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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 year

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I’VE ALWAYS LOVED THE WAY YOU EAT ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; suguru is a morning person. he likes the serenity of it all; the quiet of the early hours, the expensive feel of his coffee pot. more than anything, he likes bringing you breakfast in bed.

word count; 4.9k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, just comfy morning vibes, fluff fluff fluff!!, suguru being a good soon-to-be husband, lots of petnames, reader is whipped (and so am i) but suguru is even worse, i need him biblically.

a/n; this is my personal essay on why suguru geto is the perfect man and wife. bon appetit !!

something smells good.

as your eyelids flutter open, and you gradually slip out of sleep’s fuzzy embrace, you are engulfed by that one thought. that one sensation.

there’s a sweet fragrance in the air, an unnamed something you can’t place. a force of love.

soft sunrays flit in through the haphazardly closed window blinds of your bedroom, cascading across the floorboards and bouncing off the walls. splotches of sunshine envelop you in a hazy kind of glow; gentle and coaxing, stirring you awake. it feels good on your skin.

indulging in a few more slow blinks, you shift to lie on your back, halfheartedly attempting to chase the sleepiness away. tangled up in silken sheets and fluffy blankets, you stare at the ceiling — but even such a mundane task feels so nice. just wallowing in the tantalizing scent drifting through the bedroom, the flurry of little kisses that the sun smothers you with.

it’s still early, and you’re still sleepy. outside the walls of your apartment, the sun is rising to its feet, dyeing the world in warm colours; violets and blues melting into pinks and oranges, like an egg cracked open on the canvas of the sky. everything is quiet, not a sound to be heard except for the very distant chirping of cicadas from the trees outside your window. utter peace. like time isn’t even passing.

in the midst of such a precious moment, all you want is to laze around. it’s just that kind of pleasant, mellow morning; the kind that makes you wish the sun would never fully rise.

a satisfied little sigh slips from your lips. content to soak in the heavenly feeling until it passes, your eyes flutter shut — you’re just so sleepy, and the sun just feels so warm. soothing you, making it even harder to stay awake, cradling you in its hazy embrace. sunlit and saccharine.

with the morning fatigue clouding your senses, you don’t even notice the other presence in the room.

suguru smiles, from his spot by the door — leaning against the wall and gazing at your relaxed expression, an immense fondness reflected in his eyes. taking a moment to silently admire you.

you look so content. tangled up in blankets and pillows, with your limbs outstretched and starfished across the mattress. your hair is a little messy, and you’re drooling just a smidge, wearing his shirt; it’s a couple sizes too big for you, slipping off your shoulder and exposing your sunkissed skin. as suguru’s eyes trail over your features, the fond smile on his face only grows, shifting into something honeyed and giddy.

you’re perfect, he thinks. absolutely perfect.

a moment passes. then another. suguru continues to stare, as if trying to etch the image of you into his memory. trying to prolong the moment for as long as he can.

until, finally, he’s had his fill. simply admiring you from afar isn’t enough — he needs to see you up close, needs to hear the sleepy little tilt of your voice. so he opts to make his presence known, voice gravelly and sweet, echoing softly throughout the room.

“good morning, sweetheart.”

softly, your eyes flicker open. the familiar voice sends a tremor of something running through your chest — and suddenly, it feels as if some of the sleep clinging to your skin has been washed away. it’s a little easier to make yourself move, shifting to your side to get a better look at the source of the sound.

and the warmth that blossoms in your chest when your eyes meet suguru’s is almost overwhelming.

(god, he’s pretty.)

suguru looks perfect, in the morning. he looks like the rest of your life. hair a little messy, tied up into a lazy half-done bun, silky black strands cascading down his neck. and wearing a pair of comfy sweatpants that hang a little low on his hips, but no shirt — showing off the curve of his tiny waist, the slight twitch of his arms when he indulges in an idle stretch.

you try to restrain yourself from ogling his bare chest and arms too much, but it’s tough. frighteningly so. with the sunlight embracing his skin, muscles on full display, he looks a bit like a sculpture. a little too good to be real.

but he is. and he’s yours. and he’s smirking at you, lazily, affectionately — eyes half-lidded as he balances the tray that’s making the room smell so sweet. just standing there, looking so unfairly gorgeous. waiting for you to muster up the energy to respond to his greeting, more than happy to watch the way your eyes soften as they trail across his features in the meantime.

“morning,” is all you can rasp, eyes closing as your cheek sinks deeper into the mattress. a bit too tired to talk to him properly, and a bit too unguarded to look at him without feeling as if your heart is about to leap out of your throat.

he’s a little too pretty, like this. framed by the hazy sunshine, like something out of a dream. all soft clouds and gentle caresses, the scent of dried lavender, the pitter patter of rain against a windowsill. all things kind and comforting.

you’re afraid that your heart might give out, if you look at him for too long.

suguru doesn’t seem to mind. he only chuckles, voice deep and husky, sending shivers down your spine. his lips quirk up into a smooth kind of smile, and he’s quick to make his way to your side; crouching down to meet you at eye level after placing the tray on the nightstand.

a hand comes to caress your cheek. the rough pads of his fingers smooth down your jaw, gentle and doting, as if coaxing you out of hiding. as if you’re made of porcelain. suguru always treats you like you’re fragile, like you’re the most precious thing he has.

(because you are, he thinks. more precious than the expensive vanilla extract he used to make the waffles on the tray, more precious than the diamond-clad ring he’s hidden away in a drawer of the guest room. more precious than anything this world has to offer.)

a blissful little sigh slips from your lips, as you nuzzle into his palm. suguru leans forward to smear a kiss against your forehead, overcome with fondness; warm lips lingering on your skin.

the sensation strikes you as just a little heavenly. his touch is so tender, every caress so full of love. instinctual, the way his love bleeds into his touch, trickles down his veins to the tips of his fingers — smoothing along your skin. such a heavy thing, but he just makes it feel so light.

“still sleepy?” he hums, a little teasing. eyes crinkling, voice bordering on a coo.

and it’s infuriating. the amusement that flickers through his eyes, the way you can tell he’s itching to tease you for being so groggy and tired.

between the two of you, suguru’s always been the one to get out of bed first, to your grave annoyance. and he’s so smug about it. you want to tell him that waking up so early on a saturday isn’t normal, that he’s the weird one for not being sleepy —

but when he’s cupping your cheek so gently, all you manage is a meek little murmur of mm. one that has suguru stifling a coo, lips curling up into an adoring smile.

look at you. his sleepy little baby, dyed in sunrays and tiny specks of dust. so effortlessly pretty, tangled up in fluffy blankets, an image so precious he almost feels like he shouldn’t be looking at it. yet he continues to do so, mesmerized.

(suguru doesn’t mind being a little greedy, when it comes to you.)

“i made you breakfast,” he continues, as you melt into his touch. an absentminded action, but almost brimming with trust; the trust you have in him to treat you well. one he’ll always, always affirm. “your favorite. wanna eat with me?”

breakfast.

something in your brain visibly reacts to the sound of the word, shooing away a little of the morning fatigue still clouding your senses. before you know it, you’ve forced yourself into a sitting position, with groggy movements and a soft groan. rubbing the skin beneath your eyes and kicking the blanket off your legs, a little clumsily.

suguru breathes out a soft bout of laughter, low and amused, as you lazily stretch and indulge in slow blinks. his hand goes to ruffle your hair, and all you do is lean into it.

“i’ll take that as a yes,” he teases, eyes full of fondness. you crack a sleepy smile at his amused tone of voice.

suguru’s hands are big, and a little rough, but still so very soft. you could spend hours tracing them — from the tips of his fingers down to the veins of his wrist, across his knuckles littered with small scratches and barely visible scars. stories of his childhood, that he loves telling you about, almost as much as you love hearing them.

you love his hands. they’re so pretty. so warm and grounding, as they smooth down your hair, unmistakably caring. the weight of them is a comfort, as his fingers card through your bedhead, scratching softly at your scalp. a sensation that makes you feel all fuzzy inside.

suguru is just so good to you.

and you’re only further reminded of that fact when your gaze trails over to the assortment of breakfast foods he’s prepared, neatly stacked on the nightstand. all your favorites, made with so much love; and it’s so evident, even just in the presentation. the freshness of the strawberry slices, the perfect amount of syrup spread over the waffles. the cup of coffee made just the way you like it.

maybe it’s the morning fatigue, or just the softness of the moment. the intimacy, so palpable you can almost reach out and touch it. or maybe it’s something else entirely — whatever the cause, you feel your eyes get somewhat glassy.

a meek little sniffle leaves your lips, and it catches even you off guard.

suguru blinks. suddenly alert, his morning-fatigued brain trying to comprehend the sight of your teary eyes. brain spinning in circles, not sure if it should be telling him to panic just yet. something in him constricts, twists and turns, a desperate kind of yearning to protect you.

but before he can even reach out to wipe away the wetness with his thumb, you’ve latched yourself onto him.

arms snug around his waist, face tucked under his chin. fitting into him like a puzzle piece. breathing in the remnants of the cologne on his neck; a nice bergamot mix that you like, so he sprays on a little extra just for you. so close to him that you can feel the patter of his heart against you, as you soak in his body warmth.

and his arms find their way around your form just as naturally, without him even having to think. like every bone in his body was born with a desire to cradle you close. like he was crafted in the image of someone made to soothe you.

being in suguru’s arms is pure bliss. the most grounding sensation you know, one that never fails to calm you down, no matter how stressed or anxious you’re feeling. with his broad chest and strong arms, his bergamot-scented skin. so doting, pressing little kisses to your shoulder, trying to console you. his hair tickles your cheek a little, but it’s comforting.

”what’s wrong, honey?” he questions, voice set on a low, particularly soothing lilt. coaxing, almost cooing — a tone that buzzes with safety. his big hands go to rest on your head and back, smoothing down your spine.

”nothing,” you sniffle. feeling a little silly. ”you’re just too perfect. ‘s not fair.”

a pause.

then, a chuckle bubbles up from suguru’s throat. something fond and delightful unfurls in his chest, a kind of relief; a feather-light amusement.

(you’re so ridiculous, he thinks.)

but you only nuzzle further into his neck, all sleepy and affectionate — and it stirs his heartstrings in a way that makes him feel rather helpless. crumbling beneath your touch. gazing at you with soft eyes, a happy little hum buzzing in his throat.

he takes you in, in all your clingy glory; so impossibly sweet. maybe he should have sprinkled some sugar on the strawberry slices, just to see if the taste could ever measure up.

”ah, is that so?” he drawls, a lazy amusement flickering through his eyes. playful. ”i’m sorry, baby. i should be the one saying that to you, though.”

but you just shake your head, arms tightening around his midriff. as if offended that he’d have the audacity to brush off your objectively correct statement, to even think to deny how perfect he is.

and suguru raises a brow at you, in tandem, a mild protest resting on the tip of his tongue — offended at your blatant disrespect, shaking your head at his factually correct words, as if disagreeing with your own evident perfection.

but before he can even begin to fight you on the topic, you part your lips to speak.

”thanks for breakfast, sugu,” you sleepily murmur, biting back a yawn. still a little meek, but oh so loving. ”i would die for you.”

he stills, once more. then another soft bout of laughter escapes his lungs, rumbling through his chest like a soothing thunderstorm. it makes you feel so terribly safe.

“there’s no need for that,” he assures you. ”don’t you wanna eat instead?”

to his surprise, he’s met with another soft shake of your head. so snug in his embrace that you could practically live there, only clinging to him a little tighter with a huff.

”just wanna hug you first…” you yawn, arms squeezing at his waist affectionately. shifting in his hold until your lips find their way to his neck.

”i love you,” you mumble, kissing down his jaw and collarbone. sleepy, open mouthed pecks, trailing over the expanse of his pretty skin. ”so much.”

it tickles, a little. suguru digs his teeth into his cheek, ever so slightly, just to hold back the giggle that threatens to break out from his throat.

and it’s maybe just a little too sweet, the sensation that blossoms in his chest, something honeyed and flowery; fluttering deep within his ribcage, like a dragonfly buzzing and trying to break free. it gets him a little weak in the knees.

to distract himself from the voice in his head urging him to go get the ring in the guest room drawer right this instant, suguru scoops you up. cradling you close, as he plops down on the mattress, legs crossed to give you space on his lap.

you don’t protest, only snuggling a little closer — as if yearning to tuck yourself away within his ribcage.

and suguru chuckles, the deep tremor of his voice reverberating through his chest, echoing in your head as you listen to the rhythmic beating of his heart. rubbing your back with a teasing smile, pressing a kiss against the crown of your head.

“i should make breakfast more often if it’ll get you like this,” he grins, basking in the warmth of your body against his.

a little whine falls from your lips. muffled into the curve of his shoulder, against his bare skin. “it’s not about the breakfast,” you pout, looping your arms around his neck. “it’s everything you do…”

a heat rises to your cheeks, a little embarrassed at the sappiness you’re exuding. but the sun feels so nice on your skin, and the bedroom smells so good, and the whole world feels so kind.

inhaling the fragrance of bergamot and coffee, you can only fall apart at the intimacy of the moment.

“i’m really grateful…” you murmur, resting your lips against his skin. buzzing with a warmth that has him shuddering. “‘m just bad at expressing it.”

suguru’s eyes soften. melting into a tender hue, like that of a creamsicle sunrise sky. a dreamy look smoothes over his features, and a fond hum buzzes in his throat.

“nah, you’re fine,” he drawls, squeezing at your hips affectionately. pulling away ever so slightly, just to plant a kiss on your forehead, brushing your bangs away with a certain bleeding tenderness. “you don’t need to say it out loud. i know, anyway.”

and he does. suguru understands you better than anyone; a point of immense pride, for him. knowing you so deeply that he can practically hear your thoughts before you speak them, knowing what you need at a single glance. just from a certain furrow of your brows, or the slight tilt of a smile you’re trying to hide.

always one step ahead, folding your laundry on days you’re feeling particularly stressed out, or giving your hand a comforting squeeze when he notices that you’re nervous. always so attentive. it’s a little overwhelming, but also so comforting — to be so thoroughly understood.

his eyes are warm. full of pure affection, a devotion so heavy it makes your heart stutter in your chest. all you can do is glance down, shyly, slumping your forehead against his bare chest.

your voice comes out a little strangled, still raspy. a little wobbly in the wake of your adoration.

“i wanna appreciate you…” is muffled against his skin, your lips curled down into a soft pout. and suguru breathes out a flustered little breath, amused — somewhat delighted.

“you can appreciate me by eating a hearty breakfast,” he suggests, a teasing tilt to his husky voice. cradling you just a little closer, as if even the miniscule distance between you is unbearable. as if he needs your hearts pressed together to keep himself intact. “how about that, hm? or would you rather give me a kiss?”

a moment passes, and a sleepy hum slips from your tongue. he feels your lips touch the soft skin of his neck, once more; then you muster up the strength to pull back from his embrace, slumping against his shoulder with your back against the headboard. it takes concentrated effort.

and suguru chuckles, again. odd, how a man who’s normally so put-together can’t seem to ever hide his joy whenever you’re around. but suguru is just a little too weak for you — he can’t help but let you strum his heartstrings along, however you want. any kind of melody you desire.

(it just so happens that no melody sounds prettier than a joyous one, when it’s falling from his lips.)

a lovesick smile painted on his face, suguru watches as you finally dig in. and he thinks it’s precious, the strawberry juice smearing your lips, the contentment in your features as your eyelids flutter shut. a mellow kind of pride swells in his chest with every satisfied hum that you grace him with, every giddy declaration of how delicious it all is.

there’s something about it he can’t quite explain, can’t put his finger on. something almost otherworldly, in how fulfilled it makes him feel, like he’s lived his entire life just for this moment. just for the sake of making you breakfast and watching you wolf it all down.

suguru doesn’t think there's a single better way to show his love for you than this; cooking for you, putting every last drop of his love into everything he makes. from beverages to pastries, each of them carefully chosen to suit your tastes.

there’s an intensity to the labour, something that brings him great joy. the care and excitement in something as small as the flick of his wrist when he pours sugar into your coffee, or the weight he puts on the kitchen knife while cutting the fresh strawberries he spent four minutes picking out at the market.

there’s something about it that’s just so, so tender. that earnest wish to see you happy and healthy, to make sure you never go hungry. taking care of you. it's pure, domestic, love incarnate. he’s so weak for it, so sappy, but he just can’t help it — suguru loves watching you eat his cooking more than anything.

that, and your blissful little expression is a sight to behold. sunkissed by the morning rays flitting in through the window blinds, suguru thinks you look something like an angel, soft and fleeting and so beautiful it makes his heart squeeze painfully inside his chest. heavy thumps of blood; warmth trickling from his heart to his wrists to the pads of his fingers, as he rubs absentminded circles into the skin of your thighs.

and he thinks to himself that all the happiness he needs is right here in front of him. in this moment, with you tiredly munching on the breakfast he made, sipping slowly from your cup of coffee and savouring every last drop. smiling at him so sweetly, so positively precious that he simply can't resist leaning down to taste the caffeine off your lips.

everything feels so wonderful, so completely and utterly right. the world feels so kind, like this. a world where all that exists is you, and him, and the sun. heaven on earth.

all of it sends a tremor running through his heart, every slight change of the scene reflected in his eyes. the soft smile on your lips, the way you lean your head against his shoulder and bite back a yawn, the expectant look in your eyes as you feed him pieces of your food with a giddy grin —

suguru thinks to himself that he’d sooner die than give it up.

as much as he loves sleeping in, loves indulging in your warmth until the sun sits comfortably on the blue canvas of the sky, he loves this even more. loves dragging himself out of bed before the sun even has a chance to peek out beneath the horizon painted pink and purple, tired and groggy, and so disgruntled at the warmth that leaves him when he pulls away from your skin. loves making his way to the kitchen almost in a daze, moving around the open space so very naturally; fingers curling around the lid of the espresso machine, and the crinkled paper bag of pastries, and the carton of orange juice he bought just for you.

just watching the world wake up, basking in the peace and domesticity of it all. basking in the thought of you — you, with your messy bedhead and droopy eyes, always blinking up at him so sleepily when he returns to you in the morning. he loves it all.

the soft little frown that sometimes tugs at your lips when you’re still lost in dreamland, blindly and subconsciously reaching for the empty side of the bed when he gets up to stretch. the weight of your arms around his waist, hugging his back on the somewhat rare occasion that you make your way to him before he makes his way to you. the grumbles against his skin about how he always abandons you on your days off, even if he only does it so he can make you both coffee.

you, in all your glory — now resting against his shoulder as you plop the last strawberry into your mouth, closing your eyes with a blissful little sigh.

and suguru feels so lucky. so very honoured, to be the one you chose. the one and only person who gets to see you like this, when your voice is still raspy and your hair is still messy, and you have crumbs sticking to your soft lips that you're too sleepy to wipe away.

he does so, himself, with an amused little huff that’s really more of a sigh laced with adoration. thumb smoothing over your skin gently, a silent i love you hanging on the tip of his tongue. his fingers find their way to your skin so effortlessly. like they belong there, like they exist solely to trace the softness of your jaw and to cradle your cheek.

