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manicrouge · 15 hours ago

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I AM MERELY MAN (CH. 3)

CHAPTER THREE: SCREAMS IN THE SILENCE OF THE NIGHT

[SIMON RILEY X F!READER] - MASTERLIST - IAMM MASTERLIST - PLAYLIST

[ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ]: ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴇᴍʏ ɪꜱ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴏʀꜱᴛᴇᴘ.

[ᴄᴡ]: ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ɴᴀᴢɪ ɢᴇʀᴍᴀɴʏ, ᴍɪɴᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴏᴍᴇꜱᴛɪᴄ ᴀʙᴜꜱᴇ, ᴘᴇᴛ ᴅᴇ��ᴛʜ

PRICE SOON RETURNED, the absence of you, the doe-eyed farm girl, notable to Simon as he hadn’t picked his pen up since returning, in spite of sitting in front of his journal.

His Captain closed the door to the barn, looking down at him and, rather than returning to his makeshift bed, he approached him, taking a seat at the opposite side of the table. He sat down with a grunt, pulling a rag out of his pocket, blowing his nose into it. Sniffing, he tucked it back into his pocket, wiping his hands against his pants and said, ‘she wanted to come with us.’

Simon blinked. ‘She’s been hit, hasn’t she?’

‘Unsurprising,’ Price said with a lighthearted shrug, ’her father was wound up enough talking to us. I can’t imagine he was exactly happy with his daughter robbing food off them to give it to us.’

To the man, it seemed to be a matter of fact, it was what she deserved, plainly put.

Well, not exactly; he knew his Captain would not be so careless to disregard the actions of the man, rather, in typical fashion for him, he sought to understand the old man as opposed to casting him out completely.

Retrieving the bottle of wine which had been left in the middle of the table, Price brought it to his mouth and took a swig. ‘He shouldn’t have hit her, though,’ he added, ‘she seemed beside herself, but it’ll only have been the heat of the moment because I know she’d regret leaving with us.’

‘She seemed adamant.’

‘She was,’ hummed the man, ‘and it kills ya, y’know? Having to look into the eyes of a young woman and tell her that she’s better off staying put when… well, I don’t know.’

‘When what?’ asked Simon.

‘When we’re gonna lose this place to the Nazi’s.’

It was the first time he’d spoken of their grim reality out loud, acknowledging the failure none of them had wished to touch. He’d known it since the call on the radio, that something was gravely wrong, and he was not wrong in his assessment of the situation.

They were running from the German’s, permitting them to engulf the entirety of France all because it was a battle they simply could not win. So what of the little farm they had sought refuge in? What of the little girl who had been playing so freely in the field when they first found the place and the family dog? Would she end up like the children they had encountered on the travels, the justification for the crime against her being scrawled in a note and left for the husband who had left the home, trusting to return to his loving with and little girls? Or would it be worse? Suddenly the desperation of the woman, although he knew she knew little, made sense.

Price drank from the bottle again.

‘I wonder what the people ‘round here think of all this — do they even understand what trouble they’re in?’

‘Wouldn’t bet on it,’ said Simon, glancing at his journal. His fingers twitched, grasping his knee. He blew out a breath of air as though it was smoke from a cigarette. ‘But you can’t save everyone, Cap’n.’

War taught many lessons, in a harsh manner too.

And, out of all of them, he knew that his Captain struggled coming to terms with that. It hadn’t been too difficult to guess, although, he didn’t have to do that as he had said it to the group one night while they’d been camping outside in the woods.

It had been just a couple of days since they had stumbled across that house in the middle of nowhere when he had returned from his scavenge with a lump of sticks under his arm to craft a fire. Simon had volunteered to do so, taking the time to look around the wooded area they’d found themselves in. It was a stunning location, just by a small creek where they had filled their canteens and settled down for the night.

As he was crafting the fire, his Captain set to work making what little food they had left in their packs, and it was then that he confessed that he had never thought his job would be so difficult. It stopped all of them in their tracks, to hear a beacon of a man confess to struggling with the truth of what war entailed. He sounded like a hypocrite as he denounced the very thing that put money in his pocket. None of them disrupted him, however, and he confessed (sourly) that he had only joined the cadets as a child as had wanted to save everyone who suffered at the hands of evil.

‘It was what my old man did, an’ I wanted to follow in his footsteps. He taught me everything I knew.’ He smiled at the thought of his father, all for his lips to curl downwards as he solemnly said, ‘but he never taught me that I couldn’t save everyone.’

Simon thought about that moment often, it springing to mind during their conversation with one another. To his words, Price was silent until he forced a laugh out of himself and said, ‘Don’t I know it.’ He shook his head, ‘wish I could, though. Really wish I could.’

The bottle of wine was set back in the centre of the table, though, the Captain made no effort to get up. Instead, he stayed. ‘When I first heard of the Nazi’s invasion of the Rhineland back in ’36, I was furious,’ he began, clearing his throat, ‘he waltzed right in there and took what they’d lost in Versailles — didn’t ask, didn’t so much as threat either, and what did we do? We sat on our arses and let it happen.’ His brows turned downwards and he sneered. ‘And then he just kept taking, and taking, and we did nothing. And you know, when Chamberlain got off that plane in ’38 and declared that there would be no war, I knew he was full of shit. I knew he didn’t have a fuckin’ clue what he was talkin’ about.’

It was in all the papers at home.

In fact, he had the newspapers on the desks of officers at the base, the declaration that the would be nothing but peace between all the nations. Even when he had seen them, he’d known better than to trust the judgement of a politician. Yes, he may have led the nation, but they didn’t know war. No; they understood words and only ever fought with them, never daring to pick up a rifle and resolve the conflict by fighting in it themselves.

Rather, it was the burden of the common man — the flaws of the wealthy.

‘None of this would’ve happened if we were allowed to stomp out the problem when we first noticed it.’

‘Nothing we can do about it now,’ said Simon with a sigh, drumming his fingers against the table.

‘Doesn’t make it any easier.’

‘I know it doesn’t.’

They didn’t say much more to one another, mainly because they did not have the chance to for the growling of an engine outside caught the attention of the pair of them. In fact, it was so loud that the sleeping men behind him startled awake with a chortled snort.

The growling came to the stop with a squeal and clink. The voices which followed soon after were quiet, as though the intended on sneaking in without being caught, and they knew exactly what was beyond the doors of the barn when they heard one of the voices grunt out, ‘nein.’

‘Fuckin’ Jerry’s,’ said Johnny from behind him, ‘must be looting properties for supplies.’

‘What’s the call, Cap?’ asked Gaz.

Price rose to his feet, hand holding his pistol as he moved towards the door of the barn, peering through the crack. He turned back quickly, looking at all of the men. By that time, Simon had put his rucksack back on, holding the Mauser he had stolen. They could have left, crept out without alerting any of them, hell, he could have done that with ease.

Price, however, was anything but a coward.

‘Get the family out of here,’ he said, ‘and kill every last one of the bastards.’

He wondered if the woman who had pleaded with him, the one who he had offered an apple slice which she had took so graciously, acting as though she had not been the reason he’d been allowed to eat, would be able to forgive him for dismissing her pleas and sending her back to the cottage. Granted, none of them had know what was awaiting them, unaware that the German’s were so close to them, although, they should have known they could not have existed without crossing paths with unruly evil. Still, he’d be damned if he were going to be responsible for the deaths of innocent people.

They left the barn quickly, crouching in the hopes that the darkness would conceal any signs of them existing at all, hearing the voices of the men on the other side of the cottage.

The closer they got, the louder the voices of the enemy were.

Not a word of it made sense to his ears as there seemed to be one, nasally voice which pushed through all the rest of them. That must have been their lead: Captain, Officer, Lieutenant. Whatever he was, thought Simon, he was a smear of the ranks, a betrayer of goodness. It left him with an incurable sickness knowing that people were so willing to conform to the will of evil all for the sake acquiring a little power.

No man. Only a boy would do something like that.

The door to the cottage was forced open.

He recognised the sound of the door being kicked in, having done so on multiple occasions himself. There was no way the sound had not woken the occupants of the house, and the four men picked up their pace. The snarling of an animal and fierce barking echoed through the valley, followed by a whimper as a flash of light flooded the house.

Price directed them expertly, uttering to Simon that he and Johnny should take the front of the house, whilst him and Kyle would go in through the back. His request was met without argument as the two men wasted little time, rushing to the right of the house.

A face in the window, the same he had seen initially, caught his attention as himself and Johnny heard the squeak of hinges. To the left of him, a window was pried open. He saw you, the woman who had pleaded with him, holding your hand over the mouth of your sister who sobbed behind your hand.

The little girl looked upon the men with terror, hands firmly grasping the frame of the window as she shook her head. You looked to Simon and, just as you had done outside the barn, you said softly, ‘please.’

He stepped forward, taking the child into his arms, watching as your hand slipped from around her mouth. Her little body trembled in his hold, chest knocking into hers as she took frantic breaths, looking back for you. Johnny helped you climb out of the window, and when you had made it out, you closed it with a gentle hand.

There was shouting in the house, a mix of English and German swelling to form a bitter brawl, ending in the sound of a French plea and the pop of a gun shot, closely followed by another. Before the girl in his arms had the chance to scream at the sounds, you placed a hand firmly over her mouth whilst flinching at the sound of the gunshots yourself.

‘We’ve got to get them out of here,’ said the Lieutenant.

Johnny blinked in his direction, ‘what about—’

‘We won’t go too far,’ he reassured, ‘but they can’t stay here.’

MacTavish looked at you and your sister and then back to Simon. With a sigh, he nodded his head. Resting his hands against your shoulders, he said, ‘come.’

You stared at him and then back at the home that you had wished to leave, swallowing hard as you nodded at the man. ‘Oui, oui. Merci. Merci.’

The little girl in his hold continued to howl, the hand over her mouth keeping her from being too much of a threat. You walked between himself and his Sergeant, taking occasional looks back at your home as they pushed further through the fields of the farm.

Johnny had taken to holding his revolver, mumbling to you, in spite of their language barrier, how he was only carrying it ‘just in case.’

You, however, paid no mind to him as you looked at your sister. When they had made it far enough for their home to be quaint in the horizon, they stopped.

Finally, you released her hold of the girls face. She cursed up a swarm, the only words he managed to capture from her blurting being the words ‘mama’ and ‘papa’.

You nodded as she cried, ultimately settling with shushing her, holding your arms out. Simon understood immediately, handing her back to you. You took hold of her gladly, wrapping your arms around her as though she was a baby, swaying side to side as you attempted to soothe her and her sorrow.

It was a compelling sight and your voice was so gentle, so careful. Whatever you spoke was pretty, and when you turned to face the moonlight, he noticed a slight sheen on your red cheek.

You yourself was miserable, terribly so, but you paid no mind to your sadness as you focused primarily on the child in your arms. Embarrassingly so, he couldn’t tear his eyes off the scene in front of him, paying more mind to the pair than his Sergeant who kept his eyes trained on the horizon.

‘I’m still not seein’ anythin’, Lt.’

‘They’ll be here,’ said Simon, still looking at you.

‘What are we gonna do about these two?’

‘Whatever we have to.’

They stayed longer than the muscle in his chest was content with for, with every passing second, the thudding in his ears seemed to worsen. The young girl seemed to settle a bit considering the circumstances as she rested her chin upon your shoulder, suckling on her thumb like she was a toddler.

He’d thought at first, she was too old to be doing that, again attempting to estimate how old she must have been. Had she been older than eight, he would have been surprised for she was quite small, better suited to be between the ages of five and seven.

In his train of thought, he stopped at the realisation that she was a child — a child who knew nothing of war, who had awoken to strangers in her home, and had no clue as to whether or not her mother and father were okay and he was judging her for attempting to find some semblance of comfort.

His judgement was soon cast away after that realisation and, when he turned his eyes to the horizon, he found two figures, holding more of a resemblance to shadows trudging over the hill.

Simon said to Johnny, ‘I’ll stay with the girls, go and find out who they are.’

His Sergeant, showing no fear whatsoever, took off, rushing down the slight hill they had climbed towards the two men, gun in hand. You turned to Simon, seemingly looking for answers. All he could offer you was a soft, ‘it’s okay.’ To that, you pressed your lips against the side of your sister’s head, continuing to cradle her in your arms.

The lack of gunshots was telling that the men on the horizon were not the threat they could have been and, when he saw the third shadow of the Sergeant embracing the pair of them and the echoes of a short spout of laughter bouncing off the valley, he understood that the threats had been neutralised.

He waited for them, as did you and your young sister, your eyes casted upon the sight of them, only looking away when you heard the congested breathing of the Captain.

The grass beneath their feet as they rose up the incline crunched and snapped and their safe arrival was officially marked by the sound of Price blowing his nose into his handkerchief.

‘What happened?’ Simon asked.

‘Killed all of them,’ answered Garrick, ‘there were four of them.’

He hadn’t the opportunity to ask any more questions as you turned directly to Price, marching up to him, grasping his forearms with a vice-like grip, urgently rambling to him. You addressed him as ‘Monsieur.’

The little girl lifted her head too, thumb still in her mouth as she looked to Price expectantly. For the first time in his life, Simon witnessed a look of apprehension on the face of his Captain, and it was only when you said, ‘please,’ that he dared to open his mouth.

What was said to you was unclear, he hadn’t the slightest clue until your hand slipped from off his arm to cover your mouth.

The girl in your arms scream bloody murder.

Escaping your hold, she seemed to wish to descend back to her home, quickly captured by Kyle who lifted her up off the ground.

She slammed her little hands into his shoulders as she wept, ‘NO! NO, NO, NO!’

As opposed to the outburst of rage from your younger sister, you stood and stared at the farm on the horizon. You didn’t blink, you didn’t speak, you kept your hand clasped over your mouth and stared.

It was an unnerving sight to behold, to have loss and grief conveyed without so much as a tear streaming down your bruising cheek.

Granted, maybe if it hadn’t been for the little girl screaming out, ‘MAMA, PAPA!’ He might have found it significantly harder to understand what had happened inside the cottage.

Kyle held the little girl, hand placed against the back of her head, her slapping growing sluggish as she fell victim to her grief, sobbing loudly.

‘What happened?’ asked MacTavish.

‘Both of them were shot before we had the chance to step in. The dog too,’ Price answered, looking at you who was still standing, staring at the home that had been ravished in the distance. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if there were more of them — we need to keep moving.’

‘What about the girls?’

‘We take them with her — she said they have family in Amiens, right?’

Your head lifted at the mention of Amiens.

‘Yes,’ confirmed Simon.

‘Then we’ll take them there.’

‘Right,’ said Johnny, ‘we needa keep movin’.’

‘That we do, Serg,’ said the Captain, yet, before daring to go anywhere, he approached the little girl in the arms of Sergeant Garrick.

Shrugging off his rucksack, he opened it and retrieved a small, plush rabbit. Shaking it in front of her, the toys ears flopped side to side and, as she snivelled, she took it gladly in her arms, burying her face into the top of its head.

‘Let's move out.’

#cod #call of duty #manicrouge #cod mw2 #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #captain john price #ghost simon riley #soap mw2 #john soap mactavish #soap cod #141 #price #john mactavish #ww2

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ccaptain · 5 months ago

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' ━Ah, so that's your brand new hiding place. '

A pair of familiar, inadvisable shoes seemingly materializes out of thin air. There's a grin on the man's face as he bends down to eye level, red hues exploring the hiding space his stray snuck in and slowly turning on the side of incredulous concern.

' How in the hell did ya managed to get in here? You're taller than me, and almost as bulk, too! Only someone like Brother Hanu could get cramped in here, and even he... '

They both know how. the Enigma doesn't answer him, limiting himself into quietly staring at his adoptive father as the playfulness in his voice disappears.

