onto the pages.
âWake up, sleeping beauty.â
A nudge against your leg startles you awake, and as you blink away the remnants of sleep, your eyes widen at the sight of Azriel standing before you. Sleeping beauty, the words sink in, painting a soft blush over your cheeks.
âYou missed dinner.â
âOh.â
You turn your head, wincing at the dull ache in your neck from sleeping in an awkward position. The soft glow of the moon greets you through one of the library's windows. You donât know when you had fallen asleep but you mustâve been out for hours. When you face Azriel again, your gaze drops to his hands, where he holds a carefully arranged plate of food. Your stomach growls as the scent hits you and your eyes linger on the generous serving of potatoesâyour favoriteâin comparison to the other vegetables and meat.
âIs that for me?â you ask, and immediately curse yourself for the seemingly silly question. You blame it on the lingering grasp of sleep, still reluctant to release its full grip on you.
"No, it's for the rats that come out at night," he replies, lips twitching upwards at the reaction it stirs from you. How the Suriel never scared you but a couple of hairy, smaller creatures do is beyond you. He places the plate on the small table beside you.
 "Yes, it's for you. A peace offering. For snapping at you."
"That was two weeks ago.â
"Bet you didn't see it coming," he teases, and you find yourself blinking in surprise. The Shadowsinger cracking a joke? It's a sight to behold. At least for you.Â
Your eyes narrow. "Did Feyre send you?"
"No," Azriel replies simply, his tone carrying a sincerity that sets a flicker of hope alight in you. He then sighs. "I just realized I haven't been the most welcoming, that's all."
You smile in response and shift in your seat as you turn your body towards the food. The movement has the book in your lap falling. His hand reaches the book before yours could and the brush of your skin against his sends a delightful shudder through your body.
His eyes curiously look over the title and when he hands it back to you, you take note of the way he avoids looking at his scarred fingers. So you reach forward and brush your fingers against his again, letting them linger for a beat longer than before. Surprise flickers in his hazel eyes as he meets your gaze, but it vanishes as quickly as it appears.
âThat book is one of my favorites," he says, his shadows dancing across his shoulders and peeking curiously at you. "I'm surprised you're into the mystery genre."
"Why?"
âWell, youâre hard to read sometimes. Like a mystery that refuses to be solved.â
An arched brow is your response, but the gleam in your eyes gives away more than you'd like. âMaybe I donât want to be unraveled.â
Azriel's lips twitch upwards once more. âMaybe it just takes the right person.â
Bathed in the glow of sunlight, you and Elain sit across from one another on the soft bed of green grass. Meanwhile, Azriel leans against a tree, a couple of feet away. His gaze is intense as he watches you two. Too focused on not letting it faze you, you fail to catch the way it softens when he turns to you.
Azriel canât help but frown when he catches you avoiding his gaze. He wonders if you still harbor some resentment toward the way he had snapped at you awhile back, even though he already apologized for it.
"Close your eyes and focus on your breath," he hears you instruct softly. "Feel the rhythm of the earth beneath you. Attune yourself to the heartbeat of the world around you. What do you hear?â
Elain closes her eyes in deep concentration. âI can hear the wind and the tremble of the grass beneath it. I can hear the wind carry all the way to the sea.â
âGood,â you say and though her eyes remain closed, you smile gently at her. A gesture that sends a rush of warmth through him.
âNow feel the whispers of the unseen.â
âI canât.â Elainâs eyebrows furrow.
âHere, take my hands,â you say as you reach for hers. âImagine a pool of water within you, calm and reflective. Use me as a vessel to carry you through it. Iâll guide you to where your visions will manifest.â
Elain does as told. The world stills around you two. You close your eyes. As Elainâs eyebrows relax, your own face contorts in concentration. Azriel feels himself tense when he realizes itâs not concentration etching onto your faceâitâs pain. In a heartbeat, heâs kneeling before you and prying your hands apart.
âStop!â
Your eyes snap open at the sudden disconnection, and Azriel is unsettled by the way you shrink back from him, panic widening your eyes.
âIâm not hurting her!â
But itâs not Elain heâs worried about. He hasnât even spared her a glance. Itâs youâyouâre the one thatâs hurt. Blood trickles down your nose and heâs urging you to lean forward, gently guiding you with his hands as Elain rushes for a towel.
âAre you okay?â
Thereâs a dull ache in your head but also one in your heart and youâre too disoriented to stop yourself from saying, âIf you stop staring at me like that, I will be.â
Azriel releases a soft chuckle, his muscles relaxing in relief at the playful edge in your tone. Yet, his shadows, wanting to confirm you're okay themselves, flutter toward you in a delicate cloud of darkness.
"Like what?â
âDonât make me answer that.â
And youâve never felt more relief at the sight of Elain coming in between you with a towel in hand.
A sudden sound has you stirring from your sleep. Your hand instinctively slides under your pillow, fingers grasping for the dagger you always keep with you when sleeping. The sound comes again and your initially alarmed body relaxes as you recognize it as the sound of someone knocking. Wrapping a robe around your night shift, you head toward the door, expecting Elain on the other side.Â
Upon opening your door, youâre surprised to find Azriel standing on the other side.
âYouâre not going to Starfall?â
âGood morning to you too.â
Azrielâs eyes rake over your form, taking in your disheveled state. His lips curl into a faint smile. "It's noon," he observes in an amused manner.
Your eyes widen in disbelief, and you pivot your head toward the clock that hangs on the wall of your room. There, confirming his statement, the hands point a half hour past twelve. You overslept. You didnât have any plans today and it seems your exhausted body took advantage of it.
âIs everything okay?â
His voice, laced with genuine concern, draws your attention back to him. The soft furrow of his brow and the warmth in his eyes catch you off guard. You hesitate. You donât want to lie but you also donât want to burden him with the truth.
So you settle for a, âWhy?â
"I've noticed you haven't been sleeping much," he remarks, and before you can interrupt, he gestures toward his room, the one adjacent to yours. A silent acknowledgment that he's been more attentive than you realized. It pulls at the strings of your heart. "Or attending family dinners, and now Feyre tells me you're not going to Starfall?"
The weight of his observations presses on you. You didnât think anyone had noticed. "Why do you care?" you retort, your words sharper than intended, and a wince follows.
"Isolation is not a good coping method," he responds, his tone steady and unfazed by your sharpness. "Trust me, I know."
"I don't have a dress."Â The words escape your lips, but even as you say them, you recognize the feebleness of the excuse.
âIâll buy you one.â
Heat rises to your cheeks, and you feel a telltale blush spreading as the thought of Azriel buying you a dress takes root. Heâs just being nice, you tell yourself. His gaze remains fixed on you, hazel eyes bright and gleaming with curiosity, as if daring you to come up with another excuse.
âStarfall is tomorrow.â
Azriel grins at you. It sends a flutter through your heart and you wonder if he can hear the erratic beat of it.Â
âBetter make haste and get dressed then. Weâve got a couple of hours before the shops close.â
You deliberately take extra time getting ready, a mix of anticipation and apprehension swirling within you as you prepare to spend time with Azriel. Half-expecting a hint of annoyance, you finally open the door to your room, only to find Azriel with a welcoming smile that has the bond in your chest humming. Still, you're met with silence at the other side.
You take a deep breath as he gestures for you to follow him. As you step outside, he offers his arm and winnows you, not wanting to waste anymore time. You both find yourselves in the bustling shopping plaza of Velaris, where the fragrance of blooming flowers and the animated chatter of people embrace you.