”thank you,” you beam up at him, grinning sweetly.

and suguru knows that you mean it. he knows that you’re grateful, knows not a moment goes by when you don’t notice his affections, no matter how subtle. he thinks you're a little bit silly for worrying that he doesn't. but he thinks you're even sillier for not realizing that you deserve all of it and more, that just that sweet smile of yours alone is more than enough to make up for it.

more than anything, he hopes from the bottom of his heart that you know the opposite is true as well. that he appreciates every single thing you do, notices everything you do for him, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem to you.

you're so good to him. always have been. how could he ever bear to not repay you in tenfold?

”you’re welcome,” he smiles, soft and saccharine and genuine. his lips brush against your forehead with a soft peck, one that has your body melting into his just a little more.

breakfast passes you both by in a flurry of warmth, splotches of sunlight and content hums, until you’re lying side by side beneath the blankets once again. curled up close to each other, with you resting on suguru’s chest, cheek smooshed right over his heart. his arm rests on your back, cradling you closer.

”that was delicious,” you chirp, something soft buzzing in your voice as you bite back a yawn. stretching your limbs out lazily, a honeyed smile on your face. ”as always.”

suguru’s a little too tired to fully hide the soft grin that crawls up to rest on his lips, almost smug. awfully happy with himself, and your words of earnest praise.

“yeah? ’m glad,” he hums, looking at you with affection swimming in his eyes. ”i haven’t lost my touch yet, then.”

”of course not,” you exhale, somewhere in between a huff and a chirp. “you could start a whole breakfast diner with your skills!”

the words are teasing, a little much, but laced with a syrupy sweet sincerity that has suguru’s heart doing laps in his chest. thump, thump, thump — strumming his heartstrings along as you please, conducting the orchestra inside his ribcage. but he’d much prefer to think of you as his muse.

a low chuckle rumbles through his body, akin to a purr. buzzing right by your ear, as his fingers curl around yours, his thumb rubbing soft circles into the skin of your hand. ”you think so?”

an eager nod, as you gaze up at him happily. the sight makes his lips twitch upward, and he can only hope you don’t catch the way his heart skips a beat.

smoothing a large palm over your head, he tousles your hair fondly. ”yeah?” he chuckles, again. “you'll be my first customer, then.”

the smile on your face widens. ”will i get a discount?” you ask, a fuzzy contentment in the way your eyes glimmer. ”since i’m your favorite.”

suguru grins. a husky puff of laughter seeps out of his throat, filling the air with a palpable fondness. it’s almost overwhelming, the affection that simmers in his chest, a cup overflowing. he wants to reach over and smother you in kisses, wants to coo at you. wants to tell you how irresistable you are, like this; so cute and sleepy that he thinks you could probably coax him into giving you every star in the sky.

but that can all wait for another time. he doesn’t want to break the peace of the mellow moment, the subtle intimacy that lingers in the air. the playfulness in your words.

”of course,” he simply says, indulging you with a sweet smile. ”you’ll get all the discounts you want, baby. nothing less for my favorite customer.”

suguru’s eyes crinkle, brimming with love when he hears the happy little giggle that tumbles from your pretty lips. so pretty that he can’t resist pulling you a little closer, to give you another kiss — relishing in the way you soften against him. like you could fall asleep just like this, so safe and comfortable. breathing him in.

sunlight shines in through the window blinds, engulfing you in that familiar heavenly hue. your bedroom almost seems to glow, like a hazy polaroid, a moment that feels too precious to put into words.

you look stunning, he thinks, with your droopy eyes and sleepy yawns. absolutely breathtaking. soaked in a brightness rivaling that of the sun herself, the most precious thing this world has to offer.

and suguru thinks to himself that this might just be it. that this might be all that he needs, all that he’ll ever need — but he already knew that.

he thinks of sunrises. of soft embraces and fluffy blankets, of expensive coffee pots and diamond rings, of the way your lips curl up every time he kisses you. he thinks of the light of morning, how it always seems to devour everything else. how it makes every sliver of darkness seem so inconsequential.

he thinks of how your presence always seems to do the same.

when suguru looks down, pulled out of his lovesick stupor by the sound of a little snore, you’ve fallen back asleep. cheek squished against his bare chest, drooling a smidge as you dream so prettily, your chest rising up and down in a rhythmic serenity.

his heart flutters. fleeting and giddy, a little dove trapped in his chest. with a sweet coo, he reaches over to caress your skin with the back of his hand, careful not to wake you — so gentle that he holds his breath, as if afraid that even a single exhale could disrupt your well-deserved rest.

butterflies dance in his stomach, when he sees the way that makes you smile. a whirlwind of them, wings fluttering eagerly, as if attempting to fly out of his throat. he gulps them down again, but he can still feel them. just like he could when you first met.

butterflies that still haven't gone away, despite how long you’ve been together. butterflies that never will go away, as long as there are plates to fill and breakfasts to be made.

in other words, they're there to stay — forever and ever.

(suguru’s gaze falls on your ring finger. he thinks of the secret in the bottom of the drawer, and wonders what kind of breakfast he should make for you when it’s time to bring it out.)

#im normal abt him!! i swear i am!!!!!#smth about extremely devoted malewives with black hair just do it for me #suguru geto n aki hayakawa are like this🤞in my brain #i think suguru was like. crafted specifically to look good in the morning #like that deep voice……. his hair in a messy bun………. wearing sweatpants w no shirt……………….. i am on my hands n knees #this ended up almost as a parallel to my gojo fic…. it wasnt even intentional blame stsgs soulmatism #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto x reader #geto fluff #geto suguru x you #jjk geto #jjk x reader #jjk

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crguang · 5 months

Text

just one taste

morning quickie with kafka because we all deserve it <3

gn!reader, smut, service top!reader, power bottom!kafka (HEAR ME OUTTTT), fluffy fluff, oral sex, 3k words

A/N: i could’ve made this so pathetic and yearnful but i spared you all because it’s already disgustingly cute.

“Keep those off,” you gesture groggily to your own eyes with a finger, brows furrowed in a sleepy daze, and Kafka pauses in front of the mirror, “and come here.”

You run a hand over your face as Kafka smiles in amusement from her seat at her makeup vanity. You turn to the digital clock on her bedside with narrowed eyes and the glaring numbers it displays offend you. It’s 6:27 in the morning, sun rays paint the bed sheets in soft colors and you force yourself to sit up against the pillows. Kafka glances to where your shirt rises up your stomach when you stretch your arms above your head, uninterested in your personal battle with consciousness as you rub the sleep out of your face. The bridge of your nose scrunches up comically with a yawn and hours of moving around has messed up your hair, there’s a small pimple growing near your hairline that you’ll undoubtedly scowl at later and yet Kafka finds all these mundanities beautiful. How silly.

“Why?”

She places the contact lens back into its case and rests an elbow on the vanity table, her cheek in her palm and fondness in her gaze reflected by the morning light.

You frown at the question like the answer is as obvious as the blue in the sky. “Because I want to see you; it’s too early to hide. Why are you still over there?”

She only smiles at your reasoning. “I have to pick up something before the mission.”

“Do it later.”

Kafka sighs in pretend exasperation and rises to her feet. She’s fully dressed in her usual attire save for her lack of shoes and her steps are silent as she makes her way to the bed.

“Can’t argue with that logic,” she teases.

The mattress dips where her knee sinks into it. You scoot over a little to create some space and Kafka falls back onto the covers. You waste no time in laying your cheek on her chest and wrapping your arm around her waist. You sigh as your thigh lodges itself between hers. A hand gently strokes your hair almost instantly afterwards. It would’ve been easy to fall back asleep this way, but once you’ve fully woken up it’s always an inner struggle to return to that state of peaceful unconsciousness. Kafka’s an early riser, so she’s careful not to disturb you when she slips out of bed to get ready for the day; she’s generally silent in all she does, anyway.

You welcome the stillness of the morning and the quiet of the room as you bask in her touch. In a few hours she will have to leave with Blade to complete another part of Elio’s script and her presence has been fickle as is. You have your own missions to complete, with and without some of the other Stellaron Hunters. Time isn’t often on your side so you cherish these moments where everything is light; the rising sunshine, her fingers through your hair or under your shirt, your tranquil heart. Kafka loves to act like she’s indulging you, sighs and reluctantly complies as if you’re forcing her hand, when the truth is much simpler. It was funny and endearingly charming the first time she held you close to her chest and you felt the drumming of her heart, quick as one of her bullets. You enjoy how guarded she is because you get to unravel her like a present, and what’s hiding within those colorful layers is someone so easily understood.

You lift your head to look at her, chin resting between her breasts, and meet her eyes. Without her contacts they reveal what she would rather stay away from sight. She’s even prettier up close. Kafka raises a questioning brow when you fail to contain a smile.

“It’s nothing,” you softly shake your head. Kafka’s free fingers slowly trail down your earlobe to your jaw.

“You’re such an open book,” she says with a small smile, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah?”

She hums. Her round nails scratch your cheek. “Too open for your own good.”

You know why she has those walls around her; knowledge is power and the less others know about her, the bigger her advantage. A sensible reasoning, but you find it exhausting and unnecessary. Being connected to your feelings doesn’t make you irrational and has never hindered your competences as a Stellaron Hunter. Her ability to get under people’s skin while revealing none of her intentions does make Kafka an exceptional poker player, though. You still owe her two thousand credits.

“Should I hide my emotions like you do?”

“No. This is how I like you, after all.”

“Oh, you like me?” You drawl teasingly and your grin widens when Kafka rolls her eyes. She pinches your cheek with two fingers.

“Sometimes.”

Using a hand on the bed to steady yourself, you lift your body to hover over hers. The hand in your hair descends to rest on your waist, squeezing once. You glance at her peach colored lips and watch the way they stretch further into a knowing smirk. When your gaze flicks back to hers, you lean a little closer.

“You know…” you trail off, “…I think I like you too.”

“‘That so?”

You nod. Kafka cups your jaw and rubs the skin with a forefinger. There’s a familiar glimmer in her eye as she speaks.

“How much?”

You don’t expect the question, so you pause for a few seconds. Kafka revels in catching you off guard, it makes her feel powerful in a way you don’t entirely understand. She awaits your reply, raising an eyebrow at your silence.

“I don’t know,” you finally answer pensively, looking away as you think. “Nothing of what we’ve gone through so far has tested the limits of how I feel for you.”

“How you feel for me, huh?”

“Mmm. When I look at you, I see the ocean.”

Your home planet had begun suffering the effects of a Stellaron long before you were born, turning most of it into a dry desert. You’d heard of the long, flowing rivers and gentle lakes growing up and those were just made up images in your mind for a long time. The sea was an even bigger myth, harder to picture because of its boundless proportions; it was impossible to imagine thousands of miles of water and depths no one could explore. You still remember the slow blinks of Kafka’s eyes when you admitted it to her years ago after she’d mentioned it in a sentence. The first time you saw the ocean, her hand was in yours. You stood, wide-eyed and speechless at the limitless expanses of royal blue, with the wind in your ears and grains of sand between your toes. You felt small, insignificant in a way that filled you with relief. In front of something so grand, you could be anything and it wouldn’t matter. Kafka’s open gaze was on you as the waves crashed to the shore like she was looking at the sea through your eyes and drinking in your wonderment. When you turned to her with parted lips, you felt breathless in the exact same way.

Kafka’s mask doesn’t crack but without the contacts she can’t hide the way her pupils dilate a few millimeters at your easy confession. Her mouth is frozen in that usual smile, the fingers on your skin have stopped moving, and you grin when you realize she’s so surprised she doesn’t know what to say. She’s quick to regain her composure though.

She effortlessly brings you closer and her breath fans over your lips when she replies, “Cute. I was expecting something better, though.”

“You’re such a fucking liar—“

Kafka cuts you off with a longing kiss and the rest of your sentence dies in your throat. You taste her lipstick as her mouth presses to yours and the hand on your waist gives it another squeeze. Her lips part to deepen the kiss, her tongue softly meets yours, leaving you breathless. You’re reduced to putty above her and she’s aware of it. Slow, languid kisses have a way of softening your bones and making you light until you’re like an inflating balloon drifting through space. With only the movement of her mouth, you forget everything that’s happened prior. Her kiss is the river Lethe and you are made anew with each one pressed to your lips.

You chase her lips when she pulls away and a short chuckle sounds from her throat. The hand around your jaw grips it tighter, keeping you in place.

“What is it you were saying?” She asks playfully, eyes flickering between yours.

“I really don’t care.” You pout when you try to lean forward and fail due to her hold on you. “Let me kiss you.”

“Ask nicely.”

“Please let me kiss you.”

“That doesn’t sound like a question.”

You swallow a whine and take a breath. “Can you please fucking kiss m—“

Her fingers suddenly squish your cheeks, making your entire face scrunch and your words incomprehensible. You look like a fish as she hums disapprovingly.

“I’m not sure I like this filthy little mouth of yours. Try again.”

She releases you. You smile sweetly.

“Can I kiss you, please?”

Your stomach tightens at the satisfaction on her face. She brings you closer a second time and plants an indulging kiss on your mouth. A sigh almost escapes you at the feel of her. You let her lead, happy to be along for the ride. The hand on your waist slips under your shirt to trail up your back and press you further against her body. The pace quickens a touch as she caresses your skin and you refuse to pull away for air until you feel the intoxicating pounding of your brain inside your skull.

You’re in a daze when you separate from her lips and exhale sharply through your nose. Her pretty lipstick is smudged from your kiss; the sight fuels the lustful embers in your belly. Kafka doesn’t protest as you press kisses across her jaw, just sinks her fingers into your hair with an amused chuckle. Your mouth follows a nonlinear pattern on her face, from the skin of her jaw to the apple of her cheeks, on the bridge of her nose and the corner of her eye. You wish to kiss every inch of her until you can map her body with only your mouth. It’s easy to lose yourself in her as she welcomes your affection with breathless kisses against your lips.

You only pull away to adjust your position over her, thighs on each side of her hips and back arched as you bend to kiss her once more. One of your hands is planted on the bed to support yourself while the other fiddles with the straps of her shirt for a minute before you make a noise of frustration into Kafka’s mouth and raise your upper body in order to properly see the buckles of her outfit. They’re easier to unfasten with both hands.

“Someone’s needy…” Kafka’s eyes narrow in amusement at your unsteady manipulation of her clothes. She simply watches your struggle for a moment.

You stop fiddling with her clothes to lean in and press a few kisses into her neck. Her head tilts to allow you better access and you take that opportunity to graze your teeth against the skin near her jawline, not quite marking it because she’ll be leaving soon and won’t have time to cover herself up.

“We have time, right?” You mumble into her neck, tongue darting out to lick at her skin. “I really want you…”

Kafka glances at the digital clock on the nightstand and turns back to you with a daring smile. “If you’re quick.”

You nod quickly and that pulls another quiet laugh out of her as you move to unclasp the button of her high-waisted shorts in record time. Your hands sneak under her shirt to feel the plane of her stomach. You lean in for a kiss as they travel up her torso and squeeze her breasts over her bra. Fingers slip under the offending garment to replace the padded cups with your palms, and a hum reverberates through Kafka’s chest when you swipe a thumb over her nipple. You keep her mouth busy with needy kisses, tongue swirling around hers. You pinch her hardening nipples in the way she likes, roughly and when she least expects it, and you’re rewarded with a soft sigh against your lips.