' One of these days, huh? ' A sigh. ' Come on- scoot over, 'm coming in. '

There's a long pause. Kaeya doesn't move- but he resumes speaking, a tad on the side of incredulous.

' Dad... It's too big for both of us, We'll both be stuck if you come in. '

' That so? ' The man named Gallagher sighs with relief, chuckling in the same breath. ' Right. Would have been worth a shot, though- look who's speaking again. '

It rips a chuckle out of him, for the way it always works- his dad is never afraid to do something scandalously funny to shock him out of overthinking. This includes trying to reach for him in a small, battered metal closet.

Sometimes, it's just a thing that needs to be done.

There's a can of something similiar to SoulGlad in violet-hued fingers, the comfortable silence, and his father's leg pressed against his as they sit with their backs on the wall.

A drop of condensation comes in contact with his thumb, unfelt. This is where Enigma breaks the silence.

' Dad... '

He hesitates, a million questions in his mind. He picks the closest one, reels the others in.

' This feeling of emptiness... when will it stop? I thought it was going to go away on his own, but it never did. Never does. '

There's an awry sound coming from his side. ' Hard to say, ' he starts, the movement that turns his face into a small grimace of sympathy. ' 'm kinda afraid that you put yourself into a bad situation, kid. '

' I did? '

' Yup. This... ' He gestures at Kaeya entirely, careful, ' avatar that you took, the one you told me belongs to your friend... you're really not supposed to do that. Take his looks, I mean- it just makes everything more complicated than it needs to be. Adds a whole lot of weight where there shouldn't be. Kinda jumbles everything that should be simple... '

His dad trails off, irises taking on the looks of his stray without the irony shining in his eyes.

' You still haven't told me why ya picked him, out of all traits you could have taken. Of the amalgamate you coulda been. '

No- no, he has not. The reason only makes sense in his brain, only tie together when Kaeya Alberich has been in the life of someone for a while. And Kaeya Alberich never got to know his father at all.

His mouth opens, words lost. Impostor closes it, opens it again, shakes his head almost helplessly, the faint buzz of confusion starting behind his eyes before a warm hand ruffles his hair, stays in place over mussled cobalt locks.

' Don't sweat it, ' the man that is his father tells him, a lopsided grin on his face. ' As long as it makes sense to you, it's alright. You gotta solve this emptiness thing yourself- I can't help you much, here. '

A few pats on his dusty behind, and his dad is up and going again. Kaeya shakes his head at the hand being offered to him, signaling that he'd like to be alone and in here a little longer.

' You gotta be glad we have a lotta time to think about stuff, no? 'is the last thing he tells Kaeya before he's out, leaving a wink and the bark of a laughter behind.

and a cold can of soda, untouched.

The hut is empty. There's nobody else but him, and the unheartly silence of the abandoned planet hs picked as his residence.

Kaeya's digits follow the jagged edges of his newest wound, a gaping hole where pale diamond should be. The skin has been broken like porcelaine, long cobalt strands trying to hide the lack of eye and the emptiness where skull and human gore should be.

Gray materia floats around his head, trying to recompose him and shoo his fingers, foreign, cold objects, away from the problem. But the wound is fresh, terribly big, and the effort requires an addictional component to speed up the healing factor.

The surviving eye is as faulty as the one he took from Kaeya Alberich: all he sees are shadows dancing out of his reach, the blurry, darkened form of the table, the chairs, the kitchenette and the items he so loves to decorate having become hostile obstacles he has to avoid.

In the corner of the main room, there are two big tanks of the liquid coming from the Misty Sea- it's what he needs to fix the missing side of his head.

It's what he needs. A few steps ahead, and he'll close his digits around the neck of one. Feel around the tab in the bathub, plug it in, and pour.

Simple actions to restore himself.

But he thinks. And thinks. And he can't do this.

He can't do this.

He just can't do this.

He can't move.

But he has to.

The next minutes, perhaps hours, perhaps days, are a blur. All he knows is that, when he comes to some sort of consciousness again, his fingers are still tight around the plastic neck of a much lighter tank, the smell of the restoring liquid is right under his nose. His location seems to have changed.

Kaeya doesn't remember doing all this. All that he knows is that the ceramic of the bathub is so wonderfully cold and grounding against his warm, cracked skin, and he doesn't want to move. He has no will to, but something in his body has reacted to try and make him fix himself.

But he can't do it. His legs feel like lead, like cement.

He can't do it.

He wants to.

But he just can't do it.

Triumph and progress feeds people with some sort of frenzy, an injection of adrenaline putting them on top of the world, wanting to shout to look at them! They can accomplish ANYTHING!

But he isn't a person. It makes sense that the little energy he had after completing his mission has oozed out of him from the gaping wound.

An injury won't kill him- simply slow him down. His dad and mentor said that he has all the time in the world to do what he needs and wants to do, figure out when the emptiness ends.

Today, it doesn't. It presses him against the cold surface, and he's happy to allow his heavy body to surrender, letting his warmth disperse over it.

He can stay like this for a bit. He did what he had to do, and now it's time for him to give in to exhaustion. Just for a little bit of time, just for a small nap.

With the part of his forehead that can still feel, Kaeya curls against the side of cold marble, and lets his eyelid fall shut over the mocking of shadows dancing just out of his reach.

Maybe the emptiness never goes away. But I can rest for a bit... just for a little bit... and then I'll be good to go.

Just for a little bit...

#from another realm ━ (ooc)#riddle me this; is everything that you remember real and nothing but the pure truth? ━ (H:SR V.)#you no longer know me; shrouded in the fog of mystery ━ (H:SR V. Headcanons)#the cute bit of supportive gallag.her won't save you from the sad underneath : )#when kae.yas body tries to heal him and force him to move but hes so mentally out of it and exhausted that he blocks out doing stuff #warning that this is kind of sad #i painted it as him being alone but its ok if a muse wants to find him like this! a aftermath can be plotted... as a treat #but your muse will have a fking heart attack kjdhsdsjdf #imagine traveling with him for a while then you leave and come back to this scene #and get reminded that he may as well not be human but he sure is tired and experiences a lot... HOOO BOY does he experience a lot.#could be hurt/comfort could be angst... could be the reveal that even if he isn't human and is super reliable he has moments when hes tired #too tired to fix himself and too tired to keep going. no sense of accomplishment. no triumph #just a wound and something sad chaining him down. and he has NEVER felt this empty and tired and human before #body horror ;;#repetition ;;

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ozzgin · 9 months ago

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Just read your arranged marriage kidnapped by a most post and the humor in the servants always thinking reader is in peril. The same going for monster hubby (He just thinks they're submissive and breedable)

Like none of them realize they are a moster fucker cause they hide it so well. Like just imagining reader be like "oh be gentle with me I'm a dainty maiden" and then giving him the night of his life is hilarious. Or them having dinner and the servants feel bad for them cause monster hubby is eating human meat but their just thinking about other things he can use his tongue on.

Or maybe someone comes to rescue them from the terrible monster finally. But they don't wanna leave and instead fight the knight off. The knight thinks they've been brainwashed or something. Meanwhile the servants think the knight just wasn't good enough to rescue them.

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, NSFW! [Part 1] | [More Monsters]

The servants are not blind by any means: they can tell, quite plainly, that their monstrous Lord has a soft spot for you. Not only that, but the beast nearly worships you! They've come up with many theories, the latest one involving witchcraft. Surely you must have some sort of magical trickery under your sleeve in order to subdue their Master. There's no other way around it. All previous humans have been devoured, or have died in a pitiful attempt to escape, terrified to the bone upon gazing at his blasphemous Majesty.

You can't blame them. It's probably better for everyone involved if you omit the fact that your source of witchcraft lies in your...genitals. Well, not just that, of course. Your husband had started to lose hope. His appreciation of humans never came to fruition before your arrival. He was expecting you to cower in fear, not throw yourself at him.

He wondered if you wanted something from him in return, but no one could possibly pretend so flawlessly: the way you clung to him unprompted. The way you hungrily took him in, tears welling in your eyes, refusing to let go until you could feel his load avalanching down your throat. The way you'd trap his hips with your legs, despite being weak and feverish, asking that he doesn't stop yet. If that wasn't proof enough, your whines and moans were loud and clear. To think he could have his own little human, one who isn't repulsed by his monstrous form. He would've been content with mere tolerance, yet someone who begged to be fucked by him? He's been delirious ever since.

He loves everything about you, naturally, but he can't deny the shameless addiction he's now developed towards your body. He'd pound you anywhere and anytime if he could. If he needs to leave for official matters, know that the return will burn in the back of his mind.

"An important date, Sir?" one traveling servant will ask, glancing at all the scribbles in the calendar.

"Indeed", he answers solemnly. It's the times when he can finally fuck you dumb.

While the servants worry about their devilish Master being put under leash, for the other fellow humans the opposite seems to be true. You recall your last "rescuing" attempt distinctly. During one of your evening walks, burly, foreign arms swept you off in an instant. Before you knew it, you were holding onto the armored shoulders of an unknown man, as he made his way out of the traditional garden.

"I'll get you out of here", he promised between heaving breaths.

You stared in confusion. What was he saving you from? A good dicking? No matter how much you explained that you do actually like your newly appointed husband, the hero wouldn't budge.

You ended up just walking back home when the man fell asleep.

"That was quite the long walk", your monster partner remarked, polishing his weapons.

"Oh no, I was kidnapped", you state casually. "Got us some fruits on the way back."

Would it have been better to lie about it? On one hand, you do feel terrible for whoever attempted to retrieve you from the claws of the tyrant. Your husband is very possessive, and you know he'll scorch the Earth until that treacherous pest is gutted and fed to the pigs.

On the other hand...he becomes particularly savage after such incidents. You won't be able to sit properly for the next few weeks, but it's worth it.

Tough luck, you tell yourself, lounging in bed with a satisfied smirk and torn apart hole.

#monster imagine #monster x reader #monster x human #monster smut #monster fucker #terato #teratophillia #monster boyfriend

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satrs · 27 days ago

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Hands Off! Or Not?

SYNOPSIS. The forbiddenness of it all so tempting, and restraint a thing of the past. To which depraved and perverse lengths are they going for you truly?

FEAT. XAVIER. ZAYNE. RAFAYEL. SYLUS. CALEB. xfem!reader

TAGS. MDNI! NSFW/DARK CONTENT! DUB-CON! sexual intercourse. unprotected intercourse. extremely pervy guys/acts. perverse actions. making out. jacking off to you without ur knowledge. blowjob and slight roleplay in zayne's. throatfuckin. SOMNOPHILIA in Sylus. watching u shower in rafayel's. shower sex. rafayel and caleb are kinda manipulative. dIrty talk. praise. size kink. oral, panty stealing and cunn!lingus(?)in calebs. Caleb cumin on ya panties lol(nasty ho). They r js nasty and pathetic, man. PANTY SNATCHER CALEB!!!

✎ A/N; Felt cute might delete later Hihi^^ Idk what's gotten into me but M' LOVIN' IT WUHUUU! Hope y'all are doin well and enjoy! xoxo

XAVIER ♡ Snatched!

Xavier, your reliable, caring neighbor.

You just entrusted him with your keys, begging him to tend to your plants while you're out for work since he's off for the week. And he gladly agrees.

But strangely, every time you come home, your plants look more withered than the day before. When you check on them, they're not even watered.

When you confront him about it, he just mentions how he waters them early in the morning so they dry by the evening. And with his slick words, you believe him.

Then, some of your things start appearing in the strangest places. Your lip gloss on the kitchen counter, a scarf on your bed, even panties you don’t remember wearing showing up in your dirty laundry. Weird.

You brush it off, blaming yourself for your forgetful nature, going about your morning routine before heading into another exhausting day of work. Just one more day, and then you won’t have to bother poor, busy Xavier with these tasks anymore.

Xavier, your reliable, sweet, and caring neighbor, moves on instinct as he checks the time, quick to hurry to your apartment door, unlocking it with ease.

Since the day you gave him your keys, it’s been the same routine.

He slips into your apartment after you leave, scanning over your belongings—your scarf, your lip gloss, even the forbidden rose toy you think is hidden in your drawer next to the bed. Anything that carries your essence is an item he’ll examine.

His first mistake.

And once he musters the courage to go into your panty drawer, he’s doomed before he even realizes it. Snatching a pristine pair of white lace panties, he lays back on your bed, taking a deep inhale of the sheets still coated in your scent before his hand travels down to free his aching cock.

His second mistake.

Lustful eyes scan the lace in his other hand as he wraps the flimsy material around his girthy length, his grip tightening as he strokes himself, imagining it to be your tight pussy instead, his head falling back against your headboard.

If this is wrong, dirty, even perverse—then why does it feel so damn good?

He could drown in your scent, stay in your bed like this forever, take panty after panty, repeating the same process over and over again.

He continues, lost in his pleasure, not even noticing the front door opening, the approaching footsteps, or the door creaking until—

"Xavier?"

His eyes snap open, panic surging through him. Before he can explain himself, his mouth falls shut, embarrassment creeping up his face.

"M’ just—"

"Just casually jerking off with my panties, right." You stand before him, arms crossed, a raised eyebrow aimed at his vulnerable form. But your gaze drops, lingering on his cock, still hard, still wrapped in your lace. And fuck, does it look good like that.

A slow smirk tugs at your lips. "You know what? You're lucky. I could use a little stress relief."

He watches in utter disbelief as you strip off your top, bright eyes soaking in your bare breasts, your perked nipples. His breath hitches when you step closer, knee dipping onto the mattress beside his hip, lustful gaze locking onto his.

"Wanna have the real deal?" You lower yourself onto his lap, heat pressing against his still-throbbing cock. "Then take it, you perv."

You don’t have to tell him twice.

His hands fly to your hips, pulling you down, a shuddering groan ripping from his throat as your soaked cunt draaags over him so deliciously.

His fingers dig into your flesh, thumbs brushing reverently over your waist, your thighs, committing the feel of you to memory.

His third mistake — nah, this is a blessing.

"Fuck," he exhales, voice raw. "Yer' for real?"

You roll your hips, smirking when he hisses. "What do you think?" Your fingers trail up his chest, tracing trembling muscles. " You could still leave. You can help yourself, can you?"

Xavier swallows thickly, hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer. "N-no, wanna' stay," he murmurs, voice husky. "Wanted this forever— been waitin' for so long."

You hum, dragging your fingers along his jaw before gripping his chin. "Then show me."

"Heh, I'll show you, alright."

In one swift motion, he flips you onto your back, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, down your sternum. His tongue flicks over your nipple, making you arch into him, gasping as he sucks it into his mouth, teeth grazing sensitive skin.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your flesh, caressing your tender skin. He pulls back just enough to watch as he drags your soaked panties down your legs, letting them drop carelessly to the floor. His eyes darken as he spreads your legs, settling between them with a predatory gleam.

"So fucking pretty," he breathes, running his fingers through your slick folds before pressing a teasing kiss to your cheek. "Ohh, wanna feel ya'— pleaseee, lemme' get nice and comfy in yer' warm pussy, angel."

A shiver runs through you at his possessive tone, your body burning with anticipation, sending an electric shock right to your aching clit. "Then stop teasing and take what’s yours, Xavier."

He groans at your words, positioning himself at your entrance before sloooowly pushing in, the stretch making you moan as he fills you inch by inch. His head falls against your shoulder, panting against your skin as he finally bottoms out.

"Warm, s-so warm," he grits out, hands gripping your hips as he pulls back before thrusting in again, setting a deep, slow pace that has you whimpering beneath him. "Wanna stay like this—inside ya'—fuckkk."

Your nails dig into his back, urging him to go faster. And he does, movements rough, desperate, as his cock spreads you open, massaging your g-spot with his viciously, throbbing tip.