Elaborate Starfall-themed displays adorn the shops, enticing you inside. Suddenly, the sheer array overwhelms you, and an urge to step back washes over you. Azriel place a hand on your back, stopping you and guiding you towards one of the shops.
âWelcome!â A voice happily chirps. âHow can I help you?â
A stunning female enters your line of sight, her gaze immediately fixating on the male standing behind you. Her lips curve into a captivating smile, causing a twinge of jealousy to flicker within you. Itâs short lived as Azriel clears his throat, gently nudging you forward.
âWeâre looking for a dress for her.â Azriel speaks for you.
âSplendid! Whatâs the special occasion?â
âStarfall.â Azriel answers.
The femaleâs eyes widen, her smile morphing into a strained one. âIâm afraid Iâve sold all my best work already.â
âOh, thatâs alright. Sorry for the trouble,â you quickly reply, attempting to conceal the relief in your voice. Turning to leave, Azriel's hands land on your shoulders, directing you back to face the female.
âIâm sure we can find something in here,â Azriel reassures with a polite smile, scanning the aisles of dresses. âY/n isn't picky. Right?â
âI can be,â you mumble under your breath.
Azriel lets out a sound, what you discern as a muffled chuckle. He gives your shoulder a squeeze and then leans down toward your ear. âIf I were you, Iâd take advantage of the situation.â
You turn your head slightly and regret it immediately. It takes all your strength to hold back the shudder your body wants to give at his proximity. Heâs so close you can feel his breath fanning against your neck and you wonder what it would feel like to have his lips pressed against that sensitive skin.
It surprises you how quickly you find your voice.
âIâm going to pick the most expensive one.â
âGo ahead,â Azriel says and you can hear the smirk in his voice without having to look at him. He doesnât allow you to get another word in, urging you forward again to where the female patiently awaits for you.
She lightly grasps your arm, leading you toward a rack of dresses in various styles and colors while Azriel makes himself comfortable on the couch by the fitting room. âYou are a lucky lady,â she muses, her hands gracefully exploring the textures of her creations. âIâve had this shop for centuries and youâre the first lady the Shadowsinger has brought to me.â
A blush warms your cheeks as you divert your attention to the array of beautiful dresses. Each one is a work of art, making you question her earlier claim about not having her best work available. If these weren't her finest creations, the thought of what her best work looked like leaves you intrigued.
The female, whoâs name you learn is Willow, has you try on a couple of dresses that differ in styles. Youâre reluctant to show Azriel each one but given heâs paying for it and the only other one in this shop, you feel like he should have some say.
âDo you like it?â Willow beams at you, admiring her work.
On the fifth dress, your hands run over the tulle of the vibrant yellow skirt. The fabric feels itchy against your skin, and the color is too bold for your taste. You swear you are not trying to be picky, despite what you told Azriel earlier.Â
âI liââ
âLetâs try another?â Azriel cuts in as if sensing the lie that was about to unfold. He rises from his seat toward one of the racks and pulls out a dress that caught his eye earlier. âHow about this one?â
He holds the dress out to you, smiling softly when you take it from him. Itâs much simpler compared to the other dress youâve tried on but still just as elegant. Itâs also soft against your skin. Willow guides you back into the fitting room, deftly assisting you out of the vivid yellow dress and into the cobalt blue silk one.
âI donât know how I didnât see it before. Cobalt blue is more your color!" Willow says as she gushes over you.
Her choice of words leaves you momentarily stunned. Cobalt blue is more your color. The exact words the Suriel had spoken to you. Also, the exact same shade as Azriel's siphons. The Suriel mustâve enjoyed himself a lot when he said those words to you. That sneaky little creature... You can hear his laugh echoing through your mind.
As you finally emerge from the dressing room, Azriel canât help but stare. The fabric drapes gracefully around you, accentuating curves he hadn't noticed before. Sensing his prolonged gaze, your eyes meet his. It was him quickly averting his gaze, a subtle flush coloring his cheeks. He clears his throat, attempting to regain his composure.
"This is the one. It looksâŠgood on you," he manages to say, his voice slightly strained.
âItâs 500 gold marks.â
He picks up on the teasing in your tone and the way Willow shakes her head in reassurance at him. Still, he humors you and says, âI donât care.â
Heâd pay more than 500 gold marks just to make you happy.
Azriel battled with restless thoughts that night, unable to find solace in sleep. Each time he closed his eyes, the vivid image of you in that dress invaded his mind. He couldnât wait to see you in that dress again. Maybe then, heâd have the courage to compliment you better.
As the sun dipped below the horizon and the first guests arrived for the Starfall celebration, Azriel's eyes eagerly scanned the gathering crowd, seeking a glimpse of you. Just as a twinge of disappointment crept in, his shadows stirred, signaling your proximity. His wings twitched with anticipation, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. You are absolutely stunning. Breathtaking.Â
In an instant heartbeat, heâs pushing Cassian, who was ready to fly you up to the House of Wind, aside. With a warning look, Cassian steps away with a chuckle.
"You're here," he whispers, a blend of disbelief and relief saturating his breath.
âWell a very nice male spent a lot of money for me to be here.â
âWell Iâm glad.â Azriel chuckles, eyes drinking you in again. Savoring you. âYouâre beautiful.â
âSo are you.â
Azriel flushes at the unexpected compliment and his shadows to come to life around him. He smiles at you. âShall we?â
He waits for your nod before carefully hooking an arm beneath your knees, eyes never leaving yours. A thrill courses through him as he revels in the sensation of your arms around his neck, taking delight in the way you feel in his arms. His wings unfurl behind him, preparing for the short flight up. The sound has your eyes fluttering shut, arms tightening around him and face burying into his neck. He finds it absolutely endearing. He never wants to let you go.
Against his wishes, the flight up to the balcony was short. He sets you down, helping you regain your footing, a lingering touch before reluctantly releasing you. Thereâs still more guests he, unfortunately, has to fly up. Itâs as if you sense his internal conflict because youâre turning around to face him, eyes bright and alight.
âYes, Azriel. Iâll save you a dance.â
The way his name rolls off your tongue sends a thrill up his spine. He opens his mouth to say something but once again, you beat him to it.
"Thought I'd save you the question," you stated, an all-knowing grin gracing your features as you tapped the corner of one of your eyes. Ah, so you had a vision of him. He wonders about the other glimpses you might have seen.
He doesnât have too much time to dwell on it as Elain is rushing toward you, showering you with compliments. He takes that as his cue to depart. He is determined to finish his tasks in bringing the remaining guests up as fast as he can so that he can return to you and that dance you promised.
Azriel finds himself stealing glances whenever he thinks you wonât notice. The sparkle in your eyes, the way the dress accentuates your featuresâhe can't look away. Caught up in the melody of your laughter, provoked by something Elain said, Azriel and his shadows are too mesmerized in the beauty of you to notice Feyre approaching until she speaks.
"Sheâs beautiful," Feyre remarks, her eyes following the same path as Azriel's gaze.
A soft affirmation escapes Azriel's lips. "Yes."
Feyre, well aware of the answer, delves further. "You bought her that dress?"
âYes.â
A mischievous gleam flickers in Feyre's eyes as she delivers her next statement. "You like her."Â
Azriel's response slips out before he can even grasp the depth of his own admission. "Yes."