If you had the time, you would have been patient and fondled her chest until it flushed under a thin layer of sweat. You would have brought your mouth to her nipples, grazed your teeth over their sensitive tips and suckled them until Kafka’s exhales could be heard. You don’t have the time, so you settle for applying pressure on them in tight circles until they feel like the pink marbles she keeps in a box on her vanity. One of your hands abandon her chest to slip into her unbuttoned shorts.

“Wanna taste you,” you mutter into her mouth as you feel the thin fabric of her underwear. Your middle finger rubs her sex over the material and it sinks effortlessly between her lips. “Please?”

“Mm…” Kafka places two hands on your shoulders and nudges you firmly down her body. “Go ahead, baby.”

You straighten up to slide the clothes past her hips and down her legs until they’re pooling at her ankles. You trail open-mouthed kisses up her thighs as you settle between them, occasionally biting and sucking the soft flesh, leaving behind already fading bruises. The dark reds match her hair color, you notice.

Kafka’s fingers tangle comfortably in your hair. She guides you to where she wants you the most and you use two fingers to spread her slick lips apart, almost moaning at the sight of her so ready for your mouth. You kiss around her cunt, then remember that you’re on a clock and lick a long stripe up her slit. You hum in pleasure at her tangy taste as your tongue teases the base of her clit. Kafka sighs above you, long and drawn out. Her clit pulses on your tongue when you take it between your lips and suck. Your fingers explore between her folds in a sensual massage that only makes her wetter, and it feels like a reward the moment her thighs close in around your head. You lap up her cunt like a thirsty kitten, reveling in her quiet moans and hums. You flick your tongue up and down her slit, greedily swallowing her arousal.

“Mm…” Kafka doesn’t muffle her appreciation, the hand in your hair pushing you closer to her cunt until the tip of your nose tickles her clit. Her hips begin to follow the pace of your tongue. Her voice is an amused drawl as she speaks, “You’re like a— ah— an eager little puppy…”

You can’t help the whine that escapes you as you squeeze your thighs together, and Kafka chuckles at the sound only for it to shift into a soft moan when your middle finger pushes inside her cunt. You steadily pump the digit into her, feeling her walls clench around you. Your lips and chin are coated in her slick and you bring your attention back to her puffy clit, swirling your tongue around the bud until Kafka’s thighs squeeze your ears, a silent request to give her more. You add a finger inside of her and curl the digits to graze the spot that makes her curse. A glance upwards shows Kafka’s features twisting in pleasure, lips parting. She’s beautiful like this, and you wish you could see the way her bare breasts rise and fall with each breath.

“Oh…”

You know she’s close to the edge when her cunt sucks in your fingers and her clit throbs in your mouth. You flatten your tongue to swallow more of her arousal and let her grind her pussy further into you. Kafka isn’t shy or ashamed, her throaty moans excite you and only incite you to make her feel as good as you can. The coil in your stomach tightens when she traps your head with her thighs, uncaring of whether you have difficulty breathing or not. She’s drunk on her own pleasure and her free hand snakes under her shirt to pinch her nipple, building her orgasm until you feel her cunt squeeze your fingers like a vice. Her hips stutter a couple times and with a hard suck on her clit, Kafka comes into your mouth. You’re surrounded by her, your senses can recognize only her taste and her smell and the harmonious sounds of her moans as she bucks against you. You help her ride the waves of her orgasm with the flat of your tongue against her folds.

Kafka takes in a deep breath as her high slowly fades away and her hips settle back onto the bed. You clean her up with soft kitten licks and the fondness in her gaze while she looks down at you makes you want to eat her out until she can’t control the tremble in her thighs. Her short nails scrap your scalp for a moment, then she uses the grip in your hair to pull you away from her cunt. She brings your face close to hers with a teasing smile and sloppily kisses the pout off your lips.

“Look at that,” she breathes out when you pull away and glance at the shiny pinks of her lips, “you made it with some time to spare.”

Kafka matches your growing grin and pulls you into another messy, sticky kiss. Somehow, she makes it out of the bedroom in time and is ready to set off for the Xianzhou Luofu with Blade exactly as Elio foresaw it. If he notices the spring in her step, he doesn’t say a word.

#honkai star rail #hsr kafka #hsr #hsr x reader #kafka x you #kafka x reader #kafka smut #hsr smut #hsr x you #gn!reader #hsr fluff #kafka fluff #dom!kafka #dom!hsr

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works-of-fanfiction · 1 year

Text

Toothbrush || Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: It’s still early days for Lando and the reader, but he’s ready to start seeing more of her.

Song: Toothbrush by DNCE.

Warnings: None, just a wholesome read.

Word Count: 2.3k

a/n: every time I listen to this song, I imagine little fanfic scenarios in my head, so I finally wrote one! I’m a George girl at heart, but I think I’m in my Lando era rn. short but sweet - hope you like it!

With Lando’s arm strewn across your chest and his soft snores in your ear, you didn’t dare to move. Streams of sunlight bled into the room through the gap in the curtains, illuminating his tanned shoulders that poked out of the covers. Pins and needles prickled at your feet as you fought desperately not to leave the bed. He looked so comfortable and he deserved the extra rest after all the busy weekdays preparing for the new season.

You turned your head to catch a full glimpse of his face, his mouth hanging slightly open and eyelids twitching involuntarily. You often wondered what he dreamt about, as you did with anyone who fell asleep in your company. Dreams fascinated you; the weirder the better. Your workdays often started with your colleagues all sharing their wild and wonderful dreams from the night before, with the odd nightmare sprinkled in. If only you had a pound for every time your manager dreamt of losing his teeth…

Your bladder deceived you, the pressure growing the more you tried to ignore it. Sighing, you pushed the covers off your body, careful not to disturb the half that covered the sleeping driver beside you. You shuffled to the right, fingertips gently lowering Lando’s hand onto the pillow, hoping he didn’t stir. The fresh morning air whipped around your bare frame, and you resorted to hugging yourself as you tiptoed into the ensuite.

You moved with caution, tearing the toilet paper slowly and studying the squares as they ripped apart bit by bit. As much as you hated not flushing, you didn’t want to startle the poor guy, so you opted for closing the lid. That too was done carefully, not letting the wooden pieces make a single sound as they touched. You washed your hands quickly, scrubbing them dry on a towel, a comically bright orange towel with the McLaren logo plastered all over it. You’d laughed at it the first time you stayed over, Lando cursing himself for not hiding it before you arrived. You’d wondered where else random pieces of McLaren merchandise were going to pop up. Tea towels? Bed sheets? Branded cereal, perhaps?

On your way back to the bed, you scooped up Lando’s t-shirt from the night before, slipping it on and appreciating the fabric against your skin. It didn’t make a huge difference, but at least it covered the goosebumps scattered across your cold chest. Catching your reflection in the mirror, you combed your fingers through your hair, pushing loose strands out of your eyes. Hearing a rustling in the covers, you turned to see Lando stretching his arms above his head, his eyes still squeezed shut to avoid the morning light.

“Mm… Come back to bed.” He mumbled, propping his hands behind his head like he was laid on a sun lounger. You sat on the bed beside him, resting on your right hip and tucking your legs in to lift your feet off the ground. Feeling the mattress dip, a lazy smile spread across his face as he prized his eyes open halfway. “There you are.” You laid a hand on his chest, smiling down at him before his eyes fluttered closed once again. “Beautiful.”

You exhaled, amused by his compliment. “You can’t even see me.”

“I don’t need to.”

He could be cheesy sometimes, but part of you loved it. You’d always enjoyed making fun of your friends in their honeymoon phases, mimicking their partners and overusing their new nicknames. You’d waited a long time for it to be your turn, so you planned on soaking up every pet name, pick-up line, and spooning session until they grew tired of hearing about it. God knows you’d heard more than your fair share of romantic tales.

All you wanted to do was lie back down beside him and burrow your head beneath his arm, but the grease in your hair and mascara stuck in your tear ducts begged you to go home and shower.

Being in the early stages meant that overstaying your welcome was still a possibility. You had yet to lie in past 10am with Lando, and were always dressed and out of the door before he’d even shed the covers. You’d made a promise to yourself at the start that you wouldn’t let yourself get too attached or seem clingy. Whirlwind relationships always sounded good until they weren’t, and you’d experienced them one too many times to allow it to happen again. Besides, Lando never seemed to argue when you slipped out of bed and left before breakfast. To him, it seemed like you just enjoyed your own space. For the past eight Sundays, you’d detangled yourself from his grasp, thrown on your clothes from the night before and left him with a simple kiss on the cheek, all before he’d even managed to open his eyes properly. Most of those mornings he’d rolled over to your side of the bed, inhaling the traces of your perfume and replaying the events of the evening over and over in his head. One day he’d tell you to stay; he’d hide your keys if it meant he could spend a few more hours in bed with you... What did you like for breakfast? If he ordered pancakes, would you stay and split a plate with him? Was it brown or tomato sauce you had with your bacon?

Lando felt you fidgeting on the bed and rolled over to grab your arm. You looked down in surprise, turning your wrist to take his hand in yours. “What’s wrong?” You asked, his fingers soft and featherlike against your palm, following the lines from left to right.

“What time is it?”

“Um…” You leaned over, checking your phone on the bedside table. “It’s almost 9.30.”

He groaned, slumping forward to rest his head against your arm. You laughed, moving so his head fell into your lap and your hand settled in the top of his hair. Catching a curl around your finger, you studied the tones in his hair and how they each caught the sunlight. Sitting there quiet and content with him made you a little sad, as you didn’t want to leave. Part of you longed for Sundays spent together, movies on the sofa with last night’s leftovers heating up in the microwave. You knew it was a fool’s dream considering he ended up in a new country every weekend. You cursed yourself for following your silly little rule and not taking advantage of the time you did have. In less than a month, he’d be calling you from hotels in the middle of who knows where with bad reception and voices urging him to hurry up and get back to work.

Sighing, you tapped Lando’s shoulder, whispering for him to sit up. “I should get going.” You said hesitantly, forcing yourself to stand.

“Stay. Just a little longer.” He gazed at you with puppy dog eyes, his hair unruly on his forehead and cheeks lined with crease marks from his pillows.

“Look at me, Lando.” You scoffed, waving your hands in front of your face. “I am in serious need of a shower.”

“I have a shower.” He stated obviously, his eyes finally widening to their normal state as he propped himself up against the headboard. “Towels are in the cupboard on the third shelf.”

“I… Lando – ��

“Y/N.” He tilted his head, looking at you with raised brows. “You’re allowed to stay and take a shower.”

His words were laced with so much more than what he was saying. He wanted you in his shower, stepping out to wrap yourself in one of his towels with your damp hair leaving droplets on the countertop. He wanted your footprints on the bathmat – hell, he’d even put up with your hair clogging the drains if it meant there were traces of you in his home. He wanted more than just the ghost of you at his kitchen counter or out on the patio.

He kept his eyes on you, watching as you stood up and approached the cupboard, choosing a fluffy blue towel from the shelf. He rolled out of the bed, following you to the bathroom and flicking the extractor fan on above your heads. “Alright. You’ve got the rainfall shower which you turn on by twisting this towards you.” He instructed, trying to hide the smile that was creeping its way onto his face. It was crazy how long he’d waited to show you something so simple.

He turned the rainfall shower on, letting the water heat up for you. “The detachable showerhead is the same, just turn it in the other direction towards the wall.”

He stepped to the side, letting you slip past him. You stood shyly, his shirt still hanging off your body. “Well, I’m not going to shower with you watching!” You laughed, folding your arms and waiting for him to leave.

“Why? It’s nothing I haven’t already seen.” He smirked, mirroring your stance. Your cheeks flushed red at his words, visions of last night swimming around your mind. You needed him to leave the bathroom before you dragged him under the water with you.

He turned to leave, mindlessly adjusting the hand towels on the rack. “I’ll leave some clothes on the bed for you. There’s a spare toothbrush in the cabinet too.”

“Are you saying I have smelly breath?” You gasped, watching as he turned back to face you with the same cheeky grin on his face.

“Oh yes. That is exactly what I’m saying.”

Pulling the shirt over your head, you screwed it into a ball and threw it at him, hitting him square in the face and blocking his view. You turned to face the shower, leaving him with a foggy view of your backside through the textured glass. “Not fair!” He shouted over the running water as you dunked your messy hair beneath the stream.

“Get out, you pervert!”

He left the bathroom laughing to himself, closing the door behind him. He rushed to tidy the room a little, making sure to leave the clothes he promised on the bed. He took the liberty of putting your clothes in the wash with his, hoping you’d be okay with it.

When you surfaced from the bathroom with the towel tucked around your body and a beaming smile on your face, he swore he could feel his heart thumping against his ribcage. “Better?” He asked, sliding the pile of clothes your way.

“Much. Thank you.” You took the clothes, Lando turning away to give you some privacy whilst you changed. “Where should I put the towel?” You asked, giving him the all-clear to look at you.

“Just throw it in the hamper. I’ll sort it later.”

“Oh, I didn’t know where to put the toothbrush so it’s just in the pot beside yours.”

He smiled, looking at you but not saying a word. “What?” You asked, glancing down at yourself then back to him. “What’s wrong?”

Patting the space next to him on the bed, you sat down, pulling your wet hair over one shoulder. “I was thinking…” He started, reaching to grab your hand. Running his fingers over your knuckles, he studied the curiosity on your face as he rehearsed the words in his head. “Why don’t you leave the toothbrush in the pot?”

You didn’t catch on at first, but his words soon made sense as he shuffled closer to you, his thigh pressed against yours. Your face ached from smiling, Lando’s expression perfectly reflecting yours. “It’s convenient, you know?” He played it cool, earning him a playful slap on the chest.

“Yeah, sure! Convenience.” You mocked, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“By the way…” He spoke into your ear, his lips brushing against the lobe, tickling you. “I put your clothes in the wash, so you won’t be leaving anytime soon.” He drew back to look at you, surprised to see you still smiling.

“Good job I wasn’t planning on it anyway.” Throwing a leg over his, you straddled his lap and rested your arms around his neck. He leaned forward, catching your lips with his and kissing you gently. Wet droplets from your hair fell onto his bare shoulder, making him shiver and laugh into the kiss. Pulling away, you swiped the water away with your hand, sliding off his lap and linking your fingers with his. He stood, grabbing the nearest hoodie hanging on the bed post and throwing it over his shoulder as he led you out of the bedroom and towards the stairs.

“So… breakfast?” His voice was muffled as he squeezed the hoodie over his head, stepping cautiously so he didn’t tumble down the stairs.

“Sounds good. What are you in the mood for?”

“I’m easy. I’ll have anything.” He opened the fridge and grabbed a carton of orange juice, turning to find you resting your elbows on the kitchen island. Something about you in his house, in his clothes, made his stomach do somersaults. It quickly became his favourite sight.

Pouring two glasses of juice, he slid one over to you, taking a seat on one of the stools. “How did you sleep by the way?” He asked, sipping his drink and snuggling up to you to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“Pretty good. You?”

“The same… But I did have this really weird dream.”

Your ears perked up at his words and you turned to look at him eagerly. “Tell me all about it.”

#f1 x reader #f1 fics #f1 oneshot #lando norris x reader

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lalacliffthorne · 9 months

Text

💜 starshine pt. VI 💜

Rhys x Reader

part I part II part III part IV part V part VI

summary: when after more than a century, things finally begin falling into place.

notes: I can't believe how long this took - both writing this next part and the actual things happening *facepalms*. and these twoooo 😭💕. I can't. they make me feel so mushy and happy and all giddy and warm. and all of you, loving this so much, make me feel even more mushy and happy and giddy, so thank you so much for staying with me on this!! if everything goes to plan, this is actually the second to last chapter, and we are, finally, getting somewhere ;)

______________________________________________________________

With a sharp inhale, my eyes snapped open, and my breath staggered.

The sheets were clinging to my skin, damp with cold sweat, my heart pounding painfully against my ribs. Blood rushed through my ears as my gaze darted over a high, dark ceiling, and for a second, panic and a dull pain rose in my chest, my body frozen still.

Then I realised that a weight was resting over my stomach and a scent was flooding my senses, so achingly familiar, my muscles melted.

Quickly, I turned my head, and my lungs squeezed.

In the silvery light of the moon shining through the windows, I could see Rhys' dark shape stretched out on the mattress next to me, the dips and planes of his muscular back rising and falling slowly with his even breaths. His head was resting on the pillow next to me, his face turned my way, brows smoothed over and eyes closed. His dark hair was unruly and tousled from sleep, the swirls of darkness stretching over his broad shoulders and down the arm that was loosely resting over my waist, his skin radiating warmth through my thin nightgown.

My heart soared before free falling, and I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, fighting against the echoes of screams and laughter in my ears, the feeling of cruel darkness and bound magic and hands slipping away into nothingness.

Suddenly, the air felt too stiffled, too stale, too reminiscent of the nightmare that had been reality.

Hastily, I slid out from under Rhys' arm, pushing the covers to the side and slipping off the mattress, my feet quick on the cool floorboards as I darted over to the huge windows soundlessly, tearing at them until they were wide open and a soft, cool breeze brushed over my skin.