The sound of skin slapping against skin, breathy moans and curses filling the room, Xavier presses his forehead against yours, lips ghosting over your mouth, the incredible stretch causing your tongue to loll out weakly and he happily laps up your saliva, sucking on your wet muscle.

"Give it ta' me—fuckkk, all of it," he coaxes, thumb circling your clit in tight, deliberate motions, "Make a mess on me, c’mon, ya can't shy out now."

“G-gonna give it to me, yeah? Promise?” His voice is strangled, thick with lust as his thrusts grow frantic, erratic. His fingers dig into your hips, bruising, as he chases his high, grinding deep with every desperate snap of his hips.

You nod frantically, heat coiling in your stomach until it snaps, pleasure crashing over you. Your body tightens around him, and Xavier lets out a strangled groan as he follows, spilling his thick cum inside you, coating your walls in slick white as he buries his face in your neck, panting heavily.

For a moment, you both stay like that, tangled in each other, bodies slick with sweat until he pulls back just enough to look at you, a lazy smirk curling his lips.

"Oops. Forgot to water your plants today."

You huff out a laugh, pulling him down for another kiss, robbing a hiss from him as you slightly shift, cock springing to life inside you.

"Figured."

ZAYNE ♡ Doctor's Orders.

Zayne hates how much of a pervert he is.

He tells himself he should stop, that he should have some damn self-control, act like the composed professional he's supposed to be. But it’s just too tempting—especially when he catches those inviting glimpses of you during medical check-ups.

Like when he presses the stethoscope to your chest, fingers accidentally brushing over your soft skin as he pulls away. Or when you bend over, reaching for your toes for some 'spine check' he made up while he can’t help but admire the perfect curve of your ass.

He really can't help it.

It’s bad enough in his clinic, but it's so much worse when he does house calls.

You sit there so obediently, following every command, trusting him so completely. And it doesn’t help that you're dressed in ridiculously tight pajamas, your breasts practically spilling from the neckline, your thighs fully exposed, leaving little to the imagination.

Fuck. He could wreck you right here on this damned couch if he weren’t supposed to be acting professional.

"Alright, now open your mouth wide. I need to check your throat."

Lie.

You comply, lips parting in a teasing "ahhh," making a show of it just to get a rise out of him. And oh, does it work.

His grip tightens around the tongue depressor as he guides it to your tongue, watching you, trying so hard not to let his gaze meet yours because if he does—he’s done for.

But then his hand trembles, just enough to push the depressor a little deeper.

You gag. Loudly.

His cock twitches violently, and he swears he can feel a bead of pre-cum leaking into his briefs right then and there.

"M’ sorry," he mutters hastily, barely able to form words. "Feeling a bit off today. Been a long one. Can I use your restroom?"

"Of course! Are you alri—"

Before you can even finish your sentence, he's gone, practically sprinting to the bathroom.

The second the door is almost shut, he’s already fumbling with his belt, shoving his pants down and gripping his hefty cock, hissing as he wraps his fingers around the thick, aching length.

God, he’s horrible. Pathetically horrible.

He’s jacked off to the thought of you more times than he can count, but never in your home. Never with you just outside the door.

And the worst part?

He wants to get caught.

It's evident— his groans slip past his lips a little too loudly, the wet sounds of his strokes just barely muffled by the rush of running water. And he doesn’t even try to lock the door, leaving it cracked just enough—a silent invitation, a trap.

His hand moves faster, his mind spiraling into filthy thoughts, how much better would it sound if you were gagging around him instead of that damned wooden stick? If you looked up at him, lips stretched wide, cheeks hollowed, eyes teary?

"Fuck—"

His breath hitches, his body tensing—he’s about to—

"Z-Zayne? What the—!"

His eyes snap open, glasses nearly sliding off the bridge of his nose as he whips around.

And there you are. Standing in the doorway, lips parted, gaze locked onto his hand wrapped around his cock, glistening with pre-cum.

For a split second, shame claws at him, heat burning up his neck—until he sees a smirk creeping onto your lips.

"M’ sorry," he breathes, voice rough, unrepentant, "but you’re a vixen of a patient, you know that? Teasing me with your tight little outfit. You planned this, didn’t you?"

You tilt your head, playing innocent, though your eyes gleam with mischief. "Doctor... I think you’re just imagining things."

His grip on the sink tightens when you step closer, sinking to your knees before him, your breath ghosting over his swollen tip. And you giggle, giggle as you watch pre spurt out of his slit as your hand creeps up his thigh, doe-eyes locking with his.

You grasp him, a teasing flick of your tongue sending a sharp jolt through his entire body.

"Unbelievable," he huffs, fingers instantly tangling in your hair, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp. "I’m not imagining things, trust me."

And then, with a firm push, he guides your mouth onto him, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as your lips wrap around his cock.

"Let's finish yer' check-up. Open wiiiiide— ya' know the drill. " His smirk deepens, hips rolling forward, forcing you to take him to your throat, the delicious gag you let out makes his eyes roll to the back of his skull.

His hips snap forward in a slow, deliberate thrust, dragging a needy whimper from your throat as he sinks deeper, stretching your lips around him further. His breathing is uneven now, heavy with restraint, but his control is crumbling, and you can feel it in the way his fingers flex against your scalp, the way he hurries to throw his fogged glasses of, his muscles coil under your touch.

His thrusts grow sharper, more demanding, and you take it, every inch of it, his cock sliding deep into your throat, eyes tearing.

The filthy, wet sounds of your mouth working him fill the small bathroom, along with his ragged breathing, the curses slipping past his lips as his body trembles beneath your touch.

You drag your nails up his thighs, feeling the way his muscles tense, how he shudders when you hum around him, sending vibrations straight through him. He groans your name, voice rough with need, his head tipping back, eyes squeezing shut as pleasure coils tight in his gut.

And then you dare to contract that tight throat of yours, squeezing his mushroomy, rosey tip so tight, he's starting to feel dizzy now.

"Fuck, sweetheart—" His voice breaks, a low growl vibrating in his chest as his thrusts falter, his entire body seizing under your touch. His grip tightens, almost bruising, but you welcome it, relishing the way he shudders, how his knees slightly buckle.

With a final, deep thrust, he spills into your mouth, a sharp curse falling from his lips as he rides out his release with weak bucks, his fingers still tangled in your hair. His chest rises and falls in harsh, uneven breaths, his body trembling as the last waves of pleasure crash over him.

His heavy breath fills the tight space, fingers now sliding through his disheveled hair as his cloudy gaze falls to your messed up face in awe, hair tangled from his firm grip, tearing eyes examining him as you happily swallow his hot semen, cum slicked lips stretching into a big smile right after.

Your knees dig into the floor as you tilt your head to lap up a droplet of semen trapped to his tip in delight.

"So," he catches his breath before reaching for his glasses with shaky fingers, swiftly putting them on,

"Same time next week?"

RAFAYEL ♡ Steambound

Rafayel is nothing if not considerate, letting you shower at his place while your apartment complex deals with yet another plumbing disaster.

You appreciate it, really. His shower is just as extravagant as the rest of his house—sleek, modern tiles stretching from floor to ceiling, the entire bathroom almost as big as your whole damn apartment.

Steam curls into the air, thick and heavy, wrapping the room in a heated mist. Water cascades down your tired body, and you close your eyes, exhaling softly, relishing in the warmth as it soothes your muscles.

But you don’t notice the faint crack in the door, nor the tall figure standing just beyond it, or predatory eyes locked onto your naked form through the glass, tracing the curve of your back to the soft swell of your ass.

Who could blame him?

He noticed you didn’t lock the door, and as he listened to the rhythmic patter of water, felt the humid air creeping into the hallway, he told himself to just take a quick peek, just to make sure you don’t need anything. A towel, maybe. Then he’d be on his way.

Why is he even lying to himself?

He always does this—always tries to craft reasonable excuses for his own depravity.

This isn’t the first time you’ve showered at his place, and it sure as hell isn’t the first time he’s watched you.

He’s perfected the art of lingering just out of sight, watching through a barely open door, catching glimpses of your reflection in the mirror as you undress in the guest room he swears he never uses.

Or when you step out of the shower, towel wrapped snugly around your glistening body, droplets still clinging to your skin, he’s there, lurking, memorizing every inch of you, maybe even letting his hand drift lower, palming himself through his pants as he drinks in the sight, knowing that just watching won’t be enough.

So, when he's feeling extra risky, he'll sneak a peak into the shower, like right now, unbuttoned pants hanging low as he slowly strokes his aching cock to you soaping your body with his body wash, in his shower, your hands gliding along your delicate skin and he wishes, prays he could touch you like that.

You mindlessly pour the shampoo into your hair, turning just right for him to catch a glimpse of your exposed front, tits on full display. Your eyes are cautionary closed, careful not to get any of the product in your eyes.

And he's taking full advantage of that.

His head rests against the doorframe, low-hanging eyes and mouth agape as he tries to sneak a peak at your cunt, but he's just too far away.

What a shame.

Desperate to catch a glipse, he lets out a frustrated huff, maybe a little too loud, causing you to halt in your tracks, turning your head with cautiong, eyes closed covered with remnants of bubbles.

"Rafayel? Is that you?"

Your voice cuts through the thick steam, startled and unsure, and it makes his stomach clench, as his hand tightens desperately onto his bulky tip and his breath stutters. His name so sweet on your tongue—he shouldn't react like this, but he can't help but stroke his heavy cock firm in his palm, faster, stronger.

A shiver runs down his spine, his grip tightening around himself again, a quiet muffled moan slipping past his bitten lip, overwritten by the dripping noise of the water, his ears flush red. Damn it.

This wasn’t how he planned to spend his night, fisted around his cock, your scent thick in the air, soap and you making his head as cloudy as the humid air around him. But you’re here now, close enough that he swears he can feel the warmth of your body beyond the veil of condensation.

And maybe it’s reckless—no, it is reckless, but desire makes him bold. He exhales sharply, letting his hesitation crumble, and before he can overthink it, he pushes past the fogged glass and steps fully into view.

Your reaction is instant. A sharp gasp, eyes going wide as you stumble backward, water cascading down your bare shoulders. Your hands, trembling, fly up to shield yourself, though they do little to conceal the curve of your hips, the soft swell of your chest, the way droplets cling to your flushed skin.

His gaze darkens, tracing every detail greedily, hunger curling low in his stomach. His lips twitch, amusement flickering beneath the heat in his stare. That trembling attempt at modesty, those blown-out eyes staring at him like he's some kind of dangerous animal—like he’s something hazardous— God, he might cum right there.

"Mind if I join in? The shower is big enough for two, no?"

Your throat bobs as you swallow, eyes darting between his face and his tall, sculpted frame while he cautiously steps closer—dripping, bare, utterly unapologetic as he stands before you.

Everything feels so hot, from the hot steam to his body so close to yours, to the lingering feeling in the pit of your tummy. You should scream, slap, cuss him out, but,

"Y-you, you perv" , is all you can muster, your whole body tensing as your eyes linger at his straight, heavy dick maybe for a little too long.

Fuck, this is turning you on.

Rafayel watches every shift of your expression like a predator drinking in the scent of his prey.

Embarrassment and conflict, the rapid rise and fall of your chest betraying just how hard your heart is pounding.

But beneath it—Oh, he sees it. That flicker of something curious, enticed, even, something that makes his blood run straight to his already painfully hard, pounding length.

"I prefer the term 'enthusiast'. Plus," he's inching closer, finger reaching behind to turn off the flowing fountain of water, "I let you shower here for weeks, ya owe me, ya' know."

Droplets cling to his skin now, sliding over every defined muscle, down the sharp lines of his abs, following the ridges like they’re tracing a path meant for your eyes to follow.

You press yourself against the cool tile, heart hammering against your ribs, but you don’t look away. You can’t. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, hard, thick, aching.

And he’s not even trying to hide it.

"I don’t owe you anything," you manage, but your voice is weak, your body betraying you with every shaky inhale, every slight tremble he notices instantly.

Rafayel smirks, watching you intentively. "Oh, cutie," he drawls, rolling his shoulders as the warm water cascades over him, washing away the last remnants of restraint. "You don’t even believe that yourself."

Coral eyes trail lower, drinking in the sight of you of your glistening skin— the way some bubbles still slide down your curves, clinging to the peaks of your breasts before slipping down between your thighs.

"Look at cha'," he murmurs, thick voice drenched in lust "Fuckin' perfect."

You shift under his gaze, thighs pressing together, but it’s useless—he sees everything. He always does.

Your breath stutters, heat licking up your spine, but you shake your head, desperate to deny it. "That’s not—"

His fingers swiftly trail lower, slipping between your legs, rubbing just once over the slick, buttony clit, and you nearly collapse.

Rafayel groans, his forehead dropping against yours for a moment, his breath coming out ragged.

He hisses, other hand forming into a tight fist, holding onto his last bit of sanity — if there's even anything left. "Yer' cute cunny 's sayin' sometin' else," precise fingers glide down to tease your fluttering hole, "You sure you want me ta' stop?"

Your mind his clouded, gaze hazy, shaky hand coming up to trace down his slim waist, halting just above his pelvis.

A whimper escapes you, gasping when he grips your thigh and hikes it up around his waist, pressing you closer, his cock gifting your clit a quick, addictive kiss.

"You could’ve locked the door," he breathes against your ear, his voice dripping with amusement, sin. "You could’ve told me to fuck off the second I stepped inside. But you didn’t."

His lips graze your throat, nipping at the delicate skin, making you squirm.

"You wanted this, didn’t you?" he growls, rolling his hips, letting the thick length of him drag against your slick folds, teasing, taunting. "You wanted me to come in and give this pussy some proper lovin' hm?"

A broken moan spills from your lips, nails digging into his shoulders, but he only grins, reveling in your unraveling.

"Say it," he demands, voice laced with need and desire. "Tell me you want this — want me, and I'll treat this needy cunny sooo good."

His digits find your clit again, circling it lazily, his teasing touch making your legs shake.

"Tell me," he repeats, pressing the head of his cock right against your entrance, barely pushing in, just enough to make you feel the stretch, make you crave for more.

Your head falls back against the tile, lips parted, body trembling, and as the words spill from you in a breathless whimper— he loses it.

Groaning, his patience snaps as he slams his mouth over yours, tongue plunging deep, stealing the last bit of your resistance. And before you can even register it he’s inside you, stretching your walls so meanly agape, your breath halts in your lungs.

"Ohhh, baby" he growls against your lips as he fully bottoms out inside you. "Finally— fuckkkk, finally. Was so tired of js' watchin' ya'."

You can feel him everywhere— his tongue tangling with yours, desperate claws on your thigh and hips, his selfish cock spreading you so lewdly, so meanly, you almost don't notice the bulge in your tummy— almost.

"Goddd, g-gonna be the death of me, cutie", his words come out in a quiet whisper as his eyes fall down to his cock marking a visible spot on your tummy, bullying his way into your cervix.

He picks up a quicker pace, deep thrust jolting you further up the cold tiles.

And each appearance of his cock against your belly, each little sound he swallows from your bitten lips make his balls tighten, threatening to pump his load deep into you.

"Ya' feel even better than I imagined. So greedy, suckin' me in so damn deep."

And he has imagined. So many times.

But now? Now he doesn’t have to anymore.

SYLUS ♡ Home Sweet Home!

Sylus always had a calculated mind, being two steps ahead of everyone around him- even you.

So once in a while when you're sleeping over at his place, he takes the sleeping-gap you both have to his advantage. Well, more often than he'd like to admit.

This has become quite the routine once you come over, he'll spend time with you, then leave for so called buissnes late at night. Sure,, he had a lot to do as the Leader of a criminal organization but sometimes? he just drove off around the corner of his home, waiting, preying.