He turns to Feyre, his wide eyes betraying the shock of his own revelation. A slight pallor washes over his skin, and Feyre chuckles at his reaction. Sensing the tension in the air, she rests a reassuring arm on his shoulder. âI like her too,â she confesses.
Though, both of them recognize that Azriel's feelings for you run deeper and in more intricate ways than Feyre's own fondness.
âI offered her a place in this court. She said sheâd think about it. Maybe you can convince her? The same way you convinced her to come to Starfall,â Feyre says and then with one last pat on his shoulder, she makes her way back toward Rhysand.
Still recovering from the revelation of his own feelings, it takes a while longer for the weight of Feyreâs words to sink in. A mixture of surprise, uncertainty, and a flicker of hope plays out across his features. You werenât planning on staying? The thought of you leavingâleaving him stirs a feeling in his chest. His eyes seek you out again but youâre no longer standing beside Elain. Â
In your place, stands Lucien and normally the sight would trigger dark emotions from him. But now? He feels nothing. Thereâs no sense of envy. His affections have shifted elsewhere.
Azrielâs shadows fall to the floor, slithering against the cool tile like serpents of the night. They lead the way directly to where you stand, by the champagne table. He makes his way toward you and you're downing the rest of the liquid in your glass.
âAzriel.â You smile at him.
âItâs time for you to fulfill the promise you made me.â
âOf course,â you reply, offering him your hand.
Azriel gracefully pulls you into his embrace. One hand wraps around yours while the other rests on your waist. The enchanting melody guides your movements as the two of you glide across the floor.
âFeyre told me she offered you a role in this court.â
Your eyes, wise and mysterious, meet his, and he feels your body tense under his hold. âWhat else did she tell you?â
âThat youâd think about it,â he says, the rhythm of the dance allowing for a moment of ease to settle between you. âYou should stay.â
âWhy?â
A wistful expression colors your features and the soft glow of stars are reflected in your eyes. The music comes to a gradual end and you free yourself of his hold before the next song begins.
âThereâs no one here for me.â You admit and then give a small laugh as you look down. There's a deep, haunting sadness to your laughter, striking a chord within him.
âIâm right here.âÂ
Lifting your head back up, your eyes search his for something with a glimmer of hope. An eternity seems to pass in your gaze. A frown settles over your lips and he feels a tinge of sadness. Whatever you sought, it seems you did not find it.
Suppressing the surge of emotions within him, his hand reaches for yours again. He guides you to somewhere more private, toward one of the balconies that is off limits to the guests. âTalk to me,â he says, his words carrying an invitation for you to unburden your heart.
Your hands grip onto the railing before you and attention is directed up towards the night sky. He mirrors your actions, resting his hands close to yours. So close he can feel your warmth but not close enough to touch.
"It feels weird being here," you sigh deeply. "My mother and I used to sneak out of Hewn City on Starfall just to catch a glimpse of these migrating spirits every year...until she realized what I was. She said I was a curse, said she would turn me into Keir and let him have his way with me if I didn't leave."
Azriel's fingers clench into a white knuckled grip at your words.
"Not that leaving a horrible city such as Hewn was exactly a punishment. It was probably for the best. Still didn't stop me from being scared. It was the first time in my life that I was actually alone. I learned how to survive."
"I met the Suriel a year later. He must've taken pity on me and would visit me without being summoned. Sometimes, it'd be to tease me with some gossip. Other times, to annoy and chide me for my mistakes. Most importantly, he taught me how to not only survive on my own but live alone. I don't know, it's probably silly but I just felt a lot less lonely when I was actually alone than I do here."
âItâs not silly. I used to feel that way too.â Azriel admits and after a moment of silence, heâs turning toward you. âAm I not your friend?â
âI donât know,â you find yourself saying again, uncertainty clouding your expression. Pausing, you tear your gaze from the night sky to look at him. âDo you want to be?â
âYes,â Azriel smiles at you. And so much more.Â
You smile back at him but it doesnât last long. Turning your head to face directly ahead, you bite the inside of your cheek in hesitation, revealing to Azriel that thereâs more troubling you than your sense of loneliness.
âWhat else?âÂ
âThereâs nothing else.â
ây/n.â
âI feel like a failure.â
Azriel's eyes widen, his heart sinking to his stomach. âYouâre not,â he reassures quickly.
âIâI just,â you stammer, the weight of self-doubt evident in your voice. âItâs nearing four months since Iâve arrived, and I feel like Iâve barely scratched the surface with Elain.â
âHow long did it take you to harness your abilities?â
âDecades,â you respond, the admission carrying a hint of sheepishness. âBut Elain is different. This is different. I donât want to disappoint her. Disappoint Feyre. The world we know is crumbling apart, and we donât have time. Ifâif we cannot fix it before itâs too late, I will have failed him.â
âHey, look at me.â
When you donât, Azriel lightly grips your chin, coaxing your gaze to him. âYouâre here, arenât you? Youâre honoring his wish by just being here. Keep trying,â he encourages, wiping away your tears. âIâll be here with you every step of the way. Youâre not alone. Weâll face this together.â
âTogether?â
He releases his hold on you, resting his hand once more on the rail. This time, itâs even closer to yours.
âTogether,â he confirms, heart swarming with warmth when your hand bridges the gap between you and brushes against his.Â
And finally, it seems your lonely days are through.
Azrielâs been in love before. Twice. Or at least, he thought it was love. One was unrequited, a silent ache he carried within. The other was forbidden, a love he had clung to with misguided hope. He was beginning to come to the begrudging conclusion that love was simply not meant for him.
Then, you came along. Strange as it seems, you've seemed to have brought back that old feeling to him, awakening something deep inside of him. And though he doesn't know what you did, he thinks--he hopes that you could be the one. The one to possibly release him from the chains of solitude and longing.
You've rarely left his mind since the night he met you. The echoes of your first words to him lingered in his mind long after your encounter, âIâve been waiting for you.â
Your voice was cloaked in both mystery and certainty, as though you held the threads of destiny within your grasp. It prompted him to ask who you were but your answer, âthatâs for you to decideâ only gave rise to more questions.Â
Then, there was that smile. So beautiful, so hopeful. It etched itself into the recesses of his memory. It was a smile no one had ever bestowed upon him before and one he longed to see it again.
And he almost ruined it allâthat day he snapped at you after a session gone wrong with Elain. Your intentions were always pure. He knew this. No one was at fault as everything that transpired between you and Elain was completely consensual. But the scream that tore through Elain sent him in a heightened frenzy. He had sworn to Rhysand and Feyre, his High Lord and High Lady, that he would protect Elain. Before he could properly assess the situation, he had roughly pushed you aside with a growl. The hurt that flashed in your eyes in response haunted him nearly every night.
You began to actively avoid his gaze and presence whenever possible, and guilt gnawed at him relentlessly. Even his shadows, missing your attention, seemed angry with him. Truth be told, he was angry with himself too. You had made friends with everyone. Everyone but him.
The following two weeks became a series of futile attempts at groveling, your obliviousness to it all cutting deeper than he cared to admit. The breaking point came when you missed dinner, and he knew it was time to set things right then. So he sent his shadows to look for you and when they reported back to him that you were sleeping in the library, he brought your dinner to you.
After that moment, the atmosphere between you two shifted. He became the chaser, gradually closing the distance between you.
You looked his way more, approached him with a newfound openness, and your conversations became more frequent. You teased him at times, even, with your cryptic words. But rather than frustrating him, it only made him seek you out more. He wanted to be the one to unravel the mystery that was you.