My heart squeezed tightly, and I breathed in, quick and deep, the scent of sweet petals and night leaving an ache growing in my chest as my gaze darted over the garden below that was bathed in starlight, flowers glowing and faeries floating over the water reflecting the galaxies above.

My fingers curled around the window handle before loosening, and something in my chest quivered when I let my forehead sink against the cool wooden frame and squeezed my eyes shut.

I could still feel the heavyness on my chest, the ache pulsing under my ribs as images flashed before my eyes, and something closed around my throat.

Sliding my hand off the window, I looked over my shoulder towards the bed, and the ache in my chest soared at the dark shape still motionless on the mattress, breathing evenly.

Fighting against the sudden pressure in my throat, I moved, quickly slipping past the bed and out of the room.

The house was silent as I soundlessly hastened down the stairs, my long silk nightgown swishing around my ankles as I slipped past the table and opened one of the big windows leading out onto the terrace. The gentle night breeze whispered over my bare arms and shoulders, and I squeezed out into the night, the stone of the terrace cold under my feet before it was replaced by cool, soft grass as I hurried down the steps and through the high grass.

Faeries were swishing through the glowing flowers, darting towards me and showering me in golden dust, tittering softly and curiously before whizzing away again.

Slowly, my steps calmed, and I closed my eyes, breathing in the fresh air, feeling flowers and high grass brush my hands, a gentle, soothing warmth slowly spreading through me that seemed to stem from the earth itself.

Next to the pond that reflected the galaxies twinkling over the mountains, I let myself sink down into the soft grass, stretching out and staring up into the sky. My palms pressed against the earth, and I closed my eyes, focusing on the soft hum of energy that slowly travelled through me, golden light lazily flooding through my veines until my chest squeezed and my breath shuddered.

My heart tipped over; I opened my eyes, and movement at the edge of my field of vision made me turn my head.

Something rose and pulsed gently under my ribs when I saw the dark figure standing on the terrace.

Even from a distance, I caught the moment violet eyes clocked me by the pond, bare shoulders sinking a little, swishes of darkness whispering into nothingness as Rhys' gaze pierced mine. Then he moved, beginning to slowly walk down the steps.

Resting my cheek on the grass, I watched as he came towards me, movements smooth and elegant, his tousled hair black like ink in the night, violet eyes reflecting the silver and purple above. His pants were sitting low on his hips, and something twisted in my stomach at the sight of shifting muscles disappearing into black fabric.

The silk of his pants swished against my skin when Rhys crouched down and let himself plop down onto the ground next to me. Then his shoulder brushed against mine and he stretched out on the grass, one of his hands sliding up to rest on his stomach. His body dwarfed mine even shoulder to shoulder, my feet barely level with his shins, and I stared at the side of his face as his gaze dragged slowly over the night sky above. Something dipped and swerved, squeezed and fluttered in my chest as my eyes flickered over his nose and lips, the sharp line of his jaw and cheekbones, and suddenly, my breath hitched in my throat.

“What happened?”

Rhys' quiet voice, deep and a little raspy with sleep, tore me out of the pulsing feeling under my ribs, and when I blinked, he turned his head to look at me.

I tried to swallow against the flutter in my throat, the ache in my chest that staring at him had awakened. Rhys seemed to misinterpret my silence, one corner of his lips tipping up gently as his gaze slowly moved over my face.

“As far as I know, you don't usually wake up in the middle of the night to lay around on the cold ground.” There was a soft twinkle in his eyes, but it couldn't hide the barely there crease between his brows, and something dipped in my chest when my shoulder brushed his and I felt a clenching sensation in my chest that wasn´t mine.

I blinked again, and the soft ache under my ribs pulsed.

“I had a dream.”

Rhys' gaze moved over my face. Then his quiet voice vibrated through me, gentle and even.

“What kind of dream?”

Something closed around my throat like an iron fist, and I stared at him, feeling a weight settle on my chest and pressure rise in my throat and eyes.

“The mountain,”, I whispered.

Rhys blinked, and I could see the muscles in his shoulder shifting, growing still.

“It used to be worse.” I tried a lopsided smile, but it felt weak, and a little uneven. “But it still comes back, once in a while.”

Rhys stared at me. Then he mumbled softly: “What do you dream of?”

Something started skipping painfully under my ribs.

“I see the faeries.” My whispered words were barely audible as my gaze dragged over Rhys' face, trying to ingrain every angle into my memory as pressure began to rise in my throat. “All of them. Caught and chained, tortured and mutilated in the revel. And I can't help them. I'm caught in the crowd, and I try to move, but no matter how much I fight, it's like I'm watching from outside my own body. And their pain breaks me apart.” My voice was weak, the images rising in front of my eyes causing the ache in my chest to grow.

“And then I see you.” My whisper broke as the pressure in my throat became unbearable, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from Rhys' face, even as my vision blurred and my lips quivered.

“And she's torturing you, and I can't move. I can't get to you. And I try to tell you, scream at you that I'll get you out, but I can't speak.” My breath trembled as the ache in my chest spread, taking over every inch of my body until my voice broke and I felt something hot run over my cheek.

“And then in that dream, I wake up, and I'm alone. Seeing you, finding you, never happened. And I can't feel you.” I inhaled quickly, hotly, my chin trembling. “You're gone.”

Through blurry eyes, I saw Rhys stare at me, still, frozen. Then a muscle in his cheek shifted, and he rolled onto his side; his warm, calloused hand slipped up my neck to cradle the side of my face, and Rhys leaned down to press his forehead against mine.

“I'm here.” His deep, husky voice travelled through me, vibrating with sorrow yet so steady and firm that my breath shuddered.

My eyes squeezed shut as the ache in my chest rose and overwhelmed me, and I twisted, wrapping my arms around Rhys' shoulders, clinging to him as I buried my face in the crook of his neck and felt hot tears roll over my cheeks, the ache in my chest pulsing.

“Look at you,”, Rhys mumbled hoarsely, his hands sliding over my waist as he slipped his arms around me, pulling me tightly into his chest. “Really thinking it'd be that easy to get rid of me.”

A wet laugh bubbled in my chest.

“Wouldn't it?”

“No.” Rhys' mumble was steady, if only a little rough when he dropped his nose into the crook of my neck, causing a gentle shiver to travel over my spine. “You know I'm too much of a selfish bastard for that.”

I inhaled shudderingly, feeling my lips rise weakly as I whispered into his skin: “No, you're not.”

“I am.” A calloused hand slid up over my back, the arms around my waist pulling me in tighter as Rhys curled around me and buried his nose at my shoulder, his low voice vibrating through me as he mumbled steadily: “Even if my soul was dragged from this world, I would still claw my way back to you.”

Something rose in my chest, wild and violent, and my eyes opened, a curtain of tears leaving the world blurry as Rhys' quiet voice washed through me.

“No one will ever keep me from you, take me away from you again. Wherever I go, it will only be with you.”

My heart soared before giving out, and I dug my fingers into his broad shoulders, feeling my leg slide over his waist as his tall body curved around mine.

“Sounds impractical,”, I whispered thickly, my breath hitching and causing my voice to break a little.

Rhys' lips curved against my skin.

“We'll make it work.” His quiet words vibrated through me, steady and soft. “I'll just have to follow you like I always have.”

My chest tightened harshly as warmth pulsed through me, and I whispered, soft and weak: “What if I go somewhere you can't follow?”

Rhys slid his arms closer around me, burying his nose against my skin as he mumbled back hoarsely: “There's no place in this world, or beyond, that you could go, where I wouldn't follow.” I could feel him swallow, then he added softly: “I'll always find a way to you.”

My heart tightened as my breath caught in my throat, and I clung tighter to him, feeling his body shielding mine as I curled into his chest and turned my head to bury my face in his neck, squeezing my eyes shut, my body shuddering with my exhale and the weight of tears pressing on my throat.

“Why?” The whispered words were trembling, thick, spilling past my lips before I could stop them, fueled by the ache rising under my ribs. But Rhys just swallowed, his deep voice soft in a hoarse mumble.

“You know why.”

My heart twisted and rose, higher and higher. My breath caught in my throat, and my lips quivered as I hastily burrowed my face in his neck and tried to breathe against the ache pulsing under my ribs.

The breeze whispered through the trees, faeries floating over the pond as the stars twinkled in the sky. Rhys held me until my lids were heavy, tears dried on my cheeks, my heart thrumming steadily against my ribs. Then he gathered me in his arms and moved to stand.

Something rose under my ribs, and when I pulled back just a little, my arms still slung around his neck, Rhys dropped his forehead against mine, his breath fanning over my skin as he turned.

My heart swelled in a flutter, and I clung to him, his arms holding me steady as Rhys started to walk back towards the house. I curled my arms around his shoulders and squeezed my eyes shut, feeling warmth pulse through me, strong, steady, Rhys' nose brushing my cheek when he pressed his forehead against my temple, carrying me up the stairs.

☆

I woke with the gentle morning breeze brushing over my skin, the scent of daybreak dew and fresh air filling my lungs, and my body buried in a warm chest, with the heavy weight of arms slung around me tightly and a scent in my nose that, even in the haze of sleep, made something tumble under my ribs.

My breath hitched softly, and I opened my eyes. My gaze focused on sunkissed golden skin and dark twisting tattoos over strong collarbones, and a muscled arm cushioning my head.

My heart toppled, and something in my stomach dipped.

You know why.

Rhys' hoarse voice echoed through my head, and suddenly, the flutter in my chest grew until there was a soft ache pulsing under my ribs.

Feeling a weight on my throat, I turned, sliding out of Rhys' arms as carefully as possible. My heart was thrumming against my ribs when I slipped out of the room, and trying to fight against the chaotic whirlwind in my head and chest, I moved down the stairs.

Golden morning light filtered through the windows facing the front garden, painting patterns onto the carpet and the books filling the shelves. I dragged open the window doors leading out onto to the terrace, breathing in deeply as my gaze moved over the garden dipped in the first golden sunrays, fairies whizzing through the air, carrying dew drops, giggling and tittering, and my heart skipped softly against my ribs.

Filling the kettle and putting it onto the stove, I pulled a pot from the cabinet, and a cup. Then, my hands no longer busy, I slowly turned, leaning back against the counter as my fingers flew over the cold marble, up to the ends of my hair before settling for fiddling with the thin strap of my nightgown as I stared into the garden, my heart pounding in my chest.

You know why.

Something in my stomach tumbled.

I did.

I had for a while now. Had felt the thought looming, bright and powerful somewhere beneath the surface. The beginnings of a realization, a vague shape, like an unspoken thought, a distant knowledge that I refused to grasp.

Because acknowledging it, just thinking it out loud would mean something so big, so terrifying it made something squeeze in my chest.

An explanation as to why Rhys had kept coming back to me. For the way he stared at me, the twinkle in those violet eyes, for that rising feeling in my chest I couldn't place and that radiated from him, for the closeness, the banter, the blatant flirting, the trust and the things he said, casually, easily, so so sure.

It made something rise in my chest.

There was something, a reason, a realization, just under the surface. And it terrified me.

Because what if I was wrong?

What if what Rhys was supposedly feeling was just fleeting, or not at all what I made it out to be?

What if what I was seeing was what I wanted to see – and not what was really there?

Something closed tightly around my chest as the flutter in my chest rose, soared higher and higher.

It would mean a broken heart.

My breath shuddered, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

Gods, I'd been an idiot. Not realising, maybe refusing to see how my soul reacted to the male with the stars in his eyes, how my whole being seemed to respond to him.

I had fallen. Maybe slowly over the span of a century, maybe with a crash the first time I'd met him and felt him behind those walls.

Something squeezed under my ribs. It twisted before rippling away soundlessly, and a trembling breath left me as I opened my eyes and stared out into the garden, wide-eyed and utterly terrified.

I loved him.

Maybe, it had always been there, lurking under the surface, in the way my breath seemed to hitch whenever I stared at him and he smiled.

I loved him. Was in love with him. So fiercely, so deeply, so all-consuming that it made my chest thrum, caused my heart to twist and soar, until the feeling filled my body. Slowly, creepingly, it had taken up every part of my soul and my being. Had made him a part of me, his pain, his anger, his sorrow, his happiness, all mine in a way nothing had ever been before. Had made him beginning and end and everything in between.

I loved Rhys.

“Shit,”, I whispered softly.

There was a low, deep chuckle behind me; and I jumped and whirled around.

Rhys crunched his brows against the light, purple eyes tired and twinkling, his voice, rough with sleep, vibrating through me when he mumbled with a smirk: “Ouch. Not usually the way I'm greeted.”

My fingers dug into the counter as I stared at him in shock, trying to breathe, my eyes wide and my heart pounding against my ribs. There was a pillow crease on his cheek, which I hadn´t thought physically possible, his hair was tousled and muscles were shifting under his bare skin as he moved past the table and rubbed his eyes.

Suddenly, heat was washing over me, and I tried to tear my gaze away, pull myself together. But my body refused to listen, stayed frozen in the spot as I stared at him wide-eyed, my breath hitching harshly, and Rhys slowed to a stop. His gaze flickered over my face, and a soft crease formed between his brows.

“Darling?”

Maybe my shields had never been any good, and he'd been able to sneak past them all this time. Or maybe, the feelings whirling in my chest, the chaos and panic in my mind, were simply too loud, too strong, bursting through me, echoing outwards at a volume that meant he didn't even need to be in my mind to hear them.

Either way, Rhys stilled. Became frozen in the spot as he stared at me. Then he blinked, and his eyes shifted.

Turned swirling and bright like the galaxies in the night sky as the crease between his brows melted away into nothingness and he exhaled like he'd been waiting for a century.

“All this time.” His soft voice was hoarse as his gaze dragged over my face, slightly feverish, drinking me in. “And you still didn't see.”

My heart dropped and I could feel my lips part – then something in my chest shifted, and soundlessly, a wall crumbled.

A barrier of the mind, built around the male a few feet away, slowly collapsing into itself.

My heart caught in my throat, and my eyes darted up and widened as something in my chest rose.

I could feel everything.

Emotions so strong, they took my breath. Twined together so firmly, they were barely discernable; desperation, relief, adoration, want and need, twisting together into something hot and rising, growing into something all consuming.

I'd always felt Rhys, but never like this; had never felt his emotions, so deep and powerful and clear that they turned my doubts and fears to stardust, the ache in my chest blowing away into the sky, until my breath shuddered and my heart settled.

I inhaled softly, feeling my lips part as the emotions that weren't my own pulsed in my chest, steady, firm, unrestrained. Then I raised my head, and Rhys swallowed, his iris a night sky as his gaze dragged over mine, deep and feverish and swallowing me whole as he mumbled hoarsely: “There it is.”

A soft, breathy giggle bubbled in my throat as I stared at him, feeling pressure building in my throat and a flutter rising in my chest, growing with every second.

My fingers shook a little as I took a hesitant step forward, followed by another, and another, my eyes darting over Rhys' face, my heart swelling. He had grown completely still, like the smallest move could scare me away, like there wasn't something pounding against my ribs and swelling in my throat, causing tears to rise into my eyes as I lifted a hand and placed my palm on his chest.

The feeling of Rhys´ warm skin sent a shiver down my skin, just like the quick, racing beat of his heart as I stared up at him, feeling my bottom lip wobble a little even as I started to smile, slow and beaming. Then I opened myself and the whirlwind under my ribs.

Rhys' eyes widened.

A shuddering breath ran through him, and his hand flew up to cover mine, fingers curling around mine, holding on almost desperately, like he was afraid I'd pull away, break the thrum of emotion flooding through me into his body. Then a soft sound broke from his chest, and Rhys moved, forward and forward until my arm was trapped between us and the whole of his body pressed against mine, his free hand sliding up to cradle my face, and my heart caught in my throat when he dropped his head to press his forehead against mine.

The flutter in my chest rose, and I quickly squeezed my eyes shut and breathed out shakingly.

Rhys made a soft, hoarse sound deep in his throat, his hand slipping down the side of my neck, fingers sliding into my hair as he pressed closer, and my heart shuddered. I could feel his body towering over mine, the way the muscles in his biceps shifted when his fingers slid closer around my hand, his warm chest pressing against mine -

Heat twinged low in my stomach, and my fingers curled against his chest.

A gentle shudder ran over Rhys' warm skin, and my breath hitched when he dipped his head to the side, his nose brushing against mine.

My heart rose into my throat, and I swallowed, my hand uncurling slowly as I slid my palm down his chest. I could feel his muscles tensing under my touch as a shiver ran over his skin, his fingers twisting into my hair, and a tingle travelled down my spine when Rhys slowly nudged his nose against mine.

Something dropped very low in my stomach, heat rising up my body.

I swallowed, my free hand rising to cling to Rhys' side, and when I pulled my head back a little, just enough to look at him, his breath grazing my skin, my heart rose.

Rhys' eyes were glazed over with a heat that made something twist in my stomach. His iris was hazy and a few shades darker under heavy lids, a muscle in his jaw shifting and throat working, and his gaze was molten where it was glued to my lips.

My breath caught in my throat.