He's purposely come home later than usual, sitting in his car as he watches you in his room through Mephisto, getting ready for bed.

He's waiting, watching intensly with his leg tapping the floor of his car as he watches you get into the bed with a defeaded sigh, the long wait of waiting for Sylus return now overwritten by the need to sleep.

So once he notices the lights turning off, your regular breathing indicating that you're far off into the dreamland now.

That's when he strikes.

The door creaks open, closing with a soft click! as Sylus steps into the dimly lit apartment.

You're sprawled out on his bed, breathing softly, body tangled in the blood-red sheets, wearing only his shirt, the fabric barely clings to your body, slipping off one delicate shoulder, the hem riding up just enough to tease a slight view of your panties.

His pupils blow in excitement, silver eyebrows raising in amusement.

"Would you look at that," he muses, voice thick with something sinful.

The bed dips as he climbs in, tugging the blanket you curled yourself into to crawl inside it, your warm, resting body spurting excitement right to his cock,

He watches you sleep, listening to the soft sounds of your breathing while palming himself through his pants. He never touched you —he would never—but God, the temptation burned.

And once he hears your sleeping form mutter a silent moan, he tenses.

What could you possibly be dreaming of?

He fights internally, fingers twitching, itching to touch you.

His suspicions solidified once a short gasp spilled from your lips, your thighs clenching under the sheets as you shamelessly moan his name in your sleep.

He pushes the blanket aside, exposing your flushed form with eyes scrunched together, thighs twitching as your hips rock against nothing.

"S-Sylus. Need you."

God, he can't help himself.

You said it yourself, you need him. So you wouldn't mind if he gives you just what you're craving for, right?

The bed dips as he climbs over you, one knee pressing between your legs. His fingers ghost along your exposed thigh, pushing the fabric up further, revealing more of the soft skin beneath, careful not to stir you from your peaceful slumber.

Sylus exhales slowly, forcing himself to move with precision and restraint. His touch is featherlight, tracing the delicate curve of your thigh, reveling in the way your skin shivers under his fingertips.

You're so warm, so soft—his perfect little prize wrapped up in his sheets, whispering his name like a prayer even in sleep.

His cock strains against his slacks, aching, desperate. But he won't rush. No, he intends to savor this. Thoroughly.

Carefully, he brushes his knuckles along the inside of your thigh, eyes locked onto your face, watching for any sign of wakefulness. But you only sigh, legs parting slightly in response as if inviting him closer.

With painstaking patience, he lets his fingers skim the edge of your panties, tracing the damp fabric stretched over your core. The moment he feels the warmth, the wetness gathered there, a deep, shuddering breath escapes him.

Fuck.

You're dreaming of him.

He palms himself through his trousers again, exhaling sharply at the realization. His perfect girl, all worked up because of him, soaking through her panties in the middle of the night, writhing against the sheets, lost in whatever sinful fantasy has her gasping his name.

It's almost too much to bear.

You shift in your sleep, a tiny sigh leaving your lips as goosebumps leave a trail on your skin from the remnant of his delightful touches.

"I'm home, honey." he hums, teasing.

His large hands slide beneath your shirt with a rough, determined purpose, fingers splaying wide as if he means to carve the shape of you into his memory. His palms are calloused, a stark contrast to the softness of your skin, and the way he grips your waist—firm, unyielding, and he wonders how you've not even woken up yet despite his desperate claws.

Breath stuttering, low and ragged, followed by a guttural groan that rumbles deep in his chest as he feels the heat of your bare flesh beneath his hands like it’s driving him out of his mind.

Leaning in without hesitation, mouth finding your exposed shoulder, lips dragging with tenderness. He doesn’t kiss so much as claim, lingering long enough for his teeth to graze the sensitive skin before moving lower.

He trails downward, tasting every inch like he’s memorizing the way you shudder beneath him.

His grip tightens, possessive, almost bruising, pulling you flush against him until there’s no space left to breathe, to think—only the pounding of your heartbeat against his and the searing heat coiled between you. His mouth finds the hollow of your throat, tongue flicking out, slow and hot, before his teeth scrape lightly, dangerously, earning a desperate sound from deep within you.

“Wakey, wakeyyy,” he hums against your skin, voice wrecked, with a teasing undertone. His hands slide higher now, beneath fabric and hesitation alike, and everywhere he touches feels like it’s burning, unraveling you thread by thread.

"Were you waiting for me like this, baby?" he hums between open-mouthed kisses, voice like warm honey, " all soft and ready for me?"

A pleased sound rumbles from his chest as you sigh in response, your body instinctively shifting closer to his heat. He watches the slow rise and fall of your breath, the way your lashes flutter ever so slightly, the unconscious parting of your lips so inviting.

His hands spread your further thighs apart, a pleased groan escaping his throat as he comes face to face with your dampened panties, outline of your needy cunt plastered so firmly, he can't look anywhere but.

He doesn't shy away, his hunger mounting as he palms himself through his slacks, the thick outline of his arousal pressing insistently against the fabric.

"Beautiful," he breathes, grinding his freed cock against you, hanging firm above his lazily undone pants, pre staining your panties even more, the wet spot now bleeding further into the cotton material. He watches with rapt fascination as your body reacts instinctively—your thighs twitch, a soft whimper escapes your lips, your hips lift ever so slightly, longing for more.

His cock twitches at the sight.

"Mmm, that's my good girl," he praises, slipping his hands beneath your thighs, hoisting you up just enough to slide your panties to the side before aligning his pulsating crown on your clenching hole.

Sylus pushes in slowly, letting out a long, deep groan as your warmth stretches around him. The feeling of your needy cunny—hot, tight, wet—makes his head spin.

"S-Sylus?! When did you—hngggh!"

Ah, you're awake.

Your eyes flutter open, glazed over with sleep, a dazed confusion mixed with pleasure contorting your features as you register the delicious stretch filling you up.

"M' sorry, sweetheart," he hisses, pressing his forehead against yours, his voice strained with restraint. "Couldn't help myself."

Your hands scramble to grip his strong shoulders, your nails biting into the firm muscle, legs lazily wrapping around his waist, still heavy from sleep, pulling him deeper. The sensation sends him reeling, and he rolls his hips forward, sinking further until he’s buried his pulsating cock to the hilt, brushing against your cervix ridiculously fast.

"Nghhh! M-more."

He chuckles, breathless and cocky. "Mm, patience, baby. I always give you what you want, no?"

His thrusts start slow, deep, and deliberate, dragging against your sensitive walls. He watches you, utterly enthralled, drinking in the way your lips part, how your nails dig into his skin, how your body shudders beneath him.

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs against your lips, voice filled with pure adoration. "Always—such a perfect girl for me."

"B-been waitin' for you for so long,", your breath comes in short, shaky gasps, your body still adjusting to the overwhelming fullness. But Sylus doesn’t stop—he won’t stop. He needs this. He needs you.

"My sweet, poor darling. But I'm here now, and 'm not leaving anytime soon."

His pace picks up, hips slamming into you harder, deeper, hitting that mawkish spot that has your toes curling, your moans turning breathless.

"Yeahhh," he growls, his grip on your thighs tightening. "You see? Told you I—hahh— always take care of you, hm?"

You can’t speak—you can only whimper, nodding frantically, back arching as pleasure crashes through you. Every thrust drags against that spot, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge, the heat pooling in your belly threatening to snap.

"Words, baby," he demands, grinning against your cheek. "Tell me."

"T-taking so much care for me! A-always fuckin' me sooooo good—!"

His groan is primal, his thrusts turning erratic. His lips are on yours in an instant, swallowing your moans in a messy, desperate kiss. His hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your aching clit, rubbing fast, ruthless circles over the swollen bud.

Your body snaps.

Pleasure explodes through you, hard, hot and overwhelming, your walls clenching down around him like a vice. Your legs tighten around his waist, back arching off the bed as wave after wave crashes over you, your voice breaking on a strangled cry of his name.

"Fuck—fuck, sweetie," he groans, his rhythm stuttering. Your tight, convulsing heat sends him over the edge with you, his breath hitching, hips twitching as he buries himself as deep as he can go, spilling his hot spurts of cum inside you with a strangled, guttural grunt.

For a moment, he stays there, buried deep, catching his breath, his body trembling against yours. Then, a lazy smirk pulls at his lips.

"Gorgeous fuckin' mess," he murmurs, pressing a slow kiss against your jaw

You let out a soft, contented whimper, your body still trembling beneath him.

And by the determined glee in his eyes, you know he's not done playing with his prey yet.

CALEB ♡ No Shame!(What for?)

Your breath stalls in your chest, heart hammering against your ribs as your mind scrambles to make sense of what’s in front of you.

Panties. Your panties.

The delicate lace, once delicate, is now stuck together in places, soaked through with his cum. The sheer amount of it—thick, messy, so obviously fresh—makes your stomach tighten, not with disgust or fear, but something different.

Your fingers tremble as you hold the fabric aloft, staring, your pulse roaring in your ears.

This isn’t possible. It can’t be.

Sweet, wholesome Caleb—the one who always looked after you, who laughed at your dumb jokes, who ruffled your hair like an annoying big brother—there’s just no way. He couldn’t possibly be this perverse. He couldn’t have been stealing your underwear, jerking off into them like some depraved animal, desperate to soak them in his filth.

Right?

This was just supposed to be a quick peek into his room for any of his dirty laundry while he's showering to throw it into the machine alongside yours. Well alright, maybe you also wanted to check for your favorite missing pair of panties, just to be sure.

And there they are, the proof right here, warm and glistening between your fingers.

You’re so stunned, so utterly paralyzed by its sheer indecency that you don’t even hear the dropping water halting, the bathroom door open. Don’t even sense the presence behind you—not until you hear that soft, unmistakable click!

Your entire body jolts as realization slams into you.

You turn too fast, nearly stumbling, your breath lodged in your throat as your gaze collides with his.

He's bare-chested, still dripping from the shower, skin gleaming under the soft bedroom light, droplets of water trailing down his defined abs before disappearing beneath the loosely tucked edge of his towel, blocking the door, leaving no escape.

You’re trapped.

And the way he’s looking at you, amused, dark-eyed, and slow-smirking— so damn shameless, makes your stomach tighten in the worst possible way.

"Snooping around my room? That’s so unlike you, pips'."

His voice is smooth, unbothered, as if he isn’t standing there half-naked, as if he doesn’t see the ruined panties clutched in your trembling grasp.

His gaze flicks downward to your hand, to the lace still sticking to your fingers with his spent desire, to be exact.

Heat scorches through you. A sick, embarrassed thrill coils in your gut, because oh god—you’re still holding it.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it’s rude to go through other people’s things?"

You drop the panties like they burn, but it’s too late.

He knows you’ve seen them, knows you’ve realized what he’s done, knows you’re still standing here, trapped in his room.

"You weren’t supposed to find those, y’know," he muses, taking another step closer. The damp heat radiating off his skin encloses you, his fresh and clean scent washing over you, making your legs go weak.

Your breath shudders unable to do anything but watch him come closer and closer, the towel on his hips hanging dangerously low.

"What’s wrong?" he hums, tilting his head, mocking innocence dripping from his voice. "Cat got your tongue? Or," he leans in, close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath ghost across your cheek, "Are you just wondering how many other pairs I’ve got?"

Your pulse pounds, deafening. The way he says it so casually, so fucking bold, makes it obvious. This isn’t the first time, fuck— he’s been doing this for god knows how long.

"Caleb," you finally choke out, his name barely more than a whisper.

"Let's make a deal, sweets," he murmurs, reaching up, up, up— his fingers trace your wrist, featherlight, teasing, and playful, "I'll stop stealing them if ya' let me get a taste of the real thing. How's that sound, pips'?"

And your hesitant nod, bitten lips, and glazed eyes are all he needs as his strong hands grip your waist, twisting you around, forcing you backward.

Your back hits the mattress with a gasp, the soft give of his bed swallowing your weight. The room spins, the scent of him, clean from his shower, wrapping around you, suffocating in the most intoxicating way.

This is wrong.

He's on you, caging you in, hands moving quickly to remove your short pants from your legs, your shirt riding up in the process, panties on full display, and not to mention the prominent wet, stain riiiight at the center of where he imagines your needy cunt to be.

Oh so you want this as much as he does, huh?

His arms are braced on either side of your head, towel hanging low on his hips, barely clinging on. His damp hair drips onto your skin, cool against the fire burning beneath your flesh. His muscles flex above you, broad shoulders dwarfing you, leaving you breathless under his weight.

Who are you trying to fool?

You wanted this, hell- maybe even prayed for your panties to be in his possession, prayed for him to finally touch you, to have him between your legs like this,

And your prayers have been heard.

His knee spreads your legs without hesitation, without shame, pinning you open beneath him. And before you can even think, his head dips down, his mouth right at your thigh, his nose dragging against the heat between your legs.

"Never seen this pair before," he breathes, his voice rough, heavy with something filthy.

Your whole body locks up because god—he’s so close, pressing his face against your panties, nuzzling the damp fabric, so shamelessly, so utterly desperate, taking a big whiff of your scent, making you wail in embarrassment.

A deep, guttural, fucking shameless moan wrecks from his throat, so obscene, so needy, that you feel the heat of it pulse straight to your needy pussy.

"Fuckkk," he groans, dragging his nose up, nuzzling slow, breathing deep. "Ya' smell so damn sweet, baby."

Your hands fly to his shoulders, weakly pushing, but he doesn’t budge. If anything, he presses in deeper.

"Didn't think ya' could keep ts' cute cunny hidden from me, did ya'?" he purrs, hot breath fanning against the wetness he’s indulging in, dropped gaze engulfing your expressions whole.

And then—

His tongue. Right against the fabric, mere atoms away from your bare clit, slow, deliberate kitten-licks draaaag over the damp lace, so close yet so maddeningly far, and your head snaps back against the mattress, a moan spilling from your lips before you can stop it.

His breath left him in a rough chuckle, fingers flexing as if resisting the urge to rip your lace apart right then and there.

"H-hey, no peeking!" You try to scold, your hands darting down to grasp his hand threatening to get rid of the fabric—but Caleb's faster.

Hand snapping yours away, a low growl retorts, a primal sound that sends heat licking down your spine.

He loves your panties, he really does. But right now, he just wants to fucking tear them apart.

"Baby, ohhh — babybabybaby," he groans against your hidden folds, rolling his hips once, twice against the bed, watching as your head tipped back, a sharp gasp leaving you.

"C-Caleb—"

That was all it took for him to finally lose it.

With one swift movement, a loud riiiip! echoing as he tears your panties from you, exposing your aching pussy bare before him.

He doesn't tease. Doesn't wait.

A low, primal sound resonates before he crashes headfirst into your soaked cunt. His hands take control, gripping your thighs, dragging you forward until your soaked heat is pressed firmly against his eager mouth as he bucks his hips into the bed like a desperate mess.

A sharp cry rips from your throat, legs locking around his head as he fills you with his tongue, forcing you open. Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking your head back as his lips latch onto your clit, biting teasingly, sucking onto your clit with such a devastating grip your mind goes blank.

"Yer' fucking drenched," he groans, voice tight with restraint. "So eager for me, hmm?"

Each drag of his tongue scraping the inside of your hole, his nose repeatedly bumping into your throbbing clit sends pleasure detonating through your core, deep and merciless, making you cling to his hair with desperate fingers. The room's air is thick, humid, filled with the obscene sound of sloppy spurts of your juices coating his face, the sharp gasps, the deep grunts of a man losing himself in you— in your pussy.

His tongue presses down harder on your clit, circling in tight, devastating licks that had your thighs trembling around his head.