Somewhere down the line, his eyes stopped searching for Elain's. The private moments he sought with her became mere echoes of the pastâno more lingering touches, exchanged glances, or pointless conversations. Instead, it was you who occupied the center of his attention, infiltrating his dreams and igniting desires he never knew he harbored.
You eased him like no other, effortlessly coaxing smiles and laughter from him. It was in these moments that the realization struck him like a bolt of lightningâhe had never truly been in love during the first two instances. What he felt for you was different. He was unwilling to let his feelings linger in the shadows, as they had done before. He yearned for them to step into the light. To be acknowledged and acted upon openly.
He decided to wait until after Solstice to confess to you and hoped that your visions wouldn't give him away.
Laughter and clinks of wine glasses ring through the air. Azriel knows itâs time to open presents, his shadows singing loudly and overwhelming him with information. Cassian is sneaking a peak. Rhysand is rolling his eyes. Elain got Lucien a present. y/n is holding back tears.
Azriel tenses at the last bit of information, eyes immediately finding you. Youâre seated beside Feyreâthe two of you exchanging smiles. Thereâs an unwrapped present on your lap and his shadows dart toward it. Itâs a small portrait of the Suriel. He hears you thank Feyre and he swears he can feel your ache of grief. He moves to stand from his seat but Elain stops him.
âHappy Solstice,â she says, holding out a small present. He takes the box albeit reluctantly but politely and opens it to find two tickets to an upcoming play.Â
Elain smiles at the frown heâs trying to hide.
"Elain, I can't--"
âY/n mentioned always wanting to go see a play. I thought maybe you could be the one to take her. After you confess."
His eyes search hers for any traces of hurt. Heâs relieved when he finds none but the frown in his brow remains. âHowââ
âShe trained me well," Elain replies, eyes shining with an all knowing gleam he's seen in yours. "She deserves to be happy. You both do and something tells me that sheâs the one youâve been waiting for.â
Gods, you and Elain have been hanging out so much with one another that now sheâs beginning to talk like you. There's a tightening in his chest, like a band about to snap at her words.
Azriel looks back at Elain in question but she only smiles at him once more before retreating back to where she was sitting previously. Next to Lucien, who also sends a smile his way.
Looking down at the tickets, he thinks of you again. His shadows stir, mirroring the strange sensation in his chest. Itâs almost like a pull and his shadows guide him toward it, turning his head for him. Just in time to catch a glimpse of you quietly slipping away from the festivities. His steps quicken as he follows you, pulling his coat along with him.
The soft flakes of snow flutter down, a delicate dance in the winter night. Despite weeks of continuous snowfall, the enchanting beauty of it never fails to captivate you. It differs markedly from the unforgiving snowstorms you endured while wandering the Night Court's forests. Though just as cold, it prompts an involuntary shiver, a reaction to the biting chill in the air.
As the door behind you creaks open, a rush of warmth accompanies its movement. The scent of cedar invades your senses, growing more intense as you feel a fabric drape over your shoulders, bringing forth an intimate warmth.
"Hey," Azriel breathes, a visible puff of white escaping his lips.
"Hi," you smile back at him, your fingers instinctively reaching for the coat that draped over your shoulders. You can't help but notice the thin sweater he wears. "Won't you be cold, though?"
Azriel stops you, securing his coat back onto your smaller frame with a reassuring smile. âI grew up in a camp where it snowed a lot more than this. Iâll be fine.â
You look back up at the night sky. The stars are shining so bright. It makes you wonder if they ever tire. They seem to answer you as their radiant beams cast a celestial glow upon you. Your vision blurs in surrender.
âWhat are you seeing?â Azriel inquires, curious. He hopes it's not the confession he's aching to spill.
Your eyebrows knit together, and you close your eyes, immersing yourself in deciphering the messages woven between the stars. Upon opening your eyes, you turn to Azriel, a teasing smirk playing on your lips.
âYou're going to get frostbite."
Azriel lets out an amused huff. "I don't care. As long as you're warm."
"We should head back inside," you suggest.
"No," Azriel insists, enfolding a wing around your form, anchoring you in place. His shadows can sense you don't want to go back inside yet. "I like being alone with you."
The wind nips at your cheeks, a sensation you welcome as it gives the perfect excuse for the blush creeping across your face. Tearing your gaze away from Azriel before he can discern his effect on you, you quietly share, "Nyx is going to say his first word in three days."
Azriel leans forward and you can feel his anticipation. A familial bet circulates among his uncles and aunts (save for Elain) regarding what the young heirâs first word will be. âWhat is it?â
âCas.â
Azriel can't resist glancing back toward the house, his eyes narrowing with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. There, he catches a fleeting glimpse of Cassian playfully hoisting Nyx in the air, the two engaged in a lively game of chase around the living room. When he turns his attention back to you, mischief twinkles in your eyes.
âYouâre lying.â
âYou fell for it."
And that smile heâs been longing for since he met you graces your lips as you laugh. A sweet and beautiful sound that warms the winter air. Azriel's gaze dips toward your lips, captivated by the sound, before lifting back to meet your eyes. He leans in even closer.
âI fell for you.â
You also lean in, eyes never leaving his. "The answer is yes."
"What?"
Azriel nearly stumbles back, caught off guard, but you remain close, lifting a hand and cradling his cheek. It's surprisingly warm and he instinctively leans into your touch. His eyes widen. Did youâ
âTo you taking me on a date,â you reveal, your smile deepening, and he swears his shadows snicker in response. âThe vision I just saw. It was of me and you at a theater. Next Friday at seven.â
âNext Friday at seven,â Azriel confirms, a tender affection lighting up his expression.
The air seems to shimmer with the promise of an enchanting future. You reach out, tugging at the bond in your chest. Once again, there is only silence. Yet, you canât bring yourself to care anymore. Not when Azriel is gazing at you as though you are the very stars illuminating the night sky.
And then you're kissing him.
The snow crunches underfoot as Azriel moves, his usually keen senses dulled. His mind is elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of you. Even as the icy missiles fly past him, Azriel remains lost in the memories of shared glances and smiles and the way your lips felt so perfect against his last night.
For the first time in years, Azriel finds himself on the losing side of the annual snowball fight. Oddly, no disappointment lingers, even after meticulous planning for this anticipated victory. All he wants is to return homeâto you.
Amidst the snowy chaos, revelation strikes him simultaneously with a snowball from Rhysand. The snap, the bondâeverything falls into place. It all makes sense now. Your words when you first met. Elainâs words last night at Solstice. Why your presence thrilled and delighted him. Why he couldn't shake the feeling of love and adoration for you.
You are his mate.Â
The one he had been longing and pleading for, and the realization left him breathless. He shakes the snow from his face and Rhysand blinks back at him in surprise. The High Lord had been expecting a glare but he only finds pure shock on Azrielâs face.
âOh come on, I didnât hit you that hard,â he teases.
âI have to go.â
âIf you leave, youâre forfeiting,â warns Cassian, but the glint in his eye betrays a desire for Azriel to leave, eager for a victory.
âI yield,â Azriel says mindlessly, surprising even Rhysand. Feeling his friend's talons probing his mind, Azriel throws up his shields and disappears into his shadows, abandoning the snow-covered battlefield. He'll explain later.
For now, he has to find you.