Even when Rhys had stared for too long before, something heated in his eyes, it had always been brimming under the surface, never quite so obvious.

Now, nothing was hidden. His breath was uneven, his lips parted and throat working, and his eyes, heavy lidded and dark, were swirling, feverish, wanting -

Rhys' fingers curled into my hair, and my body shuddered, something whirling and rising under my ribs as I dug my fingers into his skin and raised my chin without having control over it, Rhys' hot breath grazing over my skin when my nose nudged against his.

A deep sound rose in Rhys' chest, his eyes shifting into something even deeper and darker, and his hand slid into my hair when he dipped his head, his nose brushing against the side of mine, tantalizingly slow. Something clenched harshly in my stomach when I felt his hot breath grazing my lips, and a tingling shiver ran down my spine when I sank back down onto my heels and Rhys followed me, calloused hands pulling me closer and head dipping to -

"Hello?", a melodious, happy voice chirped from the terrace, and my heart jumped; my eyes flew open as I lightly pushed at Rhys' chest and whirled around, and Mor walked through the open window doors.

"Anyone he-", her gaze met mine, and she slowed to a stop, one corner of her lips quirking cheekily.

"Am I interrupting?"

My heart missed a beat, and I hastily looked back over my shoulder, only to find Rhys' eyes on me like maybe, they had never left. There was a twinkle slowly spreading through his iris, and my heart rose in a flutter, because something had changed, obviously, something in that thrum against my ribs, and yet -

I narrowed my eyes in a soft glower, and Rhys slowly started to smile, lazy and brilliant.

"What are you doing here, Morrigan?" His deep voice rumbled through me even with him a foot away, his twinkling eyes never leaving my face.

Mor crunched her brows, seeming completely unbothered as she turned in a circle with a flourish.

"Well, you hadn't even told us this place existed until yesterday, and -", she looked over her shoulder, smiling brightly, "I was curious." Her twinkling amber eyes found mine, and her smile softened, though the light in her eyes seemed to brighten. "It's beautiful."

Something rose under my chest as my gaze flickered towards the garden without me being able to help it, my breath catching in my throat. "It is."

I could feel the weight of eyes on me, a tingle travelling over the side of my face, and I blinked, clearing my throat and grinning sheepishly at Mor. "Sorry, didn't really expect anyone -"

"Obviously." Mor's lips twitched into a smirk as her eyes moved from Rhys, lounging against the counter in only pyjama pants and staring at me, towards my long nightgown, and I winced and quickly crossed my bare arms in front of my chest, feeling heat rising in my cheeks as I crunched my nose.

"You want some tea?"

"You know, actually,", Mor turned fully towards me and raised her brows, "I also came here because I thought it could be fun if I showed you the city today?" Her lips twitched, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Have some one on one time, if Rhys isn't too bothered by that." She winked at me.

"Why would I be bothered?" Rhys' eyes stayed on my face, one corner of his lips curving upwards.

"Well, you did keep her from us for more than a century, without telling us about her even once; which, by the way, is ridiculous." Mor's lips curved. "It's almost like you were afraid we'd steal her away from you or something -"

"Can we get breakfast?", I quickly interrupted, because Rhys' eyes had started to twinkle in a way that made shivers dance down my spine and something twitch in my stomach.

Mor turned her gaze away from Rhys, her knowing smirk bleeding into a genuine, beaming smile when she widened her eyes.

"Obviously! I'll show you all the good places, and more; do you have your dress yet?"

I blinked, then I turned my head towards her and crunched my brows.

"What dress?"

Mor parted her lips. Then she sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes, turning towards her cousin with an exasperated look.

"Rhys, you prat; you haven't told her?"

Rhys stared at me, his violet eyes twinkling when he said, deep voice absentminded: "Was busy."

Mor huffed, her lips quirking. "I bet you were."

Rhys just lightly rolled his eyes, and I quickly mouthed prat?, causing him to glare softly at me.

Don´t you dare.

Feeling a slow, beaming smile take over my face, I widened my eyes and mouthed prat, and Rhys huffed, his lips curving until a wide grin made his cheeks crease.

Mor cleared her throat, and I quickly tore my eyes away from Rhys' face, feeling heat bleed into my cheeks when my gaze met Morrigan's, her eyes twinkling knowingly.

"Haven't told me what?", I said quickly, bouncing on the balls of my feet lightly and fighting against the blush growing on my face.

Mor sighed, but her lips curved as she raised her brows. "Summer Solstice."

My heart rose in a flutter, and my gaze darted towards Rhys as my lips parted.

"You - you celebrate that here?"

"Well, not on a huge scale like Summer and Day,", Mor waved her hand dismissingly, "but Rhys has started throwing a party every year still, because, well -", she smirked, "any excuse for a party is a good one."

Rhys' lips curved softly as his eyes pierced mine, a twinkle in their violet depths that made my breath hitch.

"Anyway, he holds it at the River House -"

I blinked before raising my brows.

"Another house?" I felt my eyes widen slightly as my head whipped around and I stared at Mor before quickly looking back at Rhys in disbelief, but he just shrugged, his smirk feline.

"Anyway, when we started doing the celebration, we decided to hold it there because the garden is just beautiful this time of year, though,", Mor turned to look over her shoulder, her eyes almost wistful, "definitely not as beautiful as this one."

My breath hitched as my gaze followed hers, and something fluttered against my ribs.

"The longest day of the year."

Rhys' voice made my heart dip, quiet like only I was meant to hear, and I blinked before tearing my eyes away from the garden, something rising in my chest when I found his twinkling eyes on my face.

"I know." I felt my lips curve softly even as I suppressed the urge to swallow, my eyes moving over his face. "The fairies dance through it; all night long."

Rhys' gaze pierced mine, deep, twinkling, like maybe, he could see the memories of midsummer nights in a wild garden and a dress whirling around my ankles.

"Maybe they'll dance with us if you're there."

I stared at him, and my heart began to slowly flutter against my ribs, more wildly with every second as I started to smile slowly.

"Is that your way of asking if I'll come?"

Rhys stared at me, something swirling in his eyes when he mumbled, slow, deep, steady: "Will you come?"

My breath caught in my throat, and I blinked. Then I widened my eyes and whispered cheekily: "I don't think I have a dress."

Rhys' gaze heated. But before he could open his mouth, Mor chimed in, beaming happily.

"We can get you one! Today; I mean, it is in two days, but I'll take you to the best dressmaker of the city, you'll love it; and she'll have it done in time!"

I felt my lips part quickly, but before I could even make a sound, there was a soft huff; a familiar scent washed over me, and fingers slipped under my chin, closing my mouth again.

"Don't even think about it."

My heart jumped and my eyes darted up, and Rhys' lips curved.

I huffed and twisted my neck to get a better look at him, feeling my brows crunch in protest, but Rhys just sent me a wink. "You know arguing is pointless. I´ll get you a dress one way or the other."

Glowering up at him even as something jumped high in my chest, I narrowed my eyes even further when he smirked and dipped his head to mumble: "Just say thank you."

His warm breath brushed over my nose, and my heart dipped.

Staring up at him, I scowled gently. Then I turned my head and sent Mor a brilliant, cheeky smile. "Thank you, Mor."

Rhys huffed, sending me a glare, and Mor smirked and winked.

"My pleasure." She raised her brows and clapped her hands. "Alright, let's go! Though you,", her lips quirked, "might want to change first."

When I moved back down the stairs a few minutes later, dressed and tying off my braid, Mor was crouched in the middle of the garden, watching the faeries that seemed a little weary but curious when she beamed at them.

"You know she's going to put you through trying on dozens of dresses?"

My heart skipped, and my gaze darted towards where Rhys was leaning against the counter, a steaming cup of tea in his hand and one corner of his lips curving as his eyes raked over my face.

"So?" I felt my lips quirk.

Rhys' iris twinkled.

"A lot of it will be Night Court fashion." His gaze dragged slowly over my body, one corner of his lips curving into a slow, lazy smirk. "It usually means little fabric."

I stared at him as heat pooled low in my stomach, and suddenly, something started fluttering against my ribs violently.

Slowly, I began to walk backwards towards the terrace, sending him a growing, mischievous smile.

"You know, if you want to see me scantily clad, you just have to ask."

Rhys' gaze darted up, his gaze narrowing in and growing dark and heated, and feeling my heart catch in my throat, I smiled beamingly and turned around with a breathed laugh, hopping out onto the terrace to meet Mor at the foot of the steps.

☆

Feeling a breeze brush some hair into my face, I breathed out softly, the warmth of sunlight dappled over my face making my lips curve without my doing.

"So..."

I blinked before opening my eyes and lowering my head, and Mor crunched her nose, looking at me curiously. "What's so special about Summer Solstice?"

We were sitting on the steps of a fountain, the water splashing and bubbling in our backs, a thin paper bag between us on the grey cobblestone, smelling of the buttery pastry I had bought in a shop in one of the countless alleys.

Mor had kept her promise, taking me for breakfast in a small café right at the Sidra. Then she had pulled me into the maze of alleys, streets and squares.

First, she'd taken me to the workshop of her favorite dressmaker, located in a beautiful townhouse in the Rainbow, the artist's district. It belonged to tall, slim High Fae who was clearly familiar with Morrigan, and who had, very happily, pulled all the stops when Mor had winked at her.

Mor had made me try different silhouettes, and I had wandered the aisles and aisles with fabrics, my breath catching at the colors and stitchings. We'd agreed after a while, and when we had left the shop, there'd been a rough sketch and fabric sitting on the dressmaker's desk and my heart had been beating against my throat.

Now, the afternoon sun was shining in the sky over the small park that stretched over a little hill surrounded by tall sandstone buildings, their roofs glittering in the light. Trees rose into the sky, offering shade, sunlight was dappled in swaying patterns onto the grass and the cool stone of the fountain where we had decided to take a little break, and my feet were aching and my heart was full.

I needed a second to tear my eyes away from the sight of the city stretched out before the mountains. Then I blinked and crunched my brows, looking over at her.

"What do you mean?"

One corner of Mor's lips curved gently. "You just... you looked so surprised."

I felt my heart rise in a soft flutter against my ribs, and I hesitated for a second, then I turned my head and gently narrowed my eyes at her curiously.

"How long have you been... celebrating it like this?"

Mor furrowed her brows, shrugging softly as she plucked a piece off her pastry.

"Not long actually. I think Rhys decided to make it a new tradition not quite a century ago, fairly out of,", she blinked, her words slowing as her eyes suddenly began to twinkle softly, "thin air..."

I stared at her, a quick flutter beginning to build in my chest.

"What does it mean to you again?" Mor stared at me, her lips curving.

"It's..." I swallowed softly. "It's a celebration. Held by the fairies, every Summer Solstice. They gather and dance, from evening until deep into the night. All of them, sprites, pixies, nymphs, wraiths, all coming together, celebrating light and life and -" My breath hitched. "Magic."

Mor's warm eyes were glittering.

"You think he -" My voice broke off, my breath catching in my throat.

"Started celebrating it here because of you?" Mor's lips tipped upwards, and she blinked and raised an eyebrow, her eyes twinkling in the light. "That does sound awfully like him."

Feeling my heart pounding against my ribs, I stared at her, something suddenly tingling in my stomach.

Mor's smile widened a little. Then she blinked.

"You know, he never told us about you." She raised a brow, her iris sparkling. "Not once."

I huffed gently.

"I know." Shaking my head softly, I turned my head, crunching my brows gently as I blinked into the sunlight. "He told me about that, after I got mad because he turned up, winnowing in even though he was badly wounded and exhausted,", a breath left me, "idiot."

Mor giggled, and I felt my lips curve.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Mor's gaze flicker over my face, warm and bright. Her throat worked. Then she whispered softly: "Thank you."

I blinked. Something in my chest rose and tightened as my gaze darted towards her, and Mor breathed out, her smile a little uneven when she stared back at me.

"I've known Rhys practically my whole life." She furrowed her brows gently, her eyes swimming with emotion. "He's always carried - a lot of weight on his shoulders, and it just got more when he became High Lord. He always took on everything, had to be strong, for everyone. He lets us know when things are heavy, but - he never fully lets us in." She huffed. "He doesn't want to burden us." Shaking her head gently, she hesitated before looking over at me, one corner of her lips rising gently.

"But then he started disappearing, just for a few hours, sometimes more, sometimes less. He never told us where he was going;", she raised her brows, "I always assumed he was just - taking a breather somewhere, taking some time by himself. But whenever he got back, he had that light in his eyes." Her iris started to twinkle as she stared at me.

"That was you." She blinked, her voice a little hoarse when she whispered: "You saved him. Because you saw something in him he lost the ability to see. And because when you showed him that, he believed you. Because he saw something in you too. That same thing that makes him stare at you like you put the stars into the sky." She swallowed gently, and her eyes flickered over my face. "It's like with you, he can just be."

My breath caught in my throat as I stared at her, something suddenly tight in my chest.

"He told you all of that?", I whispered.

Mor's lips quirked gently.

"Not everything. But enough." Her gaze flickered over my face. "He told us about you only after he came back from -" She broke off, her eyes welling with grief. Then she looked back up at me, her iris shimmering as she raised a corner of her lips.

"He was - a wreck, when he got here. But you - you kept him afloat. He was waiting for you. It felt like he was holding his breath. And then you turned up and..." She breathed a brilliant smile. "I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you."

My heart rose against my ribs, and Mor sniffled and beamed. "It's like he's come back to life, in a way he's never been before. Like something has - settled, fallen into place."

Something welled over in my chest, and I turned my gaze ahead, fighting to swallow against the pressure in my throat as I stared down the hill and over the roofs of the city, glittering in the sun, trees swaying gently in the breeze.

"Yeah,", I whispered.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Mor's gaze move over my face, bright and warm. Then she turned back ahead as well, and together, we stared over the city.

"It's beautiful,", I mumbled softly.

Mor´s lips curved upwards, her voice a little hoarse when she mumbled back: "It's the Court of Dreams."

☆

The sun was disappearing beyond the mountains, painting the skies pink and violet, the first stars twinkling high above when I slipped through the gate and breathed in the scent of flowers and grass and warm evening air.

Mor had dropped me off at the winding street before winnowing away, though not before pulling me into a hug so tight, my ribs had cracked, but I had just squeezed her back, feeling the scent of her perfume rising into my nose and her hair tickling my skin.

Slowly making my way around the house, I inhaled deeply, feeling warmth spread through my chest when I saw fairies whizzing through the air over the pond, giggling and chasing each other.

"You took your time."

My heart rose against my ribs, and Rhys, lounging on the steps leading up to the terrace, watched me, his violet eyes reflecting the stars blinking in the sky when he lightly raised a brow. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me, leaving me here all by myself -"

A soft snorted laugh built in my chest, and I sent him a cheeky grin. "I'm sure you were perfectly fine entertaining yourself for once."

"I wasn't. I got so bored I actually went to do some work."

Giggling softly, I gently kicked his leg before plopping down next to him, breathing in deeply. His scent rose into my lungs, and my heart missed a beat.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Rhys' twinkling iris flicker over my face. "Did Mor drag you from shop to shop until you fainted from exhaustion?"

I crunched my brows and looked over at him. "Why, do you think I look the part?"

Rhys' lips curved.

"Did you find a dress?" His gaze drank me in as a crease formed in his cheek, and I stared back, my breath catching and my heart thrumming against my ribs.

"Yeah." My voice was a little soft, a little breathless as I tried not to stare at the curve of Rhys' lips and the small dip in his cheek, his skin glowing in the sunset.

"And?" His voice trickled over me, slow, deep, matching the volume of mine as his gaze dragged over my face, heated, swirling.

I felt my lips tick up as I shrugged one shoulder gently, innocently. "And what?"

Rhys stared at me, his arm brushing against my back, sending tingling shivers down my body, and slowly, one corner of his lips curved. "Where is it?"

I huffed softly. "Not yet made."

"Shame." Rhys' eyes were twinkling. "You could let me take a peak."

I widened my eyes and whispered with a bright, cheeky smile: "Where's the fun in that?"

Rhys slowly started to smile brilliantly, his eyes crinkling, and my breath caught in my throat.

For a second, we stared at each other, something trumming in my chest and twisting in my stomach, then Rhys blinked, his eyes never leaving mine as he mumbled: "I think I might have to take the couch tonight."

I could feel my brows crunch in confusion. "Why?"

A deep crease formed in Rhys' cheek, his iris twinkling as his gaze dragged over my face. "Because I'm not sure I would be able to control myself if I saw you in that flimsy nightgown again."

My heart dipped, and suddenly, something hot trickled down my spine.

"I could leave it off."

Rhys' iris hazed over, a rough sound breaking from his throat, and I hastily bit onto the inside of my cheek as a laugh bubbled in my chest, mixing with a rising, fluttering feeling.

"Beast,", Rhys mumbled, his husky voice leaving something twisting down in my stomach.

I shrugged, feeling my lips curve as I turned my gaze back towards the garden. "I mean, if you can't handle it -"

Rhys' gaze narrowed in on my face, became deep and twinkling, and something toppled in my chest as I nearly bit down onto my lip, wondering what on earth I had been thinking.

Swallowing it down, I looked over my shoulder, and Rhys stared at me, gaze molten and dark as slowly, a slight smirk made his lips curve, playful and mischievous.