Every time his tongue drags over you, his hips jerk in rhythm, grinding pathetically against nothing but air and friction, chasing the sensation like a man starved.

But it’s the way he works his tongue that sends you spiraling, spelling out his name over your throbbing, swollen clit like a brand.

C-A-L-E-B-C-A-L-E-B-C-A-L-E-

Each letter feels like it’s seared into you, curling perfectly around every sensitive nerve, his mouth obscene in its devotion. There’s nothing measured about it now, nothing held back, just raw, consuming need as he devours you like you’re the only thing tethering him to sanity.

"H-hahhh, fuck!—" Your voice wrecked, high-pitched, barely coherent. Your nails bite into his scalp, desperate for something to anchor you as your body teetered on the edge.

Your fingers twist tightly in his hair, yanking hard enough to make his head tilt back for a moment, his groan reverberating straight through your core. The sound vibrates against you, deep and guttural, sending a sharp jolt of electricity ripping down your spine.

He doesn’t falter, if anything, the rough pull only spurs him on. His eyes flick up to meet yours, dark and glazed, pupils blown wide with hunger, and the sight alone nearly undoes you.

“Feels good, baby?” he rasps against your hole, his voice wrecked, teasing, but tinged with something almost desperate.

The plap, plap, plap of his hips rutting against the sheets with shameless abandon, towel long abandoned on the floor somewhere, matching the frantic curl of his tongue as he snaps his hips up, the sound of his slurping assault lewd and filthy.

"Give it ta' me, c'mon. Allll of it," Caleb mutters, vibration hot against your folds, his grip tightening, the muscles in his arms flexing as he slams you firmly, deep into the mattress, leaving no room to move.

The pleasure crested, blinding, and almost unbearable. Your whole body locked up as the first wave of your orgasm slammed into you—violent, tearing a broken, breathless scream from your lips, your tongue helplessly dangling from your open mouth, slick saliva dripping onto the sheets.

But Caleb doesn't stop.

He keeps going, arms locking around your thighs, forcing them up, up up, harshly against your stomach in a mating press, dragging out every last pulse, every aftershock, every clench of your walls around his wet muscle.

"That's it," he groans, voice ragged with need. "So fucking—shiiitt—tasty fuckin' pussy—"

Your body convulses, pleasure still rolling through you in relentless waves, too much and not enough at the same time. Your thighs shake, breath coming in ragged gasps, vision hazy as your orgasm drags on—longer, deeper, more intense than you’d ever felt before.

"Fuhh-fuck!—"

And as you come down from your soul-shattering high, arm dapped across your face to catch your breath, his hunter eyes bore into your form, hand sneaking down to snatch the destroyed piece of fabric from the valley of your ass, swiftly stuffing them under his pillow.

Bingo. Another one added to his collection.

©︎𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙎 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

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eufezco · 9 months ago

Text

LIKE THE FIRST TIME

it has been a long time since you and logan had sex. you should show him that despite everything he hated about himself, you still craved him.

logan x afab!reader (smut, angst) + no use of y/n. english isn't my first language (!). gif credit to @/asgardswinter

it was a shitty place where you were living with logan. it was always dirty, no matter how many times you cleaned it, it was noisy, because despite being in the middle of nowhere, the train tracks were very close to it, and it was the least home-like thing in the world. both of you were working your asses off to get out of there as soon as possible.

in your free time, you helped caliban with the housework and took care of old charles xavier while logan spent the whole day out, driving and having to deal with one of the things he hated most in the world, people.

he always came home late, tired, with his whole body aching. some nights you would fall asleep while waiting for him and even though logan asked you to do it, to not to wait up for him, most times you stayed up so just to make sure he arrived safely. you waited for him curled up in bed. when he was a minute late, your heart began to beat faster and you imagined the worst. but then he would come into the room, dragging his feet and with his head bowed down.

—how was your day?

logan grunted as he sat at the foot of your bed, you felt how the mattress sagged with his weight.

—did something happen?

you crawled to him and rested your chin on his shoulder. he let out a sigh of relief when your arms wrapped around his body and you hugged him from the back.

—just a tired fuckin' day, that's all.

you hummed, understanding. —well, now you are home so you can finally relax. would you like something to eat?

logan shook his head as he let it fall back and rest on your shoulder. he just wanted to stay like that a little longer with his body between your legs and his eyes closed. he placed one of his hands over yours resting on his stomach as you hugged him. one of his big hands was enough to cover both of yours.

—i've missed you, lo. i always miss you when you are away.

you placed a kiss on his neck. the first thing he did when he entered the house was to get rid of his shirt, keeping only the white tank top he was wearing underneath. his broad shoulders were at your disposal, his muscular arms and warm skin as well.

logan swallowed when he felt your lips on his neck. you noticed so you placed another kiss there.

—i miss you too. every second i spend away from you, i miss you.

you hummed, your heart gave a small jump of joy. while your love language was words of affirmation and you were always reminding him how much he was loved by you, logan was more of an act of service man. removing makeup from your face when you got home and were too tired to do it yourself, washing your hair and massaging your head when you showered, and leaving your coffee ready when he went to work earlier than you. hearing those words come out of logan's mouth meant the whole world.

your hands traveled down his abdomen until they reached the hem of his tshirt and easily slipped under the fabric. you felt his perfect abs under your fingertips and the hairs growing below his belly button as well. he took a deep breath, it had been so long since the last time he had allowed you to touch him like that.

you took your hands out of his tshirt and moved one of them to his neck to make logan turn his head resting on your shoulder and look at you. you connected your lips with his, his bushy beard pricked your face as you kissed him, but you didn't mind, it had been so long since you and logan had kissed so passionately that you could take it.

your tongue slipped past his lips and logan moaned, allowing his to go inside your mouth as well. you moved on the bed, putting one leg on each side of logan's body and sitting on his lap, all this without stopping kissing for a second. his hands now rested on your lower back, yours were on the back of his head to deepen the kiss.

his cock got rock hard the moment you sat on his thighs and you started to roll your hips timidly against his crotch. you felt his growing bulge rubbing against your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear. god, how bad you needed to feel him.

your hands slid down from his neck, caressing his entire torso, until they reached again the hem of his tshirt. you tried to pull the white tank top over his head, but logan stopped you. his lips parted from yours and he shook his head.

—it's okay. i want you, logan. i promise everything is fine.

you held his cheeks so he would look you in the eyes.

he was getting old, there was nothing left of the young and charming boy you met at charles' academy. his body had changed, his hair and beard were becoming whiter every day, and you were still young and full of light while he was fading away. yet you still loved and desired him, like the first day you craved his body. you found him just as hot, even hotter now, but you didn't want to force him to do something he wasn't going to enjoy.

you kissed him so he could stop worrying. —let me take care of you. i want you, lo, i need to feel you —.you mumbled against his lips. he let out a grunt when he felt you pressing your pussy harder on his bulge.

your hands traveled the same path down his chest one more time until you reached the edge of his tshirt again. you expected him to take your hands off him again but he not only allowed you to keep going but he also lifted his arms so you could pull the white tank top over his head.

—fuck —. you let out in a mix of moan and gasp. his body was breathtaking. your hands were quickly attached to his chest, hairy, hard under your touch, warm, with each of its muscles perfectly defined. abs, pecs, perfect broad and muscular shoulders, and wide strong arms, with veins running from his shoulder down his arms to the back of his hands. you ran your fingers along the thick scars that marked his body. —fuck, you're so hot.

with his hands on your back, logan gently pushed you to keep rubbing yourself against him and you moaned, he was harder if possible and you were so wet that you knew that your panties would be completely soaked. you kissed the crook of his neck while his fists clenched, clutching at the tshirt of his that you were wearing as your pajamas. logan fought against his instinct, against the animalistic way you were making him feel, but his grip became so tight that he ended up ripping the fabric.

—it was one of your favorite tshirts.

—don't care.

and logan kissed your lips as he ended up tearing the fabric completely and threw it on the floor. you grabbed the back of his head when his lips moved down your neck and collarbone. your nipples were already painfully hard when logan cupped one of your tits and wrapped his mouth around your sensitive bud.

all of a sudden you got up from his lap and he had to let your nipple go. he was worried about the way you had moved away from him, had he done something wrong?

now you were standing in the middle of the room, in front of him, only wearing your panties. your body was the most beautiful thing his eyes had ever witnessed, with scars very similar to his, with all those things you hated about yourself. was that how you felt about him? if it had not been for the pain in his whole body he would have fallen off the bed on his knees in front of you.

he huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes once you started swaying your hips from side to side while you slid your underwear down your legs. you laughed too, you felt stupid, but at least you had managed to make him smile. you two weren't the type to do those things, things were always more animalistic, more passionate, rougher. you walked towards him and leaned in to kiss him as your hands worked on the zipper of his jeans.

—you're beautiful —. he whispered.

logan helped you to straddle him again. you held your body over his thanks to your knees on the bed. with one hand you grabbed his hard cock resting impatiently against his stomach. he gasped because of your firm grip and squeezed your hips when you lined it up against your aching entrance.

you lowered yourself just enough for his tip to go in. he let out a deep grunt straight from his chest, you let out all the air you had in your lungs in a moan. you never forgot how big he was, the thickness of his cock, the patch of hair on its base, and the veins running along his shaft, but you did forget about the way it stretched you open, about the sting that his dick going deeper inside you caused.

—careful —. logan mumbled against your lips.

you kept taking him, closing your eyes shut and biting your lower lip, hissing every time you took a centimeter more inside of you. you rested your forehead against his and whined when his cock finally bottomed you. —i need a moment.

logan nodded. one of your hands sneaked in between your bodies and found your clit while his hands lovingly caressed your back. it had been so long since you had sex. logan wouldn't let you touch him, he was disgusted by his own body and he was afraid that you would see him the way he saw himself. that's why that night you decided that you would make him feel so good that he would never doubt the way you felt about him or his body.

you started by slowly rolling your hips as your fingers worked on your clit. his jaw tightened while he felt your body moving with his whole cock inside. his big hands on your hips helped you to move, setting a pace and keeping you from going faster so you wouldn't hurt yourself.

—that's it, take your time —. he said. young logan wouldn't have given you a second to get used to it, he would have fucked you mercilessly and you would have loved every second of it. but now, his eyes were focused on where your bodies became one, enjoying how your pussy adjusted to his size thanks to your fingers rubbing your clit.

he moaned once you lifted your body just a little and then dropped back onto him. you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his lips while you repeated that same move again and again. your cries and his moans mixed in your mouths. all his body jerked every time you lifted yourself a bit more and then sucked his cock completely inside you again.

—you make me feel so good, logan. always have, fuck—. you purred in his ear. his hands, previously resting on your hips, slid all the way to your ass your hands and squeezed it. in those little details you could see how he was gaining confidence, which encouraged you to keep moving without changing your pace. it was slow, passionate, intense and intimate.

between moans and cries, you kept worshiping him, telling him how much you had missed feeling him inside you, how your fingers were no comparison to his cock, how you didn't want to share these moments with anyone other than him. there was no one like him. you didn't care about his scars, his moodiness, the gray of his hair, there would never be another one for you but logan, you did not want another one.

you were close, he could feel it in the way your walls were squeezing his cock and he knew he wouldn't last longer. logan wrapped his arms around your body, pressing you against his hard chest, and your fingers knotted into his hair. he groaned, your little jumps became irregular, your legs began to shake. logan hugged you tighter and sunk his teeth into your shoulder, getting a little choked cry from you.

—cum inside me, lo. fill me up, please, i need it. let me have it, please.

oh god, your words were driving him insane and after how well you had treated him, who was he to deny your wishes?

logan held your body down on his cock as he came, hugging you tighter against him. you buried your head into the crook of his neck, moaning into his skin while your legs shook and your pussy clenched around him. it was too much. as he released himself inside you, his claws came out and trapped you between them and logan's body, you had no escape. he groaned when he felt the pain of the adamantium ripping the skin off his knuckles mixed with all the pleasure of cumming inside you.

—shit —. he immediately put the claws away when he realized. —i haven't hurt you, have i?

you shook your head, still coming down from your high. he exhaled with relief. once you had caught your breath, you straightened your back, still sitting on his lap and feeling his cock getting soft inside you. you brought his hands to the front.

—are you okay? that probably hurt —. you caressed his knuckles.

—felt too good to even think about it.

you smiled proudly and kissed him. when you broke away, he noticed the mark of his teeth on the skin of your shoulder. —'m so sorry, fuck.

—don't be. i wish you had bitten me harder.

he shook his head, keeping himself from laughing. —you're a freak.

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davinawritings · 1 month ago

Text

An Alien Thank You

Pairing: Alien X Female Human Reader

Warnings: Smut, Oral (Female Receiving), Multiple Tongues, Squirting

You had never thought aliens were real until one appeared in your backyard. When it happened, you had only been in your new home for about a month. As a writer, you had moved to a small, secluded house in the countryside for some peace and quiet while working. Other than the bi-monthly trips to the food market, you were completely alone with your work and thoughts.

The day had started like any other. You had made breakfast, showered, and even got in a few hours of writing. Suddenly, there was a noise outside your office window. Upon looking, you had seen nothing and waved it off, but moments later, you heard it again. No longer able to ignore it, you had gone out back to see what it was.

Imagine your shock when a massive creature stood in your backyard, poking around your garden. The creature stood about eleven feet tall and was a dark blue, almost black. Its chest was broad, double the length of your shoulders, and seemed packed with hard muscle. Its shoulders had sharp ridges that nearly looked like thick scales. Its thick thighs had similar ridged scales along the outside. Strong arms lead down to large hands that look terrifying with their sharp nails. The creature’s head was all sharp angles, and its eyes were solid black as they stared at you.

The scream had been stuck in your throat, but the creature must have seen the panic on your face because it quickly held up its hands and claimed that it meant no harm. You still kept your distance as the creature explained that he was not of your planet but was currently stuck on earth while working out how to build a way home.

You had taken pity on the creature and, against what most would consider better judgment, had decided not to freak out and instead befriend the large creature. You learned his name was Oltuth, and he came from a planet you had never heard of. He was traveling and exploring when his ship malfunctioned and crashed a few miles from your secluded home. Your house was the first place he had come upon that wasn’t just open land, so he had been looking for sustenance in your garden.

You knew you probably shouldn’t invite some strange alien creature into your home, but you felt bad for him, and you couldn’t deny that it was kind of nice to have someone to talk to. You also knew that most people would probably just attack Oltuth without hesitation if they found him, so you offered him refuge in your home under the promise of him being peaceful and kind. He quickly promised, and you were very glad he did.

He became a great help around your house and an even better friend. He helped you around the house and with your now flourishing garden. You both built a routine together while you worked on your book, and he worked on a way to rebuild and repair his ship. The days passed much faster with him to talk to, and before you knew it, months had passed. You both grew closer, and you grew almost sad when you thought about him eventually leaving you to return home.

Today had gone like any other with Oltuth, and you now sat with a nice cold glass of sweet tea, simply enjoying the late-night sky full of stars while you both talked about the different ways of your species.

Oltuth clears his throat before he says, “I would like to thank you for the kindness and generosity you have shown me these past few months. If you are okay with it, I would like to show you how the males of my planet thank our females for caring for us the way you have for me”. Excited to learn something new about his species; you quickly agree with an enthusiastic, “Yes.”

He grabs your smaller hand in his own and brings you inside to the couch. He gently guides you to sit, your butt on the edge of the sofa. Your breath hitches as Oltuth moves his large body between your legs, gently prying your legs open. He kneels before you, gently removing your shorts along with your panties. His long, pointed tongue starts gently lapping at your clit as soft mewls leave your mouth. His jet-black eyes stay trained on your face as you wriggle on the couch.