His shadows winnow him back to the River house and he doesnât have to look for long because there you are, making your way down the last step and standing in his path. Thereâs not much that surprises you but that has changed since meeting Azriel and this moment is no different. Your eyes are widening, mouth parting.
âAzriel," you say. "What are you doing here? I thought you wereââ
âItâs you,â Azriel interrupts breathlessly as if he was running, chest rising and falling quickly in step with the erratic beating of his heart. Heâs bridging the distance between you. âAll this time. Itâs been you.â
You swallow thickly. âYou know?â
The glimmer of hope that had ignited during Starfall returns to your eyes, revealing a world he hadnât realized existed. How could he have been so blind?
Azriel smiles at you and itâs as if thatâs the last piece to the puzzle as the bond between you both comes to life, singing loudly against your chests. He pulls you flush against him and spins you around, eliciting a delightful squeal from you. Cradling your face in his hands, he kisses your forehead, then the corners of your eyes. He saves your lips for last, lingering in the sweet taste of them for a moment longer.
âYouâre my mate,â he says quietly, leaning his forehead against yours.
âYes,â you manage to whisper back, surrendering yourself to the depths of his mesmerizing hazel eyes, just like in the vision from months ago. And itâs not you who speaks again but Azriel.
âIâve been waiting for you.â
a/n: hope you all enjoyed this (: It took me longer to write than I thought because i'm used to writing more angst for Az than fluff but I wanted this to be different. It's canon that Elain found out that reader and Az were mates through a vision around the same time she decided to give Lucien a chance. I just want them all to be happy ⥠in terms of my ABBA x ACOTAR series, I think I'll work on another one for Cas next inspired by Honey, Honey. If you'd like to be tagged, just let me know!
tagging: @hellodarling1357
if you want to read more about Az x Seer reader, I wrote a couple of bonus scenes that didn't quite make the final cut. You can read them here.
#azriel x reader#azriel imagine#azriel shadowsinger#acotar imagine#azriel x you#azriel x y/n#azriel acotar#azriel fluff#azriel angst#azriel fanfic#acotar#acotar fanfiction#acotar x reader#acotar x y/n#abba x acotar
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
Closer
you thought that you were already close with patrick and art; turns out, you could get even closer.
Boardingschool!patrick & boardingschool!art x boardingschool!reader.
itâs no secret that the three of you were close.
Everyone at school acknowledges it by joking that youâre practically their manager, because youâre on the bleachers at every practice, seated front row at every match, and the second the match finishes, the first person they go running to is you.
in fact, you're all so close that you've developed a habit to follow them into the locker room after every practice. if anyone ever questioned your entry into the room, theyâd both chime at the same time: âsheâs ours.â
neither of them bat an eye when you sit down on the bench between the metal lockers and watch them get changed because itâs you, their little manager, and they didnât ever hide anything from you.
Youâd read them the daily school news, explain the daily school gossip, and update them on any homework they missed in the name of tennis practice. theyâd thank you in their typical ways by ruffling your hair and throwing their sweaty shirts on you before sandwiching you in a suffocating hug.
You shriek and laugh and say, âstop it!â but really, youâre too focused on the feel of their bare chests against youâ slippery from sweat and hot from the heatâ to care about anything else.
Thereâs always a brief moment after all the amusement when the laughter dissipates and youâre all just staring at each other. Your smile fades, and suddenly youâre painfully aware of their rapid breaths rising against you on either side, and the heat of it all fills the silent air with something else other than just audible breaths.
Today itâs patrick who looks over to art first, who returns his stare with pressed lips. you catch a flicker of something in their eyes, but they looked away before you could decipher it. However, it was clear that a silent agreement had been reached right in front of you. you suspect that for the first time since you transferred to the school, they were hiding something from you.
patrick breaks the silence first, turning slightly away from you to gently close his locker as he murmurs, âyou know, there have been a lot of rumours on campus lately.â
You scoffed, stuffing your agenda into your bag before smoothing a hand over your hair. âReally? What kind of rumours?â
Patrick shrugged. He pulled a shirt over his shoulders, nodding his head towards art. âRumours about us, mostly. Tell her, art.â
art purses his lips multiple rimes before speaking. âItâs just trash talk,â he pauses. patrick glances over to him one more time, flashing him a subtle glare before art finally continues, âthere's talk about how the three of us are suspiciously close, or whatever.â
âI guess itâs not so much a rumour as it is true,â you responded. You tilted your head towards them both, eyes squinting with humour as you questioned, âyou guys do consider us close, right? I mean, after all I do for you guys, Iâm honestly glad that people are speculating and starting to appreciate my efforts.â
âItâs just,â Patrick turns back around, shuffling his feet to sit down across from you on the bench with legs on either side of the wooden plank. His hands are gathered in the middle, fingers attempting to itch closer and closer to your own without you seeing.
âWe could be a lot closer, you know.â
You raised an eyebrow at Patrickâs sneaky hands, a slight smile still intact on your face as you asked, âHow close can we get, pat? Thereâs a limit to everything. Even the sky.â
âheâs right.â
You almost jump at the sudden voice you hear in your ear. you cleared your throat as he slid closer towards your back. Art mirrored Patrickâs movements with legs on either side of the bench, but his hands fiddled with the edge of your hoodie as he rested his chin on your shoulder.
âWe could be a lot closer.â
You observed the way art pressed his lips together, snuggling his face into the side of your neck as Patrickâs thumb rubbed circles on your hand. you hadnât even registered that patrick was now grinning, guilding your unsuspecting hand towards his dark curls.
You instinctively wrap your fingers around his wet hair, and you almost gasp when you hear patrick whimper. He pants heavily against your wrist, lips tickling the tender skin as he breathes, âwhy donât you come over to our dorm after class?â
You shake your head, dropping your hand from his head. âI donât think-â
âPlease,â art whispers against your neck.
You close your eyes, sucking on the inside of your cheek as you sighed deeply. For a beat, you simply listen to the sound of their synced breathing, taking in the familiar smell of the locker room, and the familiar smell of them. When you open your eyes again, Patrick and art are both eagerly staring at you, pleading with silence.
You suddenly laugh, smiling uncontrollably as you lean back against art and pull patrick closer by the hand that is still wrapped around yours. patrick gladly scooches closer until his nose is practically rubbing against yours, and he returns your laughter with a chuckle of his own.
âOkay,â you mutter while glancing back at art, whose mouth was agape with something adjacent to shock.
âso letâs get closer.â
-
a/n: âwhy donât u come over to our-â bags r packed.
#wyniepooh#challengers#challengers 2024#challengers fanfiction#challengers fic#challengers x reader#patrick zweig#patrick zweig x reader#patrick zweig x you#challengers fanfic#art donaldson#art x reader#art x you#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson x you#art donaldson x female reader#art donaldson smut#patrick zweig fanfiction#patrick zweig fic#patrick zweig imagine#patrick zweig smut#challengers patrick#challengers smut#josh oâconnor challengers#challengers film#challengers movie#challengers art donaldson#art donaldson fanfic#art donaldson fic#art donaldson imagine
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Tear Down My Reason
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x niece!reader Warnings: Canon typical incest, dubious consent with allusions to no consent, smut. Word count: ~4.6k
Summary: When Rhaenyra returns to King's Landing to petition Lucerys's claim to Driftmark, Aemond is eager for revenge for the loss of his eye. However, what he does not anticipate is the object of his ire becoming his niece instead of his nephew.