"Is that a challenge, darling?"

My breath caught in my throat, and my heart swerved sharply.

I blinked, then I shrugged softly, smiling back cheekily. "I don't know, is it?"

Rhys breathed a deep chuckle and leaned forward, and I felt myself freeze when his warm breath brushed over my lips. Then he gently nudged his nose against the side of mine and mumbled, his lips almost brushing my cheek: "Careful." He pulled back just enough to stare at me, his violet iris reflecting the sky as they dragged over mine, twinkling. "I don't lose."

"First time for everything,", I whispered back breathily, feeling my heart rise into my throat, and Rhys slowly started to smile.

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @stayinglow-exploringworlds @tcris2020 @lizziesfirstwife @brandywineeeee @t0uch-starved-h0e @sharknutz @valencia-rou @twsssmlmaa @waytoomanyteenagefeels @luvmoo @starrybeesandlibraries @corvusmorte @marmorjorts @bubnix @wallacewillow0773638 @ailyr92 @azrielshadows1nger @secretlyhers @icey--stars @awritingtree @cult-of-enji-todoroki @oksloan3 @emotional-loner @azrielslefttoe @ladybirdbeetle7 @brujitafantomatico @jurdanpotter

#rhysand #rhys #rhys x reader #starshine #rhys imagine #rhys/reader #rhysand x reader #rhysand imagine #rhysand/reader #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acotar x reader #lalacliffthorne

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wildfloweroutlaw · 7 months

Text

Reflections

~~~~~

pairing: arthur x female reader

summary: arthur returns home to you after long days on the road, and brings with him a fun new idea.

warnings: smut, 18+ MINORS DNI, vaginal sex, i guess kinda soft dom if you squint, maybe not historically accurate terms for clothing?

a/n: sorry if i’m rusty, it’s been a while since I’ve wrote, but i had so much fun doing this! someone throw a bucket of cold water on me.

word count: 1.6K

~~~~~~

The feeling of hot kisses and Arthur’s scruff crept down your exposed collar bone. His form rested heavily atop your own, gently pressing you into the mattress below. You tangled your hands in his shirt, tugging at it with impatience.

“So god damn beautiful…” Arthur murmured between kisses, eyes soaking in your half naked form below him. His hand snaked its way down to your waistband and slid underneath with practiced ease. He palmed you gently through your panties, eliciting a muffed moan from you. He could feel the fabric was entirely soaked through already, “All this ‘cause of me darlin’?”

You could only manage a soft moan, hips jutting up in search of more pressure. Your fingers moved to twine their way into his hair, pulling softly. You felt Arthur pull away suddenly, but quickly returned to yank your pants away from your body, throwing them to the side. Suddenly feeling far too alone in your nakedness, you reached for Arthur’s shirt buttons, popping them open one by one until you could pull the fabric away from his body. You were quick to toss it into the ever-growing pile on the floor.

Arthur closed the distance between you two with haste, pressing his bare chest to you as he reached around your back to unfasten your bra. He leaned back a bit to take in the view, one calloused palm coming up to caress your breast. “Christ alive you’re perfect.” Arthur’s spare hand found the bulge in his pants, palming himself in hopes of a little relief.

“So are you...” You whimpered under his touch, reaching to grab his hand and guide it to your clothed heat. “Please Arthur… need you inside me so bad.” You blushed at your own words, knowing you probably sounded pathetic but you didn’t care. It had been far too long since you’d had Arthur and you thought about him almost every night he was gone. Sometimes so much so that your hands would find their way under the sheets late at night and you’d imagine they were his.

Arthur chuckled softly at you, “needy aren’t ya?”

“You have no idea.”

His breath brushed against the shell of your ear, “oh I think I do… but your wish is my command. Sit tight a minute darlin’.” Arthur pushed himself up off the bed and disappeared into the next room. He returned a moment later, carrying a full length mirror, placing it carefully at the foot of the bed.

“What are you up to Arthur?” Your eyes followed him curiously and you propped yourself up on your elbows to get a better look. You glanced between your mostly naked reflection and your lover’s form.

“You’ll see, just trust me.” He undid his belt buckle and let it clatter to the floor along with his jeans, leaving him standing before you in only his briefs and your eyes drank in his form hungrily. He closed the distance between the two of you, pressing his lips to yours passionately. Arthur then reached down to slowly and tenderly remove your panties, discarding them to the side.

Arthur’s fingers found your most sensitive spots with practiced ease. You studied his handsome face while he pleasured you, but you found his own eyes studying something else. You followed his gaze towards the end of the bed and your eyes met in the mirror. You had almost forgotten the mirror was even there, but now you took in the scene that was laid before you. You, with your legs spread wide, one flung haphazardly across Arthur’s lap. You watched how Arthur’s weathered fingers worked you rhythmically, all with a smug look on his face. You closed your eyes quickly, your face heating up at the lewd depictions reflected in front of you.

Arthur pulled away suddenly and you groaned in protest, eyes fluttering open to find Arthur removing his briefs. He was quick to return to your side, lifting one of your legs a bit to grant him better access. “God damnit darlin’… I’m an impatient man. I’d like to take ya now… if that’s alright with you.” He slid his throbbing member back and forth against your entrance, waiting for your permission.

You agreed hungrily, “yes, oh Arthur please… I-I’ve dreamt of you inside me every night since you left.” Your hand went to caress his bearded jaw tenderly, your gaze meeting his.

Arthur chuckled softly, “and now ya got me.” He pushed inside you, slowly, until he was sheathed to the hilt. You both let out moans at the sudden pressure. Arthur waited in perfect stillness for you to adjust to his size, eyes locked on yours.

Only a couple heartbeats had passed before you were hungrily bucking your hips backwards onto his length, a silent plea for Arthur to move, even just a little. You stared right back at him, eyes filled with desperation.

His broad chest pressed against your back and a well-muscled arm snaked around your waist, the other sliding under your shoulders to cradle you against him. “And I thought I was impatient…” Arthur laughed under his breath, “I always give ya what ya need don’t I?” He moved his hips painfully slow, pulling all the way out and back in.

Finally growing tired of teasing you, Arthur quickened his pace, finding a steady rhythm. A symphony of moans left your mouth, mixing with Arthur’s. You let your eyes flutter closed and your head fall back in pleasure.

“Look.” Arthur commanded while his grip on your waist tightened slightly.

You opened your eyes again and looked to the end of the bed where the mirror stood. You let your eyes freely rove the imagine laid out in front of you. The slight pink tint to your face, Arthur’s large hand sneaking up to toy with the sensitive bud of your nipple, the way his hips snapped to yours, him disappearing inside of you. It was all almost too much. Just as you were about to look away, Arthur gently gripped you by the chin and kept you in place.

“Wanted ya to see how pretty ya look-“ Arthur’s voice was cut off by a groan. “Wanted ya to see how well ya take my cock for me.”

Arthur’s breath was hot against the shell of your ear and when you met his gaze in the mirror, his face was painted with ecstasy. The sight of his beautiful face, and the sight of you making him feel that good, was almost enough to send you over the edge then and there. “You look- pretty too.” You struggled to form words as the haze of lust had already seeped into your brain, but Arthur smiled all the same.

“Jesus you feel so good… my sweet girl.” Arthur cooed into your ear, the pad of his thumb brushing over your other nipple.

“Arthur… getting close.” You managed to choke out between moans, putty in his hands at this point.

“I know sweetheart.” And he did know. He knew your body just as well as his own. “Promise me you’ll keep those eyes open and I’ll give ya what you want, alright?” He moved to press sloppy kisses to the side of your neck.

You nodded furiously, “mmhmm.. I promise.” You could have sworn your entire body was on fire.

Arthur dropped his hand to the crook of your knee, lifting your leg to allow for a deeper angle. “That feel good darlin’?” He picked his pace up a bit.

You were past the point of words as waves of pleasure racked your body and you watched the scene in front of you through half-lidded eyes.

Arthur took the pretty noises spewing out of you as a yes.

You were so close, the pleasure almost blinding. This was exactly what you needed, exactly what you had been missing. You reached a hand between your legs, rubbing small circles and relishing the additional sensation.

Arthur nearly choked at the sight. “You’re gonna be the death of me woman.” His thrusts faltered slightly, growing sloppier as he neared his own climax.

Your fingers kept a steady rhythm, “Arthur I-“

Arthur’s growl in your ear was the only thing keeping you tethered to this universe, ”Go ahead sweetheart, let go for me.”

At his words, your orgasm rolled through you and curses and moans tumbled from your lips. Finally your eyes snapped shut from the pleasure.

The feeling of you clenching around him sent Arthur falling over the edge right after you, rutting into you helplessly as he chased his own climax. Arthur moaned your name like it was the only word he could remember how to say, in that moment it might have been. His orgasm crashed down around him, lighting him on fire.

His pace finally slowed to a stop, and for a long time the two of you just laid there with nothing but the sound of both of your pants filling the room. Arthur wrapped both arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him.

You turned in his embrace, rolling over to stare up at his face. “Where’d you come up with this idea?” You nodded over your shoulder to the mirror that still stood at the foot of the bed.

Arthur shrugged. “Dunno… just thought about it while I was staying at a hotel. I thought it’d be something we’d both like.”

“You have any other fun ideas while you were gone?” You grinned up at him, fingers tracing shapes on his chest.

Arthur chuckled, “More than I can count. You’re just about all I can think about.” Arthur pressed a few tender kisses to your lips. “I love ya sweetheart, I’m so glad I’m home.” He rested his forehead against yours.

You accepted all of his affection with open arms, glowing in his embrace. “I love you too Arthur… and maybe we could try out a couple more of your ideas?” Arthur’s chuckle was his only response.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rd2 #red dead redemption arthur #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur x reader #red dead redemption x reader #arthur morgan smut #female reader

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nuitnotions · 1 month

Text

Task Force 141 ; Call Me Mr Sandman

It grates at him, the way you slink out of bed at ungodly hours of the night to sit up alone in the living room so as not to disturb him. Little do you know that the cold sheets and vacancy of your side of the bed will always wake him. A plan is in order and he is eager to execute it and have you back in his arms to walk you hand in hand to the land of dreams.

{ flufff ; gn reader }

john price worries, and deeply so. insomnia is no stranger to him, he’s been around that very block a good number of times but in his line of work, sleep deprivation walks you straight into the coffin. he had to twart it and quickly and fucking hell, if he could just recall how. if he could just hand you the antidote and tuck you into the fold of his arm beneath the covers, it would be the Hail Mary. but he can’t and he doesn’t and so he takes up his mind’s attempt at the next best thing.

the white noise machine is obnoxious at first and you try to tell him what a waste of money it is considering you could just find the damn noise on YouTube and play it from the tv but he shushes you softly and asks you to just give it a try, little love, please? and you can’t deny him, it hurts to do so anyways when he’s doing so for your sake. for the dark rings surrounding your eyes. for the headache that has your head feeling hollowed out. for the snappish irritation that coats you like an oily bubble from days of exhaustion.

so you lay there, facing john and trying very hard to not mind the machine humming on your bedside table as you two talk softly with one another. it’s mindless chatter, talk of your earlier day and recounts of your days apart when he’s deployed and then just the silliness that wriggles beneath your skin as the hours dwindles on and you start to feel like a school child staying up way past their bedtime.

it’s inevitable. john’s eyes growing heavy as his words become more spaced out until his mumblings are entirely nonsensical and replaced by his snoring, head falling further on his pillow in your direction and you cannot help but smile. the poor man tries so desperately to fight his body clock in order to see you through to sleep but he cannot be blamed. you shuffle quietly closer and kiss at the corner of his mouth with a whisper good night before you’re turning over, already swinging your leg out to get out of bed. but that damned machine is immediately in your eyesight and the guilt sprouts from a seed in the pit of your stomach until it’s the size of a watermelon.

the poor man is trying, trying so hard to keep you in bed when you should be and here you are, ready to annul those efforts by simply reverting back to your usual habits. so you let out a sigh and retract your leg back under the covers and you glare at the machine for but a second before you’re turning over and nestling into john. your heart all but splinters at the way even unconsciously, his body responds to your warmth and touch, opening up his chest for you to crawl into and nestle there.

it’s not antidotal to your insomnia but it settles that restless energy in your head that speaks of you being a bother to him and his sleep. there’s a new set of eyes, opening up to the word, within you, head tilted back to look up at your significant other. you realise then that you are master of self implosion, unnecessary punishment to a cause beyond your control. and this very man, this man snoring away with his fingers splayed across your back, has been trying to steer you to that reflection in the mirror for a good while now. so you snuggle as close to him as possible and close your eyes. sleep may escape you but this love a breath away from you certainly won’t.

kyle garrick pads out of your shared bedroom in sock clad feet, two jumpers thrown across his forearm and sleep tucking itself away at the edges of his lashes. it’s the droopy look he gives you as he blinks slowly that causes the network of fissures spreading across the warmth of your body. a quick glance at the clock mounted above the kitchen’s arch tells you that it’s nearing 4am and everything within you sags. kyle comes to stand beside your head at the backrest of the couch, bending at the waist to kiss your temple and he murmurs in a soft voice, “let’s go for a drive.”

you protest adamantly, getting up to steer him back to bed with bracketing apologies to each of your protests, hands on his shoulders meant to shove him lovingly back. of course, kyle does not miss the opportunity to point out the irony, something about it just about bordering hypocrisy and you scowl up at him. you’re so utterly mistaken to think you’d win this argument, with kyle pulling you a step closer, laying imploring kisses to your lips and before you know it, he’s slipping the jumper over your head. it’s too tender, the cracks within have seeped out enough heat but the strong hands with slender fingers that tug the sleeves down and fix the collar of his jumper are molding molten gold into those very cracks.

he leads you down to the basement parking with your hand in his, thumb stroking at your skin in a slow and gentle movement that mimics the flow of a cradle rocking. you begin to ache as he opens the car door for you, only closing it after he kisses your cheek. you have bare seconds to yourself in the car as he crosses in front of it and your eyes track him as he does and your heart is stuck in a prayer of his name that doesn’t dull out even as he slips into the leather of the driver’s seat and starts the engine.

it’s quiet, the world. so much so that you almost flinch at the rumble of the engine and the shift of gears as your boyfriend pulls away, the nose of the car breaching reality in its amble to dawn. you’re tense for a good 9 minutes, back too straight and muscles tight as you take in the roads kyle leads the car down. you don’t even notice how on edge you are until his warm palm leaves the center console to find its perch on your thigh, fingers massaging at the muscle there. you hear the movements for the words they press into your skin. i’ve got you, it’s okay.

the tears slip down the side of your face silently and you are torn between brushing them away and calling kyle’s attention to the movement or leaning back and closing your eyes to their existence. you opt for the latter, a sigh breaks through your parted jaw and you let your head cradle into the headrest. you feels his eyes on you briefly, but the fight has left your body and you keep them closed. “stop trying to deal with it alone.” his reprimand is stern and still manages to feel like the stroke to your hair when he hugs you to his chest. so you turn your head in his direction and peer at him through wet lashes. there is a lot to say but you manage the most important of it,

“i love you.” he looks at you for as long as he deems safe before he turns back to the road ahead, the hand on your thigh flips over in a request. your own palm meets his and you curl your fingers with the last of your strength into him as you close your eyes again. the radio is off and you much prefer it, the quiet and warm atmosphere along with the drone of the vehicle is enough to settle your bones into the leather. the echo of your words finds you in the voice you prefer it in and smile softly at the insistence in it, the cadence meant to embed the meaning of the words into you viscerally.

it’s a little less than an hour of sleep that you manage, but you’re so thankful for it. you wake up in a neighboring town, so much green breaking in the bleary light of dawn it snatches at the breath halfway up your throat. you scramble up in your seat and peer around at the narrow road kyle is driving down between a number of hills. he smiles at you from the corner of his eye, says something about the sunrise and you feel that prayer in your heart become so fervent, that you swear you can hear it in the speakers of the car. it sings of your love, it sings of a fate you will twist the fabric of thread yourself to tie the two of you together if it came down to it.

john mactavish acts with sundown. there are candles lit around the bedroom, the curtains are drawn and the bed itself looks like your linen closet may have thrown up on it. “all to set the mood, hon”, he tells you with his hands on your shoulders as he steers you into the room after your shower. goodness, the man had even gone as far as picking out your favorite pair of pjs, fresh out of the dryer to make it that little mile more comfier. your heart is in knots of adoration and anticipation and you’d hate to tell him that your heart rate might act against his plans to have you at complete and utter ease. so you say nothing, falling into the cloud of blankets and pillows.

you’re watching him with wide eyes, smile excited as he shuffles through the three soft covers in his hand. there’s a furrow to his brows as he reads the titles to himself, repeating each of them as if they will whisper the secrets of their content to him if he calls on them long enough. you’re torn. between staying snuggled away in your personalized cloud and throwing yourself at your boyfriend to litter his face with the kisses that burn at your lips. you settle for a third option; waiting for him to choose his challenger and tuck himself against you so you can smother him in the love that bubbles from you like a shaken bottle of champagne.

johnny had been pouting at you all week, sitting across the breakfast table from you with sad puppy eyes that took two measly attempts from you the morning prior to get him to talk before he was whining at you. expressing the absolute heartache of walking up alone, your side of the bed, so unbearably cold and untouched. it was enough that you had gotten up from your chair to sit astride his lap, pulling his head to your chest as you cooed your apologies into his ear, kissing at his neck. the two of you had a good talk then, you finally explaining your fears of being a disturbance to his sleep if you stayed in bed and him smack at your buttocks in indignation.

johnny had come to a clear conviction that morning, and no one could say that the man had issues in execution. he had spent a good portion of the day putting his money where his mouth is, maneuvering by you with fast and determined steps, murmuring little excuse me’s and leaving quick kisses to your cheek with his arms full. there had been a better part of two hours where the bedroom door had been closed and you had been barred from entry. your boyfriend then returned to you as you sat on the couch with a shitty reality show to entertain you, standing at your feet and smiling down at you.