His hands grip your thighs tighter as he shifts his tongue into your wet hole. The thickness makes you moan as he licks along your inner walls. You lay back against the cushions, hips thrusting against his face as you slowly feel that beautiful high building. Without warning, you feel something wet, flicking against your swollen clit. Your eyes snap open, and you look down. His large tongue is still buried deep in your cunt, but another slightly smaller tongue is now playing with your needy clit.

You whimper and moan out his name at the double stimulation, tears gathering in your eyes at the overwhelming feeling. The tip of his tongue flicks along that special spot deep inside you, and you try to close your legs on reflex. Oltuth growls and pulls your thighs further apart, speeding up both of his tongues.

Your knuckles turn white as your grip tightens on the couch. The tongue inside you practically vibrates with how fast it’s thrusting inside your dripping cunt. Your back arches as the smaller tongue moves to match the speed and vibrations of his bigger tongue.

You look down again to find Oltuth staring right at you, and with one more thrust, you cum hard, clenching on his tongue, your juices squirting out of you as a scream is ripped from your body. Each clench of your cunt is met with another thrust from him, making your orgasm feel like it lasts for hours. He finally slows down as your legs twitch in his hands, giving you a few final licks to clean you up.

He stands before picking you up and bringing you to your room to lay you on the bed. You give him a smile and say, “I really like how your males say thank you, Oltuth.” He gives you a grin before saying, “That was just to get you ready for the real way we say thank you.” Your eyes widen as you look down at his body. A slit at the apex between his thighs opens as three large cocks extend out, one by one, each a little bigger than the last.

Your eyes flick back up to his face, and all you can think is that your next book is definitely going to be a smutty alien romance story.

❤️💕🖤🖤💕❤️

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mssorceressupreme · 3 months ago

Text

Your Warmth | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: gryffindor quidditch team throws a celebratory party at the lake after their win, and you decide to go though you were not one for parties. someone then pulls a prank on you (not fred), throwing you in the lake, not knowing you can’t swim.

Warnings: shy!reader, drowning, reader can’t swim, slight anxiety, fluffy towards the end, Fred's a sweetheart here <3

———

The crisp autumn evening air whispered through the open windows of the Gryffindor common room. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows against the stone walls as Ginny and Hermione practically bounced in front of you, eyes wide with excitement.

“Come on, just for a little while!” Ginny urged, her hands gripping your arms, pulling you toward the door. “You’ve been hiding out in here with your books for days! Gryffindor won, you have to come celebrate!”

You frowned, clutching your book tightly to your chest, hesitating. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go, it was just… crowds, noise, all those people—too much. You liked the quiet, the solitude, the comforting silence of the common room and the feel of pages turning in your hands.

The idea of leaving it all behind to go to the lake where everyone was partying felt like stepping out of your comfort zone, and you didn’t know if you could handle it.

Hermione's voice cut through your thoughts, gentle but persistent. “It’ll be fun, you know. You don’t have to talk to everyone, but you can be there with us. It'll be good for you.” She flashed that soft, reassuring smile of hers, the one that always made you feel like everything was going to be okay.

You looked between the two of them, and in the end, their enthusiasm was too much to resist. “Alright,” you muttered, resigning yourself to their relentless encouragement. "But just for a little while."

Ginny grinned, throwing her arms around you in excitement. "That's the spirit! We’ll help you get ready."

They pulled you upstairs to change, their infectious energy filling the room as they found an outfit that suited you perfectly. Hermione worked on your hair, braiding it with practiced ease while Ginny picked out a soft sweater, something comfortable but still fitting for the occasion.

You stood there, feeling awkward but somehow right at the same time, allowing yourself to be swept up in the moment. You hadn’t even realised how much you needed this until now.

With a deep breath, you followed them down the stairs, your heart picking up its pace as you neared the lake. The chatter and laughter from the lake became louder, mixed with the occasional splash of water. You could feel your nerves gnawing at you, but you took each step with Ginny and Hermione by your side.

When you finally reached the party, the sight of everyone laughing, swimming, and dancing around the fire made your stomach do somersaults.

There were Gryffindors everywhere, but the mix of Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and even a few Slytherins made it feel like you were walking into something chaotic. But it was him that you noticed first.

Fred.

He stood with his teammates, his usual mischievous grin plastered across his face, as he exchanged a joke with Ron. His red hair was slightly messy from the wind, and his hazel eyes sparkled with the same energy that made your stomach flip every time he was around.

You quickly averted your gaze, not wanting to stare too long, but you couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered when you saw him laughing with his friends.

The warmth of his smile made everything feel brighter, and for a brief moment, you let yourself imagine that maybe, just maybe, he might notice you—someone who was always in the background, too quiet, too shy, too invisible.

You quickly looked away, not daring to let him catch you staring.

But Fred did notice.

As if on cue, Fred’s eyes flicked in your direction. His gaze traveled down your body and back up to meet your eyes. For a split second, time stopped, and you quickly looked away, cheeks flushing hot.

He didn’t even say anything, just went back to his conversation, but you felt the lingering heat of his attention like a whisper against your skin. You were so used to staying in the background, a quiet observer, never the centre of attention. The thought that Fred might actually see you felt surreal.

"Stop being so shy," Ginny teased, nudging you gently. "Go talk to him if you want."

You flushed, but didn’t answer. Instead, you clung to Hermione’s side as the three of you mingled, laughing with others but always staying in the background. You stayed close to them, watching as some people danced by the water and others swam, their voices blending with the evening air.

You excused yourself after a while to grab a drink from the punch table, your nerves creeping back up. But before you could even reach the cup, Lee Jordan appeared beside you, fresh from the lake with his wet hair and a wide grin on his face.

"Woah!" Lee laughed, his eyes bright. "Put your books down for once, yeah?"

You smiled awkwardly, pausing from grabbing a cup. "Yeah, decided to get a drink in the open air."

Lee’s grin widened as he noticed the hesitation in your eyes. "Come on, join us! The water’s amazing. Just relax and have some fun."

You bit your lip, glancing nervously at the water. "I’m fine, thank you."

Lee raised an eyebrow. "Don’t be shy. Come on! It’ll cool you off." He stepped closer, his energy infectious but overwhelming. "It’s nice out here, you’re just standing by the punch the whole time!"

You shook your head, trying to retreat slightly, but Lee wasn’t taking no for an answer.

"Go on! The water’s perfect, you’ll enjoy it!" He laughed again, completely unaware of how out of place you felt.

"I really don’t—"

Before you could finish, Lee had picked you up without warning, hoisting you over his shoulder like it was nothing.

You shrieked, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. “Lee, no! Put me down!” You slapped his back lightly, trying to wiggle free, but he held onto you with ease, his grip too strong for you to escape.

The crowd around you burst into laughter, thinking it was just some fun little game and that the two of you were sharing a moment of banter.

You could hear them cheering, but your pulse was racing in a panic. The water loomed ahead, and you couldn’t shake the fear rising in your chest.

But it was too late. Before you could protest again, Lee tossed you into the water with a loud splash.

The world became a blur.

Cold water flooded over you, and you sank beneath the surface. Panic gripped you instantly. Your body went into a wild frenzy, arms flailing, legs kicking.

You tried to force yourself back to the surface, gasping for air, but it was like the water was swallowing you whole, holding you under. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t see.

You were drowning.

Fred’s gaze had never left you. The moment Lee tossed you in, Fred’s eyes locked onto the water, his body stiff with concern. His friends were still laughing, unaware of the danger, but Fred saw it—saw the way you struggled, your head bobbing beneath the surface, unable to rise.

The laughter stopped in his chest, and without a moment’s hesitation, he shoved his drink into Ron’s hands, his face hardening.

Without even looking back, he sprinted and dove into the lake, cutting through the water with swift, powerful strokes.

He swam down, his heart hammering in his chest as he spotted you, desperately thrashing, your face pale with fear. His hand reached out, pulling you up from the depths, and he didn’t let go.

Fred’s arms wrapped around you like a lifeline, and before you even knew what was happening, he was carrying you out of the water.

The world came back into focus, the laughter replaced by silence as the others watched in stunned silence.

Fred was with you in an instant, his hands gently carrying you as he guided you back to the shore.

His shot Lee a death glare, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned his full attention to you. His jaw clenched, eyes scanning your trembling form.

Without a word, Fred wrapped you in his arms, his warmth and strength a stark contrast to the cold, shaking fear still in your bones.

You pressed your face into his chest, the relief washing over you, the fear ebbing as his body heat seeped into you.

He carried you all the way back to the common room, not caring that his clothes were soaked through nor did he care about the party. He just needed to get you dry.

Once inside, he moved quickly, pulling his hoodie from the back of a chair and wrapping it around your shoulders. The soft fabric of his shirt still clung to his skin, but he didn’t care. He just wanted you to be okay.

He sat beside you on the couch, watching as you trembled. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you…"

The two of you shared a moment of silence, Fred scanning your body for any injuries.

Feeling like you could trust him, you decided to share a secret of yours, "When I was younger, my family went on a camping trip. The place was too beautiful not to explore, so I ran off on my own, exploring every inch of the forrest I could..."

He listened intensely, leaning in, his head tilting as you told your story.

"I came across a lake with a dock and ran across it without hesitation...silly of me though, I should've checked my laces before sprinting without a thought..."

"A bit silly of you, yeah." He teased, and you chuckled lightly.

"Shove off." You rolled your eyes playfully.

"Let me guess, you fell in?" His voice was now soft, empathetic, his eyes glistened with concern.

You nodded, tearing up slightly as you recalled this traumatic moment. "Felt like forever. Felt like I was being dragged down deeper and deeper. I yelled for help but only muffled sounds came out...thought I was going to die. Never entered a lake since."

Fred’s hand brushed over your hand gently. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should’ve stopped Lee, he just gets carried away sometimes, doing things without thinking, that git. I won’t let anything happen to you again..”

You stayed still for a moment, his voice a comfort as it settled over you. But then a small voice inside you urged you to speak, to break the silence that had fallen between the two of you. You lifted your head slightly, looking up at Fred, his face inches away from yours.

“Why… why did you help me?” you asked quietly, your words almost a breathless whisper. "I mean, you didn’t have to, you could’ve just let Lee—"

Fred’s eyebrows furrowed slightly as he interrupted, his voice tinged with sincerity. “I couldn’t just leave you there. You looked terrified. I’m not gonna stand around and watch someone I care about struggle. Not like that.”

His words hit you harder than you expected. It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate it—you did, more than you could say—but the fact that he cared, that he’d seen you struggling and rushed to help without a second thought, made your chest tighten with excitement.

You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. “I… I’m glad you did, though,” you said, the words feeling vulnerable, too open, but you couldn’t take them back now. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t. So… thank you.”

Fred smiled softly, his eyes lighting up with a mix of relief and something you couldn’t place. “No problem,” he said quietly. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

There was a pause, a comfortable kind of quiet between the two of you. Fred shifted slightly, looking down at you with an almost nervous energy that seemed at odds with his usual confident demeanor. “You, uh, you don’t have to stay on the couch,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, as if the question made him uneasy. “I mean, you could… you could rest here if you want.” He patted his lap.

You blinked up at him in surprise, and for a second, you weren’t sure if you’d heard him right. “Rest there?” you echoed, your voice hesitant.

“Yeah,” he said, the corners of his mouth curling up in a shy grin. “If you want to. I don’t mind. You look like you could use a little rest after… all that.”

You swallowed hard, the idea of being so close to him both thrilling and intimidating. “I… I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you replied, voice a little shaky despite your best efforts to sound calm.

Fred tilted his head, the concern and warmth in his gaze making your heart flutter a little. “You won’t. I promise. I’m just making sure you’re alright. Besides,” he added with a slight smirk, “I am pretty comfortable, so I wouldn’t mind.”

A small laugh escaped you, the tension between you both finally starting to ease. “I guess it’s only fair, then,” you said, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as you slowly let yourself relax against him, laying your head in his lap, in his hoodie.

You felt like you were about to explode, from barely talking to Fred to resting on his lap, it all felt surreal.

Fred shifted so you were sitting more comfortably. “I’ll stay right here, alright? You’re safe with me.”

You hesitated for a moment, the vulnerability of the situation sinking in, but then, surprisingly, you felt a sense of trust that you hadn’t expected. Maybe it was the way he had been so kind, so protective without question.

His warmth and the steady beat of his heart made you feel like you were in a cocoon, safe and protected.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, the quiet between you now comfortable, almost soothing. Fred absentmindedly brushed a strand of hair from your face, his hand lingering for a second longer than necessary.

“You’re alright now,” he murmured again, his voice soft, like he was reassuring himself as much as you.

You nodded, your eyes closing as the tension of the past few minutes started to fade away. “Yeah,” you said, your voice quiet but content. “I think I’m gonna be okay.”

You closed your eyes, exhaustion pulling at you. Slowly, the warmth of Fred’s presence washed you into a wave of calm. You drifted to sleep, your head resting in his lap, his fingers softly stroking your hair.

Fred watched you, his heart swelling with something he couldn’t quite put into words. He could’ve stayed there forever, his hand resting gently on your head, keeping you safe.

And in that moment, he couldn’t help but think you were the most beautiful girl he had seen, and that he would never let anything harm you again.

#fred x reader #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #x reader #fred weasley #george weasley x reader #ron weasley #ginny weasley #hermione granger #harry potter fanfiction #gryffindor #weasley twins #fred and george #harry potter headcanon #harry potter imagine #fred weasly x reader #weasley family

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azrielbrainrot · 10 months ago

Text

All Over My Skin

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader x Rhysand

Description: You find yourself in an empty room between the High Lord and the Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Smut, Threesome, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Oral, Cum Eating, Orgasm denial (a bit, kind of)

Word Count: 10,620

Rating: 18+

Universe Masterlist

Nothing could have prepared you for the way this evening would unfold when you left your house, something like this only seemed possible in your dreams. The events that led up to this moment were getting hazier with every stroke of the Shadowsinger's tongue against yours, strong hands holding onto your waist and hips, pulling you impossibly closer, until you could feel his own heart beating against yours.

You almost didn't even show up, seriously considering coming up with an excuse to politely decline the High Lord's invitation so you could stay in, curled under your fuzzy blanket, reading a book while the rain fell outside. These types of parties aren't exactly your cup of tea, and the ones you actually get invited to are few and far in between. In fact, you were still not entirely sure why you had been invited tonight in the first place.

A simple scribe sent in from a different court to aid some of the Night Court's libraries couldn't be too important. Your work wasn't even in the Hewn City, but in the surrounding, smaller towns - strangely enough the name of the city where you've spent the last few days, before returning to the Court of Nightmares seems to be evading your mind, you usually have an excellent memory, must be the wine.

You certainly weren't as important as the other guests present, and some of the court's denizens seemed to agree with the fact, not trying to hide their distaste for your presence here. None of the other scribes or librarians had been invited, leaving you by yourself, sitting by a quieter corner of the big, ostentatious ballroom, missing your friends back in the Winter Court.

It was in that exact corner that Azriel had found you, watching the crowd mingle while nursing a glass of champagne, deciding to be a good host and keep you company. This much hadn't come as a surprise, it was obvious the Spymaster didn't enjoy big gatherings such as these, but as polite as he always had been with you, you had never expected him to come talk to you outside of work. From the few glances his way, you could tell he wasn't exactly adored in the Court of Nightmares either, though the fear was a lot more pronounced in everyone's eyes than whatever judgment they held for the shadowsinger.

With him by your side, the boring party had quickly turned into the best time you've had in years, as you laughed along with him and tried not to blush too much at his captivating words and the undivided attention he was showing you, at the bright, boyish grins he was sharing with you.