Author's note: For @targaryen-dynasty's milestone celebration. Congratulations, Laura! Read the rest of the celebration fics. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.
Aemond sits in his chambers, beside the fireplace, one leg crossed over the other. His eyepatch is discarded on the table in front of him, his index finger absentmindedly running the length of the scar that ravages the left side of his face.
It had itched incessantly since he had learned the news that his half sister, Rhaenyra, and her family would be arriving in Kingâs Landing to defend Lucerysâs claim to Driftmark. His scar always grew irritated at the mention of Luke, a reminder of the boy who had permanently disfigured him and left him without an eye. It was a crime for which Luke had never been reprimanded, and so Aemond had spent almost a decade allowing his anger and resentment to fester, thinking of all of the ways he would seek revenge should he ever see him again.Â
He knows exactly when they have arrived the next day as he spars in the training yard with Cole; he spots the two dark haired boys circling, and takes a moment to lean against the table of weapons before him, steeling himself. He imagines grabbing a blade and carving out one of his nephewâs eyes in exchange for his. Luke had taken his left, perhaps heâd take his right, a fair exchange.
Snapped out of his reverie by Cole beckoning him forward, he picks up his blade and advances towards him. He knows that Jace and Luke will be watching, and so he works hard to put on a display that will show heâs no longer the sullen, little boy they used to torment. He is a man grown, a warrior that they should respect and fear. He ducks and weaves against Coleâs morningstar, throwing away his shield as it splinters under impact, until finally he seizes the advantage, the point of his blade directed towards his opponentâs neck.Â
âWell met, my prince,â Ser Criston tells him, âyou will be winning tourneys in no time.â
âI do not give a shit about tourneys,â he utters, turning to face the two dark haired boys who stare up at him in shock. âNephews, have you come to train?â
He is unable to stop the malevolent smirk that tugs at his lips, seeing fear in their eyes as they gaze at him. There is revenge enough in knowing that while he has advanced in training with the sword, transformed himself into a foe which any man would find themselves unlucky to cross blades with upon a battlefield, they have remained frightened, sniveling little boys that still cling to their motherâs skirts for protection. It is not enough to satisfy him though. Not yet.
Having bathed and changed, he joins his family in the throne room, as the court gathers to hear the petitions for the succession of Driftmark. He stands tall and proud beside his brother, sister and mother, as his grandsire sits the throne in his fatherâs stead.
His eye sweeps the hall, seeing Vaemond Velaryon, Rhaenys Targaryen and her granddaughter, Baela, standing to one side. On the other is Rhaenyra, Luke, Jace, Joffrey, his uncle, Daemon, and his daughter, Rhaena. And then he spots her.
Aemond had utterly forgotten of her existence; born a year after Jace, and a year before Luke, his niece. She is as tall as her mother now, and has her fatherâs hair - her real fatherâs hair - long, dark curls that, despite being half pinned up, fall almost to her waist. She is soft featured, with Rhaenyraâs striking blue eyes. It baffles him that a Strong bastard could be so pleasing to look upon, and he purses his lips in disgust, forcing himself to look away as he reflects back upon what she had been like as a child.
She never joined in with the relentless teasing that Aegon, Jacaerys and Lucerys had subjected him to. She had spent all of her time with Helaena, from what he can remember, the two of them sat side by side, Helaena holding up insects and describing them to her, as she flicked through the pages of books trying to see if records of them already existed, so that they could learn more about them.
The night that he had lost his eye, she had remained next to his sister, looking on with concern as he had his wound stitched closed. He remembered thinking it odd at the time that she was not with Luke and Jace, but his mind was so addled from the effects of milk of the poppy that nothing is clear, beyond the image of her mother bursting into the hall of Driftmark and tugging her away, back to her own family.
As the petitions are heard, even when his own father arrives unexpectedly, announcing he will sit the throne today, he finds his attention drawn to her, unable to focus on anything else. She appears to be a meek little thing, keeping her eyes downcast, seeming ashamed of her own presence in the room. A trait that all Strong bastards ought to possess, in his opinion. Yet as the moments pass by and she does not look up, he finds himself growing increasingly irritated that she wonât look at him, despite how desperately he wills her to.
âHer children are bastards!â Shouts Vaemond, before turning to Rhaenyra, his voice lowering, âand she is a whore.â
Elation spreads like a warm glow through Aemondâs body, his attention finally pulled away from his niece to look upon the horrified expressions of his nephews and half sister. Serves them right. Finally someone is saying it out loud.Â
When he casts his gaze back upon his niece, her eyes are still fixed upon the floor. However, he sees the subtlety with which her bottom lip trembles, the light flush of her cheeks. She is about to cry.
Look at me.
The room falls silent as Daemonâs sword slices through Vaemondâs head, and it is only then that her head snaps up, her eyes tear filled and wide with shock, meeting Aemondâs. He finds himself smirking again, a quiet victory. Not only had the legitimacy of Rhaenyraâs children been brought loudly into question once more, but now he had the attention of his niece. He had forgotten her in the passing of so many years, but now she is within reach again, he will ensure she certainly never forgets him. The next time tears fill her pretty eyes he wants to be the cause of them.
Aemond groans when his mother informs him that the following evening they are to dine as a family, a request from his father to unite them all, having reestablished Lukeâs inheritance. He resents the idea of breaking bread with people he does not like, that do not like him, to have to sit at the same table and make pleasantries with the boy who half blinded him.
But she would be there. He wonders where she is now. Her mother had been swift to hurry her from the throne room after the decapitation of Vaemond Velaryon, and he is unsure of which apartments within the Keep she now occupies.
He finds himself stalking the corridors of the usually unoccupied quarters of Maegorâs Holdfast, his eye scanning every closed door, wondering which is the room that she occupies. He pulls to a stop at the top of a staircase as he sees familiar long, dark curls flowing down slender shoulders, disappearing into a doorway before it closes behind her.
Her chambers are unguarded, and before he has a chance to stop himself, his feet carry him down the steps towards them, his knuckles rapping at the wooden door. Itâs only when he hears the rustle of movement from the other side that his mind begins to race.
What if she is not alone?
What did he even intend to do if she was unattended?
He briefly considers turning on his heel and leaving, however, no sooner has the thought occurred to him than his niece is opening the door, startling at the sight of him, lips parting in shock. She is even prettier up close, despite her reddened eyes and tear stained cheeks.
âAemond?â
Despite the confusion that laces her voice, it is soft and dulcet toned. He wants to hear her say his name a hundred times over, for it has never sounded sweeter than coming from her lips.
He inhales deeply through his nose, preparing himself to speak. âYou are understandably upset by that business with our uncle and Vaemond. I have come to check on you, to make sure you are alright.â
Her eyebrows raise for a moment, blinking a few times as she regards him carefully. âOhâŠthat isâŠkind of you. My mother has said I ought to rest.â
âPerhaps you might welcome some company?â He offers. âIt would be unwise for you to be alone after witnessing something so bloody.â
She draws back a little at the suggestion, her mouth opening to speak before closing again, her brow furrowing.
Aemond fights the urge to smile at her hesitation. Reaching forward, he crooks a finger beneath her chin. âDo I frighten you so much you cannot bear to be in the same room as me?â
Gasping, she shakes her head fervently as his hand drops away. âNâno! It is justâŠit has been such a long time, and the last time I saw you, youâŠmy brotherâŠyour eyeâŠâ
He cocks his head, pushing down the resentment that bubbles to the surface at the mention of what had happened to him. âBut have you not heard? My father is hosting a dinner for us all tomorrow, to unite our families once more. There is no need for you to be so cautious, allow yourself to be reacquainted with your uncle.â
Her gaze lowers for a moment, as she appears to consider his offer. âYes, I suppose that would be nice,â she finally says, looking back up at him.