“where’ye keep those books of yours, baby?” that had been an adventure on its own, walking johnny through your trove, breaking down the genres and tropes and plot lines as he nodded and assessed the covers with a level of scrutiny that betrayed his line of thinking. you pushed to the balls of your feet and laid a kiss to his lips before you left him to his dissection. and from that, you spy three titles johnny had managed to narrow it down to.

he taps one against the flat of his palm twice and sets the other two aside before his eyes flick up at you and they’re bright and brilliant in that blue of them as they speak of his pride in all that he has arranged for this and having finally come to the crux of it as he crawls into bed beside you. johnny wriggles this way and that before those large arms are pulling you flush against his chest and he cracks open the book in his right hand while his left is laid against your stomach. he asks you softly if you’re comfortable and upon your nod, he announces the title and author.

the deep, gruff of his voice reads the story to you, and it’s not only in your ears, but against your cheek and hand, echoing into the marrow of your bones and fucking hell, this man could have chosen to read the terms and conditions you’re prone to ignore and accept anyway across the web and you’d still be entranced. maybe it’s the very abundant feelings you have for him, maybe it’s the accent and just sheer attraction to his voice, but your body is a stringed instrument that his intonations pluck at lovingly. johnny gets to chapter 4 as you start to feel the droop of your eyes, a heaviness that feels so nostalgic that you almost want the word to pause for you to indulge in it.

his voice grows distant, your attention the finicky flame of candle on a windy night and you want to thank him, want to love on him for this coaxing into dreamland and even more so, you want to grab him at the hand and pull him into your dreams because you are so very certain that your reality before these dozing moments will make any imagination of your subconscious so utterly bleak.

simon riley takes on a two birds, one stone approach to your frustrations. it’s so typical of him that you offer him a soft laugh when he finally divulges his plan to you, shaking your head against his bicep with loving amusement. teas. or more specifically, tea blending. he tells you, of which he has already stocked up for and done the needed research for. you do not doubt him for a second, because the man is meticulous to a fault. for goodness’ sake, simon has even completed a course on it.

you ask if you’re allowed to watch as he gets to work on setting up his station as the sun begins to sink and he pulls out the barstool for you in invitation. you’re easily transfixed at the sight of it all; your shared kitchen becoming a pop-up apothecary that is fronted by a behemoth of a man that dons a skull mask on his days of work. it’s enough to draw another titter out of you as you rest your chin on your hand. simon only arches an eyebrow at you briefly before he gets swept up in his work again.

the floral and herbal notes are a burst to your senses and it’s comical to watch simon measure out his determined dosages of each, the tea vials an unlikely sight in hands you are well and truly acquainted with. you ask soft questions, watch as he notes down his measurements for the chamomile, lavender and lemon peel, loops and run-on letters that only he will ever be able to decipher. he gets the kettle boiling only as he stirs through his dry blend and funnels it into the infuser and he briefly mentions to you the careful deliberation on his decided temperature for the tea.

he settled on 95°C, he tells you, the tea being a herbal one with the flourish of refreshing lemon. simon does not walk you through his decided measurements however, he shushes you and brushes a hand over your hair as he sets your favorite mug in front of you as the kettle clicks off and he allows it the allocated time to steep. your boyfriend folds himself down to lean his weight on the kitchen counter after having tidied up after himself, grunting at you to stay seated as it was his mess to see to. a generous phrasing, considering how steady those hands are, how particular he is about his work. now, he simply looks at you, slow blinks as he takes you in and you grow self-conscious at the way those dark eyes linger on the dark circles beneath your own and the wane of your cheeks.

you drop your gaze to the quartz of the countertop instead, forefinger tracing a vein of it in order to appear more casual than you feel. the silence presses upon the both of you with the weight of mist against your skin. clammy and all consuming and you wonder if you projected your insecurity so far into the atmosphere that it now rains down on the both of you in heavy contrast to the steam coming off of the tea kettle not even half a meter from the two of you. the smell hits you sharply, the earthy, floral notes of chamomile laces itself into the crisp and clean of lavender with a tail of twang from the lemon peel. you can’t deny that your muscles prickle as they begin to loosen at the second inhalation of the scent.

“a great deal of tea blending is scenting. it’s the first impression of your blend.” he tells you when he notes the subtle shift in your body, a twitch at the corner of his mouth as he straightens and grabs the kettle to fill both of your cups. it’s a very pale amber, like bleak sunlight just as the dawn cracks at the seam of the earth and you can’t help but smile at the irony of it. you wait for the last drop from the spout before you gather the mug into your palms and look up at simon, thank him as you stretch over to kiss at his cheekbone. when you pull away and fall back into your seat, he remains quiet for a while.

finally, he responds with “i miss you during the night. but i don’t blame you.” your frown is an automatic response to the clench of your breath, seized by your ribs at his words and you shutter against the warmth of his attempts. attempts to coax you back into your shared bed, to keep you there, at rest with him. you open a mouth to apologize to him, to offer words that had melded to the roof of your mouth for much too long. you don’t get to free them though, because simon drags the barstool beside you even closer so that his thighs bracket you and he can drape himself across you like a security blanket.

“no apologies. might as well just snatch unwarranted blame then.” the words are crass in the same way that they are affectionate. equal measures of both and purely a blend of simon. so you nod, you lean back into him and you finally take slow sips of your tea. it’s good and it engulfs your body in a serenity that you has no belief of it being capable of. you hum quietly in approval, slouching further into the strength of your boyfriend and mutter halfheartedly that your weight against him is a consequences of his own goodwill. he only clicks his tongue and drags your chair further into him.

you drink a second cup as the two of you migrate to the couch, simon stretched out for your comfort as you curl into him like a kitten discovering its mother’s milk for the first time. the pair of you don’t talk much, it’s an easy silence as he feathers your hair between his fingers and stares at the ceiling. it’s when your eyelids grow heavier in weight that you lift your head at him and request one last move. you barely get the words out before he’s sitting up with you still tucked into his chest. you’re under the covers and in his arms with a content sigh barely two minutes later and the cotton fluff of sleep almost has you delirious but just before it claims you, you manage to speak the words that burned the back of your teeth for hours,

“i missed you too.”

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wonjns · 1 year

Note

How about some super hot, wet, steamy sex with SVT Mingyu at the sauna's or something 😩 He's just so big

hot & bothered — k.my drabble

♡ kim mingyu x male reader // nsfw

a/n. . . OK been getting lots... LOTS of reqs abt mingyu & this one acc sounded hot so i can no longer deny the ppl what they want !!

kim mingyu was seemingly everywhere,, and the fact that he’s your cocky ex is what made it insufferable for you.

it was unbearable — every bar, club, party, or social gathering you went to, he was there… down to even having the same gym membership as you.

you’d been trying to get back in shape over the summer with the new semester starting soon, and you had done a good job of avoiding the 6 foot adonis for weeks now — that is until you decided to take a celebratory trip to your gym’s sauna.

your first mistake was stepping inside without checking through the fogged glass beforehand, and your second mistake was not leaving as soon as your eyes landed on the huge mass of a man sitting directly across from the entrance, long arms stretched out among the bench backs and tan skin practically illuminating the room.

mingyu eyed you with a silent smirk as you stood there gawking at him, nearly naked with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

he was manspread to his heart’s content, drops of sweat rolling down his broad exposed chest, just begging to be licked up.

he had clearly been working hard, and must’ve just finished a demanding day in the weight room since his muscles were visibly much more bulked than you remembered seeing him a month prior. his bulging biceps made you shift uncomfortably, feeling yourself already growing hard at the sight.

mingyu’s fangy grin only grew when he watched you nervously swallow, eyes drinking in even more of his large form. the sweat on his chiseled abs reflected off the dim light and ignited you with memories of your tongue running up and down them in the past. you could still feel his perked nipples on that buff chest of his beneath your palms.

the sauna smelt like musk — his musk. the kind that turned you on during the days when he would come back into the house exhausted after mowing the lawn, letting you suck him off as a form of gratitude.

speaking of, one look at the humongous mountain of a dick print beneath his towel had you stifling a whimper, the bulge serving as a daunting reminder of how fat his cock really is.

every ounce of your instincts pleaded for you to leave, but you could only draw closer to him while he eyed your half-naked body as well, as if you were under a spell. back when you were dating, mingyu always knew how to smooth talk you into his sheets. he simply understood what you responded to and how to get you hot and bothered.

the time gap of when you last saw him was evident in your inability to resist him, since only a few sly remarks and the singular action of running his large hand through his damp hair was all it took for you to lock the sauna door and pounce on him.

you grinded atop of his lap like a needy animal, moaning as he smashed your lips together and wasted no time in tasting you. your desperate hands roamed the vass expanse of his moist, smooth skin and muscular back, groaning into his mouth as you rolled your hips over his towel-covered erection.

you knew you couldn’t take much more when his wet kisses lowered to your neck, mingyu hungrily sucking marks into your skin. oh how you missed that thick tongue laving all over your collarbones while his huge hands gripped you by the waist.

you threw your head back, tangling your fingers in his wet curls. you hated his man, yet he had you in a pool of euphoria without even moving from his spot on the bench.

without ceasing your grinding for a second, you pushed him back before smoothing your palms down his sweaty, melanated chest. the haze took over your mind while you leaned down to latch your lips onto his taut nipples. he threw his head back when you started sucking harshly, the deep moans he released causing your cock to twitch as it leaked precum.

soon you were shamelessly begging him to take the towel off, desperate for just one last good fuck. and he wasn’t even thinking about denying you of it.

you were both stripped down in seconds, both towels long forgotten on the steamy floor as your sweaty bodies collided. he devoured your mouth one more while lifting you up easily, before sinking you down on that monster cock you had never gotten use to. you began bouncing on his lap, weakly gripping his strong rounded shoulders when he pulled you tighter - feeling your leaky cock start to rub against his sculpted abs.

the heat of the room had your body more slick and mind more dizzy than ever. once he took the perfect opportunity to then suck on your nipples (which he remembered to always have been sensitive), you were climaxing in seconds - whining as you shot ropes of white all over his buff chest. seconds later he emptied his load into you.

you were panting, legs worn and trembling like you had just ran a marathon; but granted, how couldn’t you feel that way after having steamy public sex with the tall, dark hunk that was kim mingyu.

before you left, you told him that would never happen again — you both knew you were lying.

#kpop x male reader #mingyu x male reader #seventeen x male reader #seventeen smut #kpop smut #male reader smut #svt hard hours #svt hard thoughts #mingyu smut #mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #kim mingyu

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unknownunidentified101 · 11 months

Text

FORGIVE ME?

SUMMARY : arguments are inevitable but they help you grow

CHARACTER : Gojo x gender neutral ! Reader

WARNINGS : angst to fluff

“ You’ve Could’ve Died!” Gojo trailed in front of you, throwing his hands up in the air in exaggeration.

“ But I Didn’t! I had a plan you know!?! You ruined it!” you raise your voice, slamming the door behind you. “ as if! Do you think squirming and being on the blink of death is a plan?!?” Gojo scoffed at your comebacks, he was in utter disbelief

“ yes it was!” You start to yell back

“ you aren’t fully healed from your injuries!” Gojo pointed to your limping leg. You stand still, hand bawling in a fist

“ I’m stronger than what you think” You retaliated back, you felt your blood boil. Gojo sighed harshly, pinching the bridge of his nose

“ Why Can’t You Listen To Me For Once!?! Are You Even Listening to me?” Gojo scolded, his tone hurtful as it slightly cracked, “ What If I Wasn’t There?” Gojo sat down on the couch, distress whelming over him

“ You Know I Would’ve Killed that Curse. Injury or not” you tried to lower your tone

“ you are so selfish” Gojo murmured under his breath. It didn’t go unnoticed to you and that was your finale straw

“ Selfish!?! You think I’m selfish?” You were in disbelief, scoffing loudly. “ YES!” Gojo yelled loudly at you, “ you don’t worry about what others want, you only care about yourself!” Gojo pointed out

You swallowed the lump in your throat. Had he not known how many times you’ve sacrificed yourself for others? Or how many times you’ve put yourself before him?

“ fuck you Gojo” you muttered his last name, stomping to the bedroom door before slamming it shut. Gojo’s lips gaped openly slightly. He hadn’t known the severity of the situation just yet. He messed up really bad .

Gojo has done a handful of bad things but this one was by far the worse. All the stress in the past week has built a ticking time bomb in you and Gojo set it off

Slamming the door shut, the sound rippled through the house. You sniffle a cracked cry. It was stupid, everything was

You collide with the bed, twisting and turning in the sheets, you felt like crying your heart out. After all those harsh words stabbed you through the chest, all you could do was spread some tears before eventually falling asleep

—-

It didn’t take long for you to wake up. Your throat was swelling up, it was really dry. You knew Gojo left in a hurry shortly after you so you decided to get a glass of water

By now, your emotions were drained out, your feet dragged itself against the wooden floor. You travelled to the living room which opened to the kitchen

Staring at the couch, you make out a figure slouching over the couch. It was Gojo as his feet barely fit on the chair, you didn’t want to see him now. A part of you had moved on but still, the anger was still prevalent

You quickly traveled to the kitchen and drank a glass of water, eyeing a vase on the counter. You realised there were suddenly flowers in the vase. You were in shock, why hadn’t you seen them before?

Not to mention they were your favourite

Moving closer, you spot a note that was placed on the side of the vase. Picking up the note, you were curious enough to read the contents inside it

‘ I’m sorry, forgive me?’

It red. You realised Gojo was apologising. After some self reflection, Gojo realised he was in the wrong and therefore ran to nearby stores to grab all the flowers he could

You had to admit, all your negative emotions disappeared, your mouth gaped open as your eyes stared in complete awe. He was always the first to apologise.

Staring back at the couch and note, you couldn’t leave the man out in the cold. You breathed in and out before approaching the couch

You kneeled down to stare at Gojo’s features. It was only now that you realised the dark circles that centred around his eyes. How long have they been there for?

Was he just as stressed as you? You felt guilty at this point.

“ Satoru….wake up” you slowly murmur, lightly patting the man’s shoulder. Satoru grumbled and stirred awake, his eyes focusing on your prominent figure

“ [y/n]..?” Gojo replies softly. You share a soft smile, “ let’s get to bed-“

You couldn’t even muster a sentence before you were tightly squeezed by Gojo’s arm. “ I’m sorry” Gojo immediately apologised

You were saddened by the apology, it made you seem more at fault. “ I know you are capable of fighting…and I didn’t mean it when I said you were selfish, in fact all you’ve ever been was self less…I was just worried and tired” Gojo murmurs, his rigid breath coating your neck

Your hands slowly snaked to Gojo’s back. “ you had every right to be worried… I’m sorry I put myself in danger too, you were right, I am still injured and I shouldn’t fight” you added on, addressing the doubts Gojo had

At last, Gojo parted from the hug, hand cupping your cheek. “ I’m sorry I sweared at you..I never meant it” you added, remembering your rude comment, shyly looking away from the man

“ don’t be, I kinda deserved it” Gojo merely chuckles, hugging you again. “ I missed you..don’t leave me please? I can do better” Gojo’s grip tightened again

“ Satoru I would never, we are in this together forever you know” you chuckled softly at Gojo’s overthinking

“ then…can i sleep with you please..?” Gojo’s voice wasn’t cocky anymore, it was a soft request to you

“ of course” you smile back, lightly kissing his cheek. Gojo smiles, wasting no time in peppering you in kisses

“ thank you” Gojo was very relieved. Out of everyone, he didn’t want to lose you to a stupid argument. He wasted no time in carrying you upwards, “ and then let’s cuddle together okay?” Gojo kissed your lips, carrying you to your shared room

“ yes, I would like that” you reply, erupting into soft giggles

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baronessvonglitter · 3 months

Text

Getting Dirty With a DILF

Marcus Moreno x f!reader

Word count: 1.8K

Summary: the night before Father's Day you share a little fun with your boyfriend

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, established relationship, bathroom counter sex, fingering, spanking, soft dom!Marcus, daddy kink, fluff, smut, fucking in front of the mirror

Author's Note: of all the daddies in the Pedroverse, I felt like Marcus needed just a little more love and wrote this for him.