As the hours passed and the party dwindled, some people started to leave while others started gathering in smaller groups around the room, drunkenly telling each other stories and laughing together. Your intention had been to leave when you noticed how late it had gotten and how few people remained in the ballroom, seeing as your accommodations were outside the Hewn City, usually convenient since it made it easier for you to travel wherever you needed to go.

When you made your wishes known to Azriel, he immediately offered to accompany you, but then one thing led to another, and you ended up in a vacant office instead, sitting on top of the dark mahogany desk with him standing between your legs, kissing and touching each other like your lives depended on it.

To say you hadn't imagined this exact scenario a million times before would have been a boldfaced lie. The spymaster had taken hold of your mind ever since the first time you laid your eyes on him, and really who could blame you? This male was impossibly captivating, his beauty only heightened by his mysterious demeanor and polite disposition, by his imposing frame and the tall wings draped behind his back, the slightly curly, dark hair giving him a boyish look as it fell over his forehead. And his shadows, swirling around his body, whispering every dirty little secret they can find in his ear.

It's no secret the Night Court's Inner Circle are some of the most beautiful fae anyone has ever seen, especially the High Lord with his ethereal purple eyes and silver tongue, so when you were sent to aid the recently crowned Lord of Night as a show of allyship from your home court, you had been more than excited. What you couldn't have predicted was for any of these otherworldly fae to notice you at all, but as Azriel's scent deepens with arousal, a groan escaping him as you tug on his soft curls, you realize you might have been selling yourself short.

The delicious sound sends pleasure coursing through your veins. You let your hands wander down to his shoulders, wanting to take his jacket off so you could feel his skin on yours, but not knowing how to do it without disturbing his wings. Ilyrians are extremely protective of their wings and you don't want to do anything that he wasn't comfortable with.

Azriel must have noticed your hesitation as he pulls back, “Is something wrong?” It takes you a moment to focus on his face, a shiver running down your spine at the hunger you find etched into his beautiful features.

“It's nothing,” the words coming out breathy, prompting you to swallow before continuing, “I wanted to take off your jacket but I'm not sure how…” He lets out an amused breath, a smile taking over his face as he leans down for a quick kiss before pulling away from you slightly, hands reaching out behind him to unbutton his jacket.

Both his jacket and shirt are pulled over his head in a matter of seconds, and your hands move to hold his waist, not being able to stop yourself from staring at the view. Fingers come up to trace the bargain marks swirling over his chest and shoulders, traveling down his arms, as he throws the clothes to the floor, taking a good look at your blushing face before grabbing your neck firmly and using his grip to pull you in for another passionate kiss.

Sadly, his hand doesn't linger around your throat, choosing to hold onto your thighs instead as he pulls you against him once more, wrapping your legs around him, fusing your bodies together. You feel him shuddering softly when your rake your nails over his scalp, but there's no time to revel in it before his hands start traveling up past your hips, taking your dress with them until he could easily reach your panties, tucking his fingers under the lace on either side, the rough skin sending goosebumps swimming across your body.

He pulls his mouth away from yours, resulting in an otherwise embarrassing whine to escape you. Any other noise of protest is silenced as he starts pressing messy, wet kisses down your neck, strong hand holding your jaw and maneuvering your head however he wants you. The marks he was leaving behind were probably going to give you trouble tomorrow, but in this moment you couldn't care less.

You let him have his fun for a while, breathy moans leaving your lips as he took turns nibbling and sucking on your skin, canine teeth teasing the side of your neck, tongue soothing the deeper bites, the ones that would still be etched into your skin come morning. But at some point you start missing his taste, impatience moving you to tug on his hair to get his attention, and judging by the smirk you feel pressed against your feverish skin, it has the intended effect.

Azriel leaves one more kiss on the column of your throat before giving in to your silent demand, coming up to press your lips together again, and allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck to keep him in place, moaning at your eagerness.

The feeling of him against you was mind numbing, you didn't know if you wanted to keep kissing him forever, or if you should give him the same treatment he gave you, and start running your mouth over every bit of deliciously looking exposed skin. You run your hand down his torso at the thought, deciding that you need something else entirely when your fingers move past the muscles he's worked so hard for, the scars he'd survived from, to follow a path of hair leading down to his waistband.

At this your intentions become clear and the kiss intensifies, getting messier as Azriel explores every corner of your mouth, your hands fumbling to unbutton his pants and his following suit, fingers easily finding the small zipper keeping your dress in place, ready to take it off.

“What do we have here?”

An amused voice startles you, a familiar surge of power filtering into the room, making you tense and push away from Azriel, trying to get away from him in an effort to make yourself look as presentable as you could. However, Azriel doesn't move or allow you to, keeping you in place as his shadows move to cover the both of you - you hadn't even noticed they were scattered around the room and not on his person as they usually prefered to be.

You feel him relax softly as he realizes who interrupted you, but this realization had the opposite effect on you. The person standing at the door was none other than the High Lord of the Night Court, and he had just found you half naked and about to fuck his Spymaster in his house, presumably on top of his desk. Azriel keeps one hand on the small of your back comfortingly as he stares at Rhysand, and you try to move away once more, your mind racing to find a way to apologize and leave as quickly as possible.

“You don't have to stop on my account,” he purrs, “You were putting on quite the show.”

The suggestive tone in his voice makes you momentarily forget your predicament, turning your head back to watch him, the sight prompting a small gasp past your lips. Rhysand had shed his jacket since the last time you'd seen him in the middle of the ballroom, his silk shirt was unbuttoned well past his chest as well, giving you a tantalizing view of his chest, his usually perfectly styled hair messy as if he'd been running his hand through it, a few strands falling over his forehead. He truly looked like temptation personified, but that wasn't anything new, what caught your attention was the desire on his face.

As the silence stretches uncomfortably in the room, you realize they must be speaking to each other in their minds using Rhysand's daemati abilities. Neither of them looks mad or worried, which allows you to relax at last, but you're still confused about the whole situation, and the way your underwear sticks to your folds isn't helping you think. You also feel a little left out as they keep watching each other, exchanging words that go unspoken, as if you weren't there in the first place. Seeing as they seem distracted enough, you take the opportunity to push away from Azriel and hop down from the table, not going far since his hands fall on your hips immediately, keeping you close as he finally looks down at you.

“I mean it, Az. We can both have her. You know I don't mind sharing, much less with you,” the High Lord finally says out loud.

The intensity in Azriel's beautiful hazel eyes, and the weight of his grip on your hips distract you for a moment, not allowing you to understand Rhysand's words right away, but when the implication clicks in your mind, you turn around abruptly, facing the High Lord with wide eyes. Azriel lets you, one of his hands leaving your hip in favor of holding onto the desk as he too studies the male who interrupted you.

“What do you mean?”

You had surmised that their little mental conversation had been about you, but hearing Rhysand's proposition had made every thought evaporate from your mind. You'd rather hear every word out of their minds, lest your body gets any ideas before you can comprehend what's going on. You'd also appreciate being kept in the loop.

Rhysand watches you for a second, purple irises appreciatively roaming over your entire form before holding your gaze. Azriel's shadows were still draped over you, but, since he was the High Lord of Night, you're not sure if he could actually see through them as well. It certainly felt like he could as his eyes burned into you, your body reacting as if he was actually touching you.

It seems he's searching your face for something, though you're not exactly sure what and have no time to think on it as he reaches a conclusion, a smirk appearing on his face as he starts walking around the desk with unhurried steps until he reaches you. Your body unknowingly followed him, and Azriel followed yours, until Rhysand was standing right in front of you, your neck bent so you could look up at him, and the shadowsinger stood behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his naked body, keeping you stuck in between the two irresistible males.

Rhysand's hand comes up to tuck your hair behind your ear, thumb moving to hold your chin, the golden rings he wears cool against your burning skin, as he finally answers your question, talking slowly, clearly, “It's no secret you want us both, darling,”

“What?”

If it wasn't for his hand holding your face, you would have looked away in shame the second the words left his mouth. His amused, self-satisfied expression doesn't help either.

“You're not exactly good at hiding your emotions,” he taps your left cheek twice with his finger, proving his point as your breath hitches and you fail miserably to school your expression, his wicked smile growing, before he pulls his hand away and adds, “Your thoughts tend to be particularly loud as well.”

This gives you pause, heart stalling in your chest. You're more than aware of his daemati abilities, but you also had seen him be nothing but respectful of others' wishes when using them. The Night Court has always been known to be conniving, even cruel, but you've had enough contact with the Winter Court's High Lord and seen enough important figures from other courts to know that this only meant they'd rather people know how far they could go than hide behind pleasant, fake masks. After meeting the Inner Circle personally, you were even more sure of this. You had never thought it possible that he would read your mind against your will but now you weren't so sure.

Rhysand continues, as if he was really privy to your thoughts and knew where your mind had gone, “Of course I try my best not to hear any of them, but it's very tempting when I hear my own name.”

“You're scaring her, Rhys,” Azriel warns.

His voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts and the tension in the room, prompting both you and Rhysand to look at him. You had almost forgotten he was still here, and when his gaze meets yours, you wonder how that was even possible.

You take a step to the side and lean against the desk so you could keep your eyes on both of them as you talk. It was also a way of getting a moment to breathe without their scents suffocating you, giving you too many unfiltered thoughts, especially since you weren't sure if they were only yours anymore. Rhysand seems to sober up at his Spymaster's words, the amused expression leaving his face almost completely as he reaches to hold your hand carefully, squeezing it once comfortingly before speaking.

“My mistake. I was just having a bit of fun, darling. I promise I never went into your mind without your knowledge. I also do my best to leave the room when I find myself unable to tune your thoughts out.” You can hear the sincerity in his voice, and that paired with the way he was holding your hand in his larger one, as if it was a normal occurrence, made you relax. “But my point still stands, it's impossible not to notice the way you look at me, and at Az.”

You're certainly no spymaster but you didn't think you were that obvious either. No one had ever called you out on anything of the sort. Your eyes fall on the silent shadowsinger, wondering if it was obvious for him as well, even if he can't hear your unusually loud thoughts as Rhysand had put it. Azriel's face gives nothing away, if it wasn't for the way his scent changed since you walked into this room and the obvious bulge straining in his pants, anyone that wandered in would believe you were actually talking about something as insignificant as the weather. He's making no efforts to soothe you so you suppose that's answer enough. He wouldn't be a very good Spymaster if he couldn't even notice the female gawking at him every time he's in the room after all.

“So you mean…” you trail off, not wanting to jump to conclusions as you look from one male to the other. This all seemed too good to be true, you were half sure you'd wake up in a few moments to find yourself in your bed, and this had all been a cruel trick your mind came up with.

“You can have us both, darling,” he confirms, squeezing your hand.

“Unless you want to stop,” Azriel reassures.

“No,” you're fast to say. Nerves or no nerves, you would see this through. This was the opportunity of a lifetime. That amused expression returns to Rhysand's face at your outburst, and it seems to be contagious as it travels to Azriel's face, albeit more muted. You swallow and try to calm your heart, wanting to do things right so as not to ruin the moment.

“I don't want to stop, but how are we doing this?” You ask slowly, trying not to let the heat of their stares get to you.

You wouldn't say you're particularly shy or inexperienced when it comes to sex, but you've never been with two people at the same time. It doesn't help that they happen to be two of the most beautiful males you've ever laid eyes on, not to mention one is the only Shadowsinger in Prythian, maybe the world, and the other is the High Lord of the Night Court, the strongest in history. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, trying to rub your thighs together as discreetly as possible at the thought. Of course the movement doesn't go unnoticed, both of the males' eyes glazing over further as their gazes dip down to your center before meeting yours again.

“I was quite enjoying myself watching the two of you, and it's only fair to let Azriel go first. He already started after all.”

“We can move to one of the rooms if you want,” Azriel offers kindly. He's proving to be such a sweetheart next to the menace standing beside him. You nod, a bed would be a lot easier to work with than this desk.

In the blink of an eye, you're winnowed to a dark room. Not having enough time to fully take in the ornate decorations around the room before Rhysand leans down to press a chaste kiss on your cheek and moves to a reading chair, pulling it closer to the bed before sitting down, a glass of whiskey appearing on his hand out of thin air. It seems he meant it when he said he wanted to watch.

“You can let me see her now, Az.” You hadn't even noticed his shadows were still clinging to your skin, keeping your flushed body hidden away from Rhysand's hungry eyes.

Azriel does as his High Lord asks, sending his shadows to every corner of the room until not one is covering either of you. It's a strange sight, to see the shadowsinger bare of his shadows.

His hands move to take your dress off, pulling it over your head in a single movement. It seems the urgency from before was returning as he pulled you in for another kiss, your hands moving around his neck on instinct. As he starts walking you backwards towards the bed, your brain regrettably catches up to you once more, reminding you that you're in the Night Court on business, so being caught in this situation could make you lose the job you've worked so hard for, and so you break the kiss to ask, “Are you sure no one will see us?” You almost whine when he stops, even if it was your own fault.

“I won't let anyone come in this room,” he promises, staring into your eyes.

“He did.”

“This is my house, darling,” Rhysand clarifies from his chair, “We're the only ones here.”

Azriel rolls his eyes softly, leaning down to kiss you again, noticeably slower than before. Taking his time to coax your body to follow his, hands moving over you appreciatively, almost reverently. He moves down your neck, biting over the same marks he had left before, allowing your body to relax further into him.

“Breathe,” he mumbles against your skin.

“I'd hate to think my presence won't allow you to relax.” It's certainly making you all tingly. “I've been nothing but good to you.”

“I'm just a bit nervous.”

“I can keep Rhysand quiet if you want,” Azriel says, completely serious, making you smile, any lingering tension leaving your muscles at the offer. You would actually love to see how Azriel would keep the High Lord quiet, something tells you he would succeed.

“That's not it. I just…” you bite your lip, hand moving to hold the back of his neck, playing with the short hair growing in, “I've never done this before,” you confess.

“This?”

“I mean having someone watching me,” you explain, not wanting them to think you don't want to do this.

Azriel hums, thumb caressing your cheek as he leans in. “Just let me take care of you,” he says, tilting your head how he wants it, lips bumping against yours with every word, “You won't even remember he's still here.”

“We'll see about that,” Rhysand chuckles, sending a small burst of his power over the room, prompting a shiver to run down your spine, Azriel's too judging by the way his body trembled against yours, even his wings twitched a bit - you wonder if the High Lord noticed that, if he liked it.

The shadowsinger chooses to ignore him in favor of tasting you again. Deepening the kiss immediately as he continues his journey towards the bed, uninterrupted this time, carefully pushing you down on the mattress, his body following yours, his warmth never leaving you. You don't miss the way he arranges your bodies so that Rhysand can watch everything he does to you from his seat by the side of the bed. When he pulled out that chair, you hadn't noticed how close he had placed it, but even with both yours and Azriel's labored breaths filling your ears, Rhysand was close enough that you could still hear his, could smell his arousal deepening his scent, the same way he could hear and smell you as well.

As your thoughts wander, Azriel breaks away from your mouth so he can travel down your body, as if he had the same mind reading abilities as his High Lord and wanted all your attention on him. Leaving wet kisses in his wake, sharp canine teeth teasing your skin and warm tongue tasting the sheen of sweat forming all over your body, he achieves just that, your mind not even remembering the violet eyes burning into you.

At last, his mouth finds the hem of your panties, tugging on the fabric playfully with his teeth and letting them snap against your skin. You let out a soft gasp at that, getting up on your elbows so you can watch him better, meeting his gaze. His hulking body was sprawled on the bed, huge wings thrown to the sides, out of his way, as he grabs your thighs and pulls them apart, making you plant your feet on the mattress so he can fit himself between your legs better, the backs of your soft thighs meeting the hard muscle of his shoulders.