She steps to the side, allowing him to enter.
Too easy, he thinks to himself as he steps inside. There would be almost no sport in this if the fight she means to put up is so feeble.
He strides into the room, hands clasped behind his back, noting the lack of personal effects within the space, a reminder that she is a visitor. This is his home, not hers. He has the upper hand.
âApologies, Uncle,â she utters nervously, shifting from foot to foot as she fidgets restlessly with her fingers. âI had not anticipated your visit, this room is ill equipped for guests. I have no chair to offer you.â
âThat is quite alright,â he tells her amicably, forcing a soft smile before sitting upon the edge of the bed. âWe are family, are we not? Such formalities are not necessary.â
He pats the space beside him. âCome, join me, we have much to catch up on.â
She hesitates a moment, before sitting next to him. There is something about the feeling of the dip in the mattress beside him, combined with the floral scent of her filling his nostrils that sends the thrill of a shiver through his body, and he turns to look at her, eyeing her much like a cat would a mouse.
Such a pretty little thing.
âI am truly sorry, for what Luke did to you,â she begins, âIââ
He waves a hand dismissively, forcing down the anger that threatens to burst forth. âLet us speak no more of it. It is in the past. Tell me, how is life upon Dragonstone treating you?â
She chews her lip, hesitating a moment before she speaks. âTruthfully, it is lonely. I miss Kingâs Landing. Jace and Luke have one another, and mother is preoccupied with her pregnancy and Joffrey and the babes. Daemon pays me no mind, and while I am grateful for Rhaenaâs company, I can tell she misses her sister. I am a poor substitute for Baela.â
He hums with faux concern, allowing a moment of silence to present his next words as thoughtful. âYou could never be a poor substitute for anything. And I expect you will soon be away from there anyway. I can imagine you have no end of suitors all vying for your hand.â
The hint of a blush turns her cheeks pink as she casts her gaze downward. âNo, not yet. I have overheard Rhaenys talking with my mother. They wish to betroth Baela and Rhaena to Jace and Luke. There are no such plans for me. What about you? Are you to be married?â
âNot yet,â he says softly, meeting her eye as she looks up at him. âI have been waiting for the right woman to capture my interest. Perhaps it is fortuitous that we both find ourselves unattached?â
âWhat do you mean, uncle?â She asks, her brow furrowing slightly.
âBaela and Jace, Rhaena and Luke,â he shifts his hand across the bed, entwining his fingers with hers. âYou and I.â
She gasps softly, though she does not wrench her hand away as he had anticipated. âIs this some sort of trick, Aemond?â
âNot at all,â he reassures her, moving closer. âWhat better way to unite our family once more?â
âWe hardly know each other,â she utters softly.
âAnd yet you have scarce left my thoughts all these years,â he lies. âLet me kiss you.â
Before she has a chance to respond, he is pressing his lips to hers. She stiffens at first, taken aback by his forwardness, but soon responds, her supple mouth moving against his. He brings his hand up to her cheek, cupping it softly, the skin soft as peach fuzz beneath his calloused fingertips.
She sighs softly as he deepens the gesture, her inexperience showing as her tongue retreats from his as it slips into her mouth. It serves only to stoke the fire that rages within, tightening his breeches as the sensation of her saliva causes his cock to swell.
Pulling away from her mouth, he moves his hand from her cheek, sinking it into her silky curls, anchoring her in place as he places hot, open mouthed kisses to her jaw and neck, making his way down towards her clavicle, relishing the way her head tips back slightly and her eyes flutter closed.
Tugging down the neckline of her bodice, he fights to suppress a groan of desire at the sight of her bared breasts, the hardened peaks ruddy and inviting. She is putting up so little resistance that it emboldens him to press forward, capturing a rosy bud between his lips and suckling as his tongue flicks against it, causing her to arch and mewl.
A whore, just like her mother, he thinks, shifting his attention to the other and repeating the same motion. His blood feels like liquid fire in his veins as her breaths turn to soft pants. One hand massages the breast that he is currently not latched upon, while the other creeps beneath her skirts.
It is only when his fingertips ghost upon the top of her stocking that she suddenly pulls free of him, eyes wide and breaths ragged as she hurriedly readjusts her dress.
âWe should not haveâŠforgive me, IâŠâ she stumbles over her words, flustered and looking on the verge of tears again, before hurrying from the room, leaving Aemond alone on the bed.
He growls in frustration, smacking his hand down upon the edge of the mattress. âIlibÄ«tsos,â he mutters angrily. Little slut.
When he returns to his own chambers, he comes harder than he ever has before, such is the force with which he fists his cock, imagining the entire time that his niece is splayed beneath him, sighing softly with pleasure as she had for him earlier that day.
As his pleasure induced haze wears off, a feeling of shame settles over him. He does not quite understand how his infatuation with her has taken hold so quickly, but now that it is, he is unable to shake it. Worse still, when she ran from her bedchamber, what if she had gone straight to her mother and told her of what he had done to her? It would be a disgrace from which he would never recover if his own mother were to be privy to such information.
He hides himself away the next day, embarrassed to face any of his family for fear they will know of his transgressions, until finally he is summoned to the feast that he has been dreading.
Much to his surprise, the entire day has passed without angry confrontation or a tongue lashing from his mother, and as he enters the dining hall there are no looks of shock or disgust to be met with, simply the shy smile of his niece as she looks up at him from her seat between her two brothers.
She has not told anyone, and she does not appear to regret what had transpired between them.
Aemond settles into his seat at the head of the table with a smug sense of pride. The dinner is a tawdry affair, musicians playing tunes he does not care for are stationed in the corner, while endless trays and bowls of food are brought out to them all.Â
He listens to his family toast to each other with a sneer, watching with barely concealed anger as Jace invites Helaena to dance. His only reprieve are the shy glances and smiles that his niece directs his way across the table. Perhaps all is not lost.
It is not until a suckling pig is brought out and settled before him that he is no longer able to contain his temper. Seeing Luke smirk at him, a reminder of the pig he had been taunted with in place of a dragon as a child, is too much. Is it not enough that his nephew has taken his eye, but now he continues to mock him too? He will not stand for such an insult.
Abruptly, he slams his first upon the table, halting the music and chatter within the room, as he rises from his chair, raising his wine cup.
âFinal tribute,â he announces, eye scanning the room, careful not to include his niece in his speech, lest he foils the plans he has especially for her. âTo the health of my nephews; Jace, Luke, Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wiseâŠstrong. Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.â
The ensuing scuffle passes by in a blur for Aemond, resulting in him pushing Jace to the floor before they are all dismissed to their quarters. He hangs back, out of sight, waiting for Jace and Luke to disappear from sight, before striding after his niece.