MARCUS MORENO MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

Wearing nothing but Marcus Moreno's bedsheet around you, you traipse to the bathroom, playfully glancing behind to see he's catching up to you. Once inside, you pull him in and the sheet falls away from you at the same time that his arms wrap around you from behind as soon as the door shuts. He kisses the back of your shoulder, wearing a little lovestruck smile. "God, I'm crazy about you."

You smile, watching both of you in the mirror, naked. Your body is still flushed pink from the pleasure still coursing through your veins from moments earlier. Saturdays were your date nights, he made sure of that despite his busy schedule and his family life. Tonight you'd have him, and tomorrow he could spend time with his daughter for Father's Day.

"What are you smiling about?" Marcus smirks, nuzzles your cheek with his nose.

"I just.. think we look good together," you smile back, watching his hands roam your body. His arms wrap around you, holding you from behind as he looks at your reflection with you. He pulls you close, pressing your back to his chest.

"I like this view," he murmurs, his large hands cupping your breasts, feeling the heft of them in his palms before gently tweaking your nipples, earning a sweet sigh from you for his efforts. There's a pale ring of color around his left ring finger; he'd stopped wearing his wedding ring when he started dating you, something you would never have asked of him, but his insistence that he could let go of his past while entertaining his future was something that truly touched your heart.

"I like this view a lot," Marcus reiterates, watching your body's response to him. You tell him to keep going, and he kisses the back of your head as his hands gently squeeze your breasts. "Beautiful," he mutters. You bite your lip, savoring his delicate, reverent touch as heat flushes your skin even further. He presses a thigh between your own, separating them a little. He loves how you react to him, how a simple touch from him can make your heart skip a beat and cause goosebumps to rise on your skin. He loves knowing he has that effect on you. His lips wander your neck as he watches your reactions in the mirror, studying the furrowing of your brows, the slackness of your mouth while he kneads your flesh. He whispers into your ear, "Bend over.."

Barely able to suppress a gasp, you do as you're told, leaning over the bathroom counter, bent over in front of him as you watch him with wide eyes through the mirror. He moves forward and angles himself behind you, his hands greedily running from your hips to your thighs, feeling the heat from your drenched pussy.

Oh he needs to see it, craves to see your slippery cunt. Marcus first plants a soft kiss on your shoulder before leaning back to view your heart-shaped ass, your flower-like folds open to him, damp with your dew. He gently traces it with his finger, licking his lips when you mewl softly in want. He presses in with one finger, then two, fucking you slowly.

You move back against him, asking for more, demanding more. He removes his fingers for a moment, nearly growling to feel them covered in your thick slick, and uses them to smooth over your clit, circling and adding pressure before dipping back inside you, fingerfucking you harder than before.

Your cries ring out against the tiles of the room, your neediness almost vulgar, but to him they're the sweetest sounds in the world. "You like that, hermosa?" his voice booms over yours, and you grow even more excited to see this side of him, the beast beneath the man. "Put that pretty mouth to good use and tell me what you want, or I'll stuff it full of my cock," he grunts, slowing his movements to give you a small respite in which to get out of your brain fog.

"I want you to fuck me.." When you say it it almost sounds plaintive, but he's more than happy to oblige you.

"Only because you asked so kindly. Although I didn't hear a 'please' in there." Marcus's hand comes down to land a stinging slap on your ass, leaving a nice pink handprint. You wince, though a little of your come dribbles out, revealing the truth.

"Please!" you gasp. "Please fuck me!"

"That's better." Though he lands another spank just for good measure, and delves his fingers inside you again, leaving you unable to distinguish pleasure from pain. When you're on the verge of coming, he pulls away, giving you his fingers to lick clean. "That's a good girl," he coos, his eyes soft behind his thick square-rimmed glasses.

He lifts one of your legs, bracing it on the counter. You're completely exposed to him, cunt opened wide, pink and absolutely sopping wet. Then he positions himself behind you again. When you try to push your hips back he keeps you in place. "Stop that. Look at me."

His tone leaves you no choice, sending a thrill through you as you gaze at him through the mirror. "Don't you dare close your eyes, mi hermosa.." he warns, and with your eyes on each other's he slides into you just a little at a time.

Marcus never gets tired of that look, the way your eyes open wide, lips parted and full as he slides his cock into you, filling you up and stretching you out. You whimper, pushed forward by the force of his first thrust, and your entire body warms and buzzes with feeling. All concentration is on one area of your body. His jaw is clenched tight, eyes dark as he watches your face, his gaze drifting down to your hands that seek purchase on the countertop, fingers splayed. His grip is on your hips, keeping you steady, using slow and teasing thrusts as his tongue peeks out to slowly lick across his lips.

Each slide in feels like heaven as he slowly draws out your pleasure, teasing and testing you. "Yes..yes!" you moan with each thrust. He picks up the pace, his eyes locked on yours in the mirror. "You like that, corazón?"

Both your heart and your stomach flip flop as you exchange glances in the mirror. "Yes.. I love it, daddy."

In response to your pet name his grip on you tightens, a low growl escaping him. He thrusts harder, deeper into you. "You want daddy to give you more?"

Your breath catches in your throat. "God! Yes, daddy!" The sounds you make are absolutely shameless, giving back as good as you get, your flesh colliding in the most profane sound you've ever heard. Marcus loses a modicum of control with each of your sweet, needful moans, your torturously tight pussy. One of his hands lets go of your hip and reaches up, grabbing the back of your neck, bringing your head to the side enough for him to capture your lips in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. His lips meld against yours, capturing every sound you make. When he pulls back it's only far enough to where he can press another, shorter kiss to your lips. His forehead rests against yours as he presses against that sweet spot inside you he knows makes you see stars.

You whimper, your thighs threatening to buckle beneath the pressure, but he keeps you steady. He holds your face to the mirror so you can see yourself. You're wrecked. Your hair is messy, lips red and swollen from kissing, eyes blown black with desire. Marcus has never seen a prettier sight. He gives another rough snap of his hips, watching your ass cheeks ripple with the force of it. "Fuck, I can't hold on much longer, daddy," you moan.

"Let go for me," he grunts. At his command your self-control melts. A needful cry leaves your lips as your legs quake, your pussy pulsating around him. He almost comes undone right with you, but his hands grip your hips, holding you up as he rails you through your orgasm. "My girl," he says proudly.

You're weak when the pleasure subsides, and Marcus smiles, loving to see you like this, so undone, so satisfied. He gently pulls out of you, wraps an arm around your waist and turns you around, pulling you to his chest. He kisses the top of your head and cradles you against him. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you answer, finally catching your breath and breathing deep of his scent. He cradles your face in his hands, leaning gown to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. Then his arms wrap around you, holding you close as he rests his chin on top of your head. "Daddy didn't get to finish, did he?" you ask, taking his length in your hand, still rock hard.

His body stiffens and a hiss of pleasure leaves his lips. "Mm. No, I didn't."

You hop up on the edge of the counter, bracketing his hips with your thighs. "Let me help you with that." You shift your hips, pussy drooling in anticipation as he teases you with the first few inches. "You're such a tease, daddy," you whine.

He leans in close, resting his forehead against yours as he takes hold of your legs, letting them rest over his forearms. "And you're impatient," he says, and sneaks a peek between your bodies, watching as he pushes in, burying himself to the hilt. His heart skips a beat hearing your delicious moan. He cups your face gently, as if caring for something delicate, something precious, and kisses you, softly, deeply, lovingly. "I love you," he whispers.

"I love you too.." your whisper back, body buzzing with heat. "Take me how you want, Marcus."

A switch flips in his brain. You set something off. He pulls back and snaps his hips forward, over and over again. He groans when you dig your nails into his shoulders, your moaning in unison with his. He wants you to leave your marks on him. A claim. Ownership. He uses his height and strength to hold you in place as he fucks you. The sting of your scratches on his skin feels good. Later he'll look in the mirror, satisfied with the marks. He snaps his hips forward, with purpose. Hard. Forceful. Leaving you breathless. He buries his face in the crook of your neck. Each sound you make, he wants to hear forever. "Just like that, just like that," he mutters, feeling you clamp around him, signaling that you're close. "I'm not gonna last much longer.."

"Neither am I," you gasp. "Don't stop.."

His grip on your thighs tightens, knowing he'll probably leave his own marks on you, but he doesn't change his pace. "Come for me, baby," he groans. "Let me feel that tight pussy milking my cock."

"Fuck!!" you shout, body trembling as you come. Marcus follows right after, burying his face in your neck, pressing a messy kiss to your skin as his hips jerk, emptying himself into you. You stay joined for a long while until he finally pulls away, giving your thighs a tender rub.

"Now how about that shower?"

divider by @saradika-graphics 👑

#pedro pascal #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno #we can be heroes #ao3 smut #ao3 fanfic #soft dom!marcus moreno #marcus moreno smut #mirror sex #fluff and smut #father's day #into the pedroverse

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anlian-aishang · 10 months

Text

SNK Men - Masturbation Habits - Levi, Erwin, Eren, Armin, Jean, Reiner, Zeke [nsfw]

Levi

Masturbates in the shower. Levi deems it as a way to save time, to keep his sheets and clothes from getting too dirty. He hates to admit it, but something about sex makes him sweat easily. Even more shameful, he is weak to the flow of scalding water on his skin and the way it melts his reserves, inhibitions down the drain. The echo of tile walls amplifies the smacks of his hand around his cock, making it easier to imagine it's your pussy around him instead. Feigning the priority of cleanliness, he grants himself an excuse to be filthy. Levi sees masturbation as a last resort, something to rely on when he can’t have the real thing. As such, when by himself, he finishes fast. Three minutes of ferocity, white-knuckle holds of the shower bar and his erection. Toes curl tight against slippery tile. Soap trickles down his bangs and into his eyes. Squeezing them shut, he relies on imagined scenes to get him there. Strives to stay silent, but especially when it's been too long, not even Ackerman can prevent the grunts and swears from escaping. At the sound of his own succumbing, his ears, cheeks, chest flush red. On comedown, he deliberately jerks the metal handle to cold with hopes that, by the time he steps out and sees the mirror’s reflection, his fucked-out state will not stare him back.

Erwin

Gets off at his desk. It’s always the end of the quarter that his sex drive surges. Though it’s inconvenient at best and incapacitating at worst, he has come to understand why. A cruel chain reaction: work piles up, his mind multitasks to its bitter end, and at that end is a pure, carnal desire for reprieve. His signature grows illegible with the way his hand is shaking. He is making mistakes and making them in ink. Erwin clenched his fist, nails dug into his palm, but neither his erection nor filthy thoughts will die down. His hand is big, but his cock is bigger. The ratio aids his fantasy, trying to pretend it's your grasp wrapped around him instead. Erwin pumps himself a couple palms full of the lotion that others find so innocuously stored on top of his desk, lays a path of tissues on the pad of his office chair, and shuts his blinds as well as his eyes. Left hand works his member tight from tip to base. Right hand undoes his top button and hooks itself on the loop of his tie, allowing his breaths to deepen, and they do. Erwin growls through it. After this many successive nights of overtime, he deserves these minutes of release from those reins. Squeezing so hard that the veins in his biceps rise. Exhales harsh, fogging the oak of his desk top. Toes curl in his leather shoes. Words fail him as he climaxes to the thought of you barging in on him - loud grunts and moans of your name all the man can muster.

Eren

Lays back on the sofa. Unspeakable yearnings have brought him to this point. It was not only that he was unable to make it to the privacy of his bedroom. More accurately, Eren was so caught up in his fantasy that he couldn't care less if he were walked-in on. Lying on his back, his right hand slithers beneath the hem of his shirt and hikes it to his teeth. Abdomen exposed to less stifling air. At the same time, his left hand handles his belt, button, zipper before tugging his waistband to rest at his upper thighs. Eren leans his head back over the armrest, airway straightened, low yet loud vocals fill the room. Running his fingers through his hair, his elastic band snaps and lets his locks flow freely. Even with his eyes closed, his thumb lands right atop the lotion bottle - an old habit - and pumps a couple ounces into his hand. The unexpected cold draws a few hisses and curses, but before long, the fierce friction of his hand has converted it: hot like the rest of him. Even though he is reclined back, Eren is an active masturbator. His left hand has one job, one primary motion, but his right hand plays himself. Palm over his chest, fingertips pinching his jawline. Legs squirm, heels jut - all threatening to rip the leather couch. Instead of damaging the space around him, he takes that tension out on himself: cock sore, nipples bruised, scratches on his abdomen - but nothing that his sweatshirts can’t hide.

Armin

Shuts himself in his closet. An unexpectedly experienced masturbator, yet the shame Armin feels is disproportionately tremendous. Not even his bedroom is private enough, Arlert retreats to his locked closet, barely large enough to fit his clothes, let alone him. The blonde leans back against his wooden, creaky dresser and props his feet on the opposite wall. On the way to grab himself, his arm twitches: do you really need this? He tilts his head back and sighs: yes, you do. Armin dips his fingers into his mouth and pretends that they’re yours. Sucks them deliberately as he aims to keep quiet. As his tugs grow tighter, fuller, that sucking becomes sloppy, though. Overstimulated cries demand his lips fall from a circle to a helpless part. His breaths are brisk on his skin, covered in his own saliva. Soon enough, his tongue is flopping in frantic indecision: keep quiet or cry your name? That tug-of-war results in a submissive symphony for his reddened ears alone. But at least you can’t hear it. But what if you did? For what he lacks in confidence, he makes up for in imagination. Armin softens his grip to match the way he thought you would hold him. First, your fingers. Then, your presence. Now, your contact. Once his walls have weakened past the point of disbelief, and only once he convinces himself that you’re the one working him can he get himself to his toe-curling, back-breaking climax.

Jean

It always starts on his bed. Lazily palming himself on his mattress, Jean is rather carefree. Masturbation is not something he plans, but something he indulges in when he feels like it. It’s just one of those things. It is not something he lets himself anticipate all day, nor is it something he approaches with shame. Before he wakes up or before he drifts to sleep, it will cost only a little energy but help him rest. It’s the lie he tells himself, arousal his most gullible state. Less than a minute after he begins, Jean is panting, drooling, burying himself into his pillow. Swears muffled as he envelops his twitching cock in his similarly trembling hand. In working hours, he keeps his thoughts for you under wraps. When the sun is down, though, so is his façade of composure. Oh, the things he wants to do to you. More than that, what fucks him up is the thought of what you would do to him. Tendons strain and cast shadows on his neck, a desperate attempt to subdue his needy vocals. In this one session, the scenarios he has fantasized over have flashed faster than seconds. In that way, he thinks he must have lasted a while. In reality, everything is skewed. When he goes for days, sometimes weeks, without release, that release is difficult to delay. His pent-up dam demands a break: the uncatchable shot of his warm seed through his fingers and onto his sheets. He always thinks that climax will wind him down, but instead, it gets him up and out of bed, to the laundry machines.

Reiner

Slams himself against the door. Panting hard before he can even unbuckle and unzip himself. He’s ashamed to admit it all: how badly he wants to cum, how badly he needs to. The desperate rasp in his throat and the way it bounces off his bedroom walls turns his blush ablaze. He manages a squint and the sight of his bed, but the stagger in his legs tells him that he won’t make the walk. Reiner leans back against the wooden slate, one hand around his cock, one hand clutching the doorknob for stability. Eyes rolled back into his head. Hair a mess after this many runs of his hand through it. Inhales hiss through his teeth. Exhales shake on their fall past his lips. Looking down at himself, he notices the way his abdomen ripples with blood flow and wonders if you’d like that. He could practically hear you, the way you would dip your fingers into his mouth and pry, beckoning his moans and encouraging their volume. His imagination of what else you would do drives the speed and force of his hand. Pants crumpled at his ankles bind his legs to the perfect spread. His back is soaked with cold sweat, slicking and sticking him to his bedroom door. The flicks of his wrist are automatic now, racing to catch up with the snowball effect in his mind: you you you. With one final, nearly sadistic yank, he brings himself to finish - the sensation just as incoherent as his calls of your name.

Zeke

Tucks himself into bed. To Zeke, masturbation is a ritual, religiously stocked with offerings. From the drawer of his bedside table, he removes fire-and-ice lubrication and a ten-inch fleshlight. Atop the nightstand, a pack of cigarettes and his reflective lighter wait to accompany his comedown. He removes his glasses and sets them aside. By a thumb on his waistband, he peels his briefs down and flings them into the hamper across the room, satisfied with his aim. Zeke deliberately clashes his teeth together, trying to resist the admission of how good the initial sheathe feels. This is his relaxation time and he intends to savor it. His spank bank is rich with both fond memories and colorful fantasies. Playing them back in his mind, he accompanies the scenes with his own vocalizations, beating himself to the rhythm of your ass as it bounced around his cock, or the way your head bobbed back and forth around him. Most men last only a few minutes. Zeke basks in his average time of one hour. Edging himself on and on, chuckling maniacally each time he - to his own surprise - manages to wean himself off at the last second. His arm does not tire. His images are endless. It is only after the friction reaches an unbearable burn and his wrist begins to cramp that Zeke decides to give in, though he didn’t like to phrase it that way. Tilting his head back, his exhale is deceptively cool as his hot cum soaks his sleeve. It takes a couple flicks of his lighter, and many more involuntary twitches, though, until the pleasure truly ends.

// masterlist //

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