She whips around, looking angrily up at him, eyes blazing with fury. âWhy would you do that? Youâve ruined everything!â
âForgive me,â he utters gently, taking her hands in his, âI lost my temper, but you have to know that my anger was never directed at you.â
She sighs, her shoulders sagging. âJace and Lukeâs betrothals were announced tonight. I was hoping we could announce ours too. Now my mother will never agree to it.â
Pride and satisfaction swell within his chest as he gazes down at her. He raises an eyebrow. âYou wish to marry me? I had thought you were refusing my proposal, considering how quick you were to flee from me yesterday.â
âIt all happened so fast. I have never been touched in that way before, and I allowed it to frighten me, I am sorry for it. But having had time to think on it, I do want to be your wife.â
He smiles down at her, seeing eye shining malevolently. âThen let the news of our betrothal be the balm that soothes all hurts upon the morrow.â
She smiles happily at him. âThen I shall bid you goodnight, Uncle.â
âSo soon? I thought perhaps we might pick up where we left off yesterday.â
She flushes a delicate red. âWould it not be better to wait until we are wed?â
âI will not push you further than you wish to go,â he whispers, before kissing her deeply, walking her backwards into her bedchamber.
He is quick to cover her body with his own as she topples back against the softness of the mattress, kissing her fiercely as his hands push her skirts roughly up and over her hips.
âI thought you did not wish to push me?â She whispers breathlessly, pulling back from his lips.
âI shall not, talus,â he reassures her, his fingers absentmindedly stroking her the bare skin of her thighs, âbut that does not mean I will not make you beg for it.â Niece.
Kissing her deeply once more, he shifts down her body, dragging her small clothes down and off of her leg in one fluid movement, before spreading the plushness of her thighs, his single eye drinking in the glistening sight of her cunt spread out before him.
He smiles to himself as he drags the tip of his tongue through her folds, hearing the way her breath hitches, his hands forcefully holding her down, keeping her still, as she attempts to buck her hips. He almost groans at the tart taste of her, his mouth quick to envelope her, alternating between sucking messily at her pearl and laving the flat of his tongue against her.
She writhes, pinned to the bed by her pelvis by his forceful grip, wanton sounds of pleasure escaping her as she clutches the bed sheets so tightly her knuckles turn white.
Lapping greedily at her as she falls apart against his tongue, he almost spends in his breeches taking in the sight of her arched back, tousled hair, ruddy cheeks and trembling thighs. But he is not finished yet.
The moment she settles back against the bed, her body spent and pliant, he begins his assault anew, this time crooking two fingers inside of her, rubbing urgently against the rough patch inside of her as his tongue focuses purposefully on her sensitive nub. The desperate sounds she makes are music to his ears. She is impossibly tight, he wonders how he will ever fit inside, but is all the more determined to find out as he sends her hurtling and crying out once more into the throes of another torturous release.
âStop, stop!â She whines, attempting to back up the bed away from him, as he attempts to settle his face between her thighs a third time. âI cannot take it anymore.â
âIf I am inside of you, it will not feel quite so intense,â he whispers, not moving an inch from where he lays between her legs, his chin shiny and sticky with her arousal.
âWe are not yet married, Uncle, we should not,â she protests feebly.
âBut we will be,â he insists, âso what does it matter? And I am afraid I have not had my fill of you, talus, so we shall have to continue as we are if you do not wish for me to be inside of you.â
âGodsâŠpleaseâŠnoâŠanything, just no more of that, it is too much.â
He smirks at her ruined state, bringing himself up towards her face, his voice dark. âBeg me for it.â
âPlease, Aemond, please,â she cries, âput it inside, I cannot stand anymore.â
He grins wolfishly, as his fingers move to the lacings of his trousers, untying them and shucking the material past his hips.
Sucking in a steadying breath, he places the swollen head of his cock against the wetness of her opening, his eye flickering to her face for any signs of hesitation. She still looks utterly wrecked, her expression one of hazy bliss, her eyes glassy. Taking this as silent permission, he presses forward, hissing through his teeth at the resistance he is met with.
She whimpers softly, in clear discomfort, as he continues to push inward slowly, looking between her face, her brow furrowed and lips parted, and where their bodies are joining together.
He feels something give way, before he is fully rooted within her.
Her maidenhead.
Aemond fights the prideful grin that wants to spread itself across his face. His nephew had taken his eye, now in turn he had taken his nieceâs virtue.
He stills, waiting for her to adjust, before moving slowly, dragging his hips back before pushing softly forward, repeating the motion. He desperately wants to snap his hips against hers, to make her cry out in pain, to disregard her comfort, but he is not a monster, he reasons. Her innocence soaking his length is payment enough.
Remembering how her body had responded so positively to his affections the previous day, he tugs down her plunging neckline with two fingers, freeing the softness of her breasts, leaning down to press gentle kisses against them, before suckling a nipple into his mouth.
She moans quietly, her body loosening up, becoming less tense beneath his, making it feel more pleasurable for him in turn. He means to be gentle with her, he really does, but feeling her grow wetter around him makes it impossible for him not to speed up his thrusts, driving into her faster, harder, causing her to whine and whimper as he trails his mouth across her chest. So lost in the sensation of her, he barely registers her delicate fingers clutching desperately at his hair and shoulders.
He knows he is done for when she squeezes around him, he knows he ought to pull out, to spill himself across the creamy white skin of her lower belly and thighs, but she is so warm, so wet, so tight around him that he cannot bring himself to leave her. He finds himself chasing his own end inside of her, his hips moving of their own accord, until finally, with a blinding white heat that tingles at the very base of his spine, he groans loudly, pulsating and spending inside of her in hot, powerful spurts.
Allowing himself a moment to settle against her, he basks in the warm afterglow of his peak, before pulling slowly out, disentangling his limbs from hers as his breath comes in shallow pants. He kneels up on the bed, pulling his trousers back over himself and fastening them. He allows himself to drink in the sight of her, her dress and hair in utter disarray, the sticky mess between her legs, her kiss swollen lips and faraway stare. Utter perfection.
It is not until he stands from the bed, smoothing over his clothing and hair with his hands that she finally comes back to reality and pulls herself up to rest upon her elbows. âWhere are you going?â
âBack to my chambers,â he says coolly, âI have gotten what I wanted.â
âWhat do you mean?â She asks, worry lacing her tone, her eyebrows knitting together.
âYour bastard brother took my eye. Now Iâve taken the only thing that makes you worth a damn.â
Her voice wobbles, tears rimming her eyes as they widen in realisation, pulling at her dress to cover herself. âYou said you would marry meâŠâ
âI lied.â
âWhy?! Why me?!â
He shrugs. âYou made it easy. You might want to have the maester brew you a tea though, unless the bastard also wants a bastard.â
âI will tell my mother,â she whispers tearfully.
âGo ahead. I will deny it. Who will believe you? If you birth a silver haired babe, there is nothing to suggest that it is not a result of my brother forcing himself upon you, or perhaps our uncle. Your mother was younger than you, I believe, when he first started to show an interest in her. So if I were you, I would have the tea brewed and keep quiet, unless you wish to be branded a whore as well as a bastard.â
âYou are a monster!â She spits, shoulders shaking as she sobs.
âDrÄ«ves, talus,â he utters, turning to leave her bedchamber. âĂuha drÄ«va issa.â Justice, niece. I have justice.
#ewan mitchell#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond x you#aemond x y/n#aemond targaryen x y/n#aemond imagine#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond smut#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen fan fiction#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen fan fic#aemond fanfiction#aemond fan fiction#aemond fanfic#aemond fan fic#prince aemond targaryen#the one eyed prince#aemond one eye#prince aemond#aemond#aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd fan fiction#hotd fan fic#aemond stannies
2K notes
·
View notes