“Azriel,” you pant, needing him to do something. The way he studies the damp fabric clinging to your folds making you tremble with desire. The hum that comes from deep in his chest when hearing his name not helping your case. Your hands fist the sheets until your knuckles turn white, trying to stop yourself from grabbing his head and guiding him right where you need him.

Taking pity on you, he moves in, but not before letting his hot breath meet your damp skin, just so he could hear you say his name in that breathy tone one more time. Pressing an open mouthed kiss over the drenched fabric, he lets out a moan of his own.

“How does she taste?”

Azriel looks into your eyes, smirking at the shiver that crosses your body as you're reminded of your audience. “Absolutely perfect,” he murmurs, still pressed against you.

Rhysand shifts in his chair, but you don't have the opportunity to see what he's doing because Azriel hooks his thumb under the lace barely covering your heat in that same moment. He pushes your panties aside and repeats the same motion as before, tasting you properly this time. After licking a broad stripe across your cunt, he lets his tongue swirl around your clit, once, twice, humming when you moan his name again, head falling back against the mattress, hands finally moving to tangle in his soft hair, not caring about anything else besides the pleasure he's giving you, thinking he would continue.

The annoyingly attractive smirk from before grows even larger when you whimper and lift your head to look down at him in protest, almost pouting when he pulls away suddenly and lets your underwear snap back into place. You might have been too quick to assume he was nicer than Rhysand. He shushes you mockingly, getting up on his knees as scarred hands move to your sides, squeezing the flesh appreciatively before grabbing hold of your panties and running them down your legs slowly, taking the obstructive fabric off and leaving your body completely naked for his eyes to feast on.

Azriel doesn't take his eyes off you as he balls the fabric a bit, throwing it blindly at Rhysand, who easily catches them with a satisfied smirk on his face. The High Lord had completely unbuttoned his shirt at some point, letting the dark silk frame his body as he lounged in the chair. Not that you had any doubts, but he was truly mesmerizing. He winks at you when he finds you watching him, bringing the glass down from his lips as one hand - the one still holding onto the thrown underwear - travels to his crotch, squeezing himself and letting out an obscene moan, closing his eyes at the stimulation. Azriel is breathing hard in front of you, and, by the way his hand is frozen on your thigh, you don't have to look to know he also can't tear his eyes away from Rhysand.

“I'm the one who's supposed to be watching,” he reminds the two of you, a taunting lilt to his voice, chuckling when you both look at each other once more.

This sets the shadowsinger into motion once more, a slight frown taking over his features, disappointed for being caught by the High Lord. He comes up to kiss you again, spreading your legs, so he can fit himself between them, falling into your body. You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him as close to you as physically possible, moaning into the kiss when his hard length presses right where you need him most, bucking your hips instinctively back and forth, the fabric of his pants adding just enough friction.

He indulges you for a bit, guiding your hips and meeting your thrusts halfway as you grind on him unashamedly. Wanting to hear every little noise you let out, he moves down to your chest, biting and sucking everywhere he can reach, completely devouring you. The shadowsinger seems to be trying to make good on his promise of making you forget Rhysand was watching, a competitive streak of sorts rising up after the little stunt the High Lord pulled just now. Maybe you should thank him because for a moment you think you even forgot your own name.

You were embarrassingly close to an orgasm when he stops your movements, strong hands holding your hips in place, silencing yet another whine with a kiss as his hand moves to find your cunt, gathering as much wetness as he can before pressing one finger inside you slowly, letting out a curse and quickly adding another one when he hardly finds any resistance. The squelching noises it elicits are absolutely sinful, and entirely too loud for the quietness in the room.

“Just wanted to get you ready for me, but I think you can cum like this, can't you?” He punctuates the question with a chaste kiss, one you don't even have the awareness to reciprocate, entirely too far gone already. His voice sounds deeper, rougher than usual. It's making your toes curl, and it alone could send you falling into that orgasm, walls fluttering wildly around his fingers.

Just as you're getting lost in the throes of pleasure once again, teeth come down on your neck - a warning. You open your eyes at the sudden, unexpected pain, not even realizing you had closed them in the first place. Meeting his gaze, you try to understand what he wants as the hazel in his eyes threatens to drown you.

“That was a question, angel,” he explains, slowing down his pace, fingers barely moving inside you now, but still keeping you full. You don't remember the last time you had been this turned on, there's no need to look down for you to know your wetness is running down his hand and soaking the dark sheets, your thighs coated in it too.

“Let's try again,” Azriel says, keeping your attention on him and thrusting his fingers in deeper, massaging that place that makes you see stars. He repeats the question, honey dripping from his words like poison, “Can you cum like this?”

“Please,” you beg mindlessly, finding your voice at last, arms tightening their hold around his neck. His skin felt like an aphrodisiac against yours, making you want more and more. In this moment, you probably would have done anything he wanted as long as he kept touching you.

Moans rise in volume as he speeds up just enough, adjusting your legs with his knee and leaning down to take one nipple into his mouth, sucking on it before biting down softly on the hard peak and letting the tip of his tongue play with it, his hair tickling your skin.

It doesn't take long until you're falling over the edge, it feels like you've been dangling from it ever since he first put his hands on you. Pleasure rushes to every nerve in your body as you moan out his name mixed in with other incoherent pleas, nails digging into his skin, pulling out deep groans of his own. He lets you ride out your high, still thrusting his fingers in and out of you slowly even when he pulls away slightly, your arms falling from your hold on him as he sits up between your spread, quivering legs.

When your breathing calms down enough and you open your eyes, you find him entranced by the way his digits move inside you. His other hand had found its way into his pants, stroking himself in time with his thrusts. You sit up then, catching him by surprise at your eagerness as you tug down on his waist band, revealing his cock to the warm air in the room.

Azriel lets out a hiss when you wrap your hand around his length, fascinated by the way the tips of your fingers can't even touch each other. You'd never had anyone as big or thick as him, and the thought only made you wetter. Saliva pooled in your mouth as you studied him, thumb running up a particularly prominent vein, following its path up until you found his leaking head, feeling its softness on the pad of your thumb. Wanting to lean down and take him into your mouth, needing to know the weight and taste of him on your tongue as he drove his length down your throat.

“This is what I mean when I say your thoughts are too loud,” the usual teasing voice had a noticeable edge to it now, a breathiness that wasn't there before. When you look over at him, you find the High Lord's composure slipping through, hand grabbing onto the arm of the chair a little too hard, mouth slightly open as his breathing gets heavier.

Feeling bold, you look right into his violet eyes, letting your mind run wild as you imagined Azriel fucking your mouth, the filthy images pulling a moan out of Rhysand, loud enough that the shadowsinger looks to him in question, an eyebrow raised, barely hiding the amused look on his face since the High Lord looked as if he was the one who had your hand wrapped around his cock.

“She wants to suck your cock.” He sounds like he wants to watch you do it even more. You watch as Azriel's eyes glaze over, a hair raising noise escaping him. Rhysand had probably shown him all your little thoughts, the traitor.

“Is that so?” His voice was gravely, heavy with arousal. You nod enthusiastically in response, tightening your grip around him, a hiss escaping him before he can regain his composure. “We'll have to leave it for another time, angel,” he says, pulling your hand away from him, and prompting a whimper out of you, one he rushes to silence with a thumb over your lips. “First I need to fuck you.”

The desire in that statement sets you off, a frenzy that wasn't there before flooding your brain and pushing every sane thought out. Your hands move to help him remove his clothes, grabbing his neck and pulling him into a desperate kiss the moment they hit the floor. Azriel pushes you back down on the bed in a mess of limbs, teeth on teeth and heart to heart.

The next moments are hazy in your mind, one minute your hand had found its way back around his cock, swallowing every noise he let out, admiring the way his wings fluttered when you swirled your thumb around his head, and the next he had both of your wrists over your head in a steady grip, grinding his cock over your folds a few times before moving down, finally lining himself up with your cunt.

You catch a glimpse of the gentleman who's been assisting you in your work in the way he looks up at you in confirmation one more time, giving you the opportunity to tap out before things went further. Of course stopping was the last thing in your mind, but your heart fluttered at the thoughtfulness just the same. You nod at him, adjusting your thighs, opening them even more in invitation. A moan escapes you when you feel him push in, closing your eyes involuntarily at the stretch.

He goes slowly, giving you enough time to adjust and coming to a pause every time you show any little sign of discomfort until he bottoms out inside you, a breath of relief escaping you. It's not long until he's properly fucking you, both of you needing more.

As soon as he lets go of your wrists, deciding he would rather guide your hips as you meet his thrusts, your hands move to touch him, tugging on his hair, running your nails down his back. You hug him to you as close as physically possible, feeling his hard, warm body move against yours as he brings you unimaginable pleasure with every thrust of his hips.

No one has ever made you feel this insatiable before, and the suffocating power that filters through the room only makes your senses more heightened. You never thought having someone watching you in such a compromising situation would bring you so much pleasure, but your heart hasn't stopped beating out of time ever since Rhysand walked into that office.

“Azriel,” his name escapes in the midst of the breathy moans after a particularly deep thrust, one that has his pelvis grinding right over your clit in a maddening angle. You could feel him so deep inside you, you know it will be impossible to ever forget the way your walls hug him, the way he hits all the right spots.

“I know,” he says, leaning back and pushing your legs back towards your torso, your knees coming up to your head, spreading you completely open for him, making him go even deeper as he holds you in position.

It doesn't take much longer until you're cumming around his cock, a broken moan cutting itself short as your breath gets knocked out of you. You barely feel the way his hips falter, slowing down to avoid falling over the edge with you. He had every intention of playing with you a while longer before handing you over to his High Lord.

Azriel keeps fucking you through your orgasm, never stopping even when you come down from your high, a new one already building. He lets go of your legs, dropping them on his shoulders so he can hold onto your waist instead, moving your body in time with his thrusts. Sweat kept his hair stuck to his forehead, his wings spread out behind him, mouth agape as he watched his cock drive in and out of your heat, a ring of your cum forming around his base, making the sight so much more erotic.

“You have no idea how good you feel,” he murmurs to himself, the confession making you let out yet another embarrassing noise, one of your hands moving to hold onto his wrist. He meets your eyes, continuing with the mind numbing praise, “how beautiful you look like this, taking me so well.”

“You're making me feel so good too, Azriel,” you confess between heavy breaths, the way his cock bumps into every pleasurable point inside you making it hard to even breathe, let alone talk. He was going in so deep you swear you could almost feel him in your throat.

“Yeah?”

Biting your lip, you nod up at him, holding his gaze, wanting the hazel to consume you. Azriel's face is usually set into a mostly emotionless mask, fitting for the role of Spymaster, and even though he often shows more of his emotions when he's at ease, especially around his family, you've never seen him quite so open. He was completely unguarded as he looked down at you, not even his shadows coming to hide any part of him away from you.

It's this that pulls you under the waves of pleasure, letting go once more, giving way for yet another mind breaking orgasm, breath catching in your throat when he speeds up as you spasm against him, chasing his own high and intensifying your own as a result. Your entire field of vision goes black before you even close your eyes, the pleasure so intense you forget yourself for a good few moments, barely registering the way Azriel's body trembles along with your own, the curse that leaves his lips when he finally lets go, his hips stuttering as he cums deep inside you, filling you up in every sense of the word.

You're a mess of limbs and sweat by the time you both come down, struggling to catch your breaths, his heavy pants hitting your damp skin as you both try to get a hold of yourselves. Azriel leans down to give you a languid, messy kiss, savoring your taste as he gives you a few more shallow thrusts, keeping you full of him, and almost making you want to beg him to fuck you again.

He pecks your lips one last time, a chaste kiss compared to anything else that has transpired between you tonight, moving to the side to leave a few kisses on his way to your ear, where he leaned down to whisper, “You did so good for me, beautiful.” A breathy moan escapes you at the praise, at the deep timbre of his voice as he whispers it so close to your ear. You feel his lips stretch into a smile at the sound, rewarding you with another soft kiss before continuing, “It's time to give our High Lord some attention too, don't you think?”

His words drive you to look to your side, finding said High Lord watching you intently, his pupils so blown out you can barely recognize the distinct purple of his eyes, sitting back on his chair, one hand holding onto an empty whiskey glass, thumb slowly running over the rim. You could clearly see the black lace of your panties peeking out from his pocket, it seems he intended to keep them. He had long since unbuttoned his pants, allowing his underwear to peek out. There was a noticeable strain over the crotch of his pants, in fact if it weren't for the angle, you're certain you could make out the shape of his cock through the expensive fabric. The way his pants were pushed down over his hips, told you he hadn't resisted the temptation of stroking himself while he watching Azriel fuck you, the thought sending a shiver down on your body.

It's not that you forgot Rhysand was right there, his presence is entirely too powerful to ever go unnoticed, but Azriel had truly fucked you into a brainless mess for a moment, and watching the High Lord now, after already having his Spymaster, the only thing on your mind is doing exactly what Azriel said and give him all your attention.

With one last kiss, Azriel moves away from you, carefully pulling out and getting up with a lingering look at the way his cum was leaking out of your hole now that nothing was keeping it in. You swear you could even see his semi hard cock twitch at the sight, closing your legs so it didn't run down onto the sheets. He walks to the nightstand, grabbing a glass of water as he unknowingly puts on a show of his own, his entire body on display as the light catches on his sweaty skin. Azriel looked like nothing less than a God in that moment.

Sitting up slightly, your eyes move to Rhysand, more than ready for him, but not exactly sure how to go about it, hoping he would take the initiative. You had expected him to still be watching you, but that isn't what you find. Instead the High Lord was focused on his Spymaster, completely captivated by his body the same way you had been mere seconds ago. You briefly wonder just how many times they've done this before, and how many times they've taken it further. The thought makes something inside you flutter, pressing your thighs together as you feel yourself growing wetter once again. Insatiable didn't even begin to describe what these males were turning you into.

“If you don't hurry up, I'll just fuck her again, Rhys,” the shadowsinger says behind his glass, looking up at the male in question.

It feels like time stops for a moment when their eyes meet, the usual roles reversing as the High Lord forgets himself momentarily under Azriel's gaze, desire spilling over and flooding the room. You can pinpoint the moment Rhysand catches himself, that self-assured air he always has about him returning as a smirk falls over his lips. He even sends a pulse of his power across the room, finally standing from his chair.

“You're always rushing me, Az,” he purrs, “As if you don't enjoy playing with your food as well.”

“Food?” You meant for it to sound like a question, a little offended even, but it almost sounded like a plea. You were starting to feel a little left out watching the tension between the two males.

“Oh, darling,” he breathes out, looking at the way you sat waiting for him on the bed, “I'll show you in just a moment.”

As he walks to you, Azriel moves over to take his place silently, sending you an encouraging wink when he sits down and finds you watching him. This situation is foreign to you, and, as much as you believe that Azriel has no problems with Rhysand being here at all, it doesn't change the fact that you had spent the night with him, laughing and talking, he had been the one to kiss you first, pulling you into that office, all this while you've barely exchanged any words with the High Lord, you had even seen him more often before this night.

Your view of him gets obstructed when Rhysand reaches the bed, standing over you as he takes off his pants, having already discarded his shirt on the way. Since you were sitting, you were perfectly leveled with his crotch, getting a front seat to the way his heavy cock hung as he finally freed it from its confines. The tip was glistening, begging for you to put it in your mouth and taste it.

“You didn't pay this much attention to me when I was the one sitting on that chair.” The words break you from your trance, eyes traveling up his chiseled torso to look up at his smug face.

It is true that you've spent a lot more time with Azriel, and had barely been able to even remember the High Lord was right there, maybe you should rectify that. Reaching out and grabbing his cock firmly, you decide to show him Azriel wasn't the only one you wanted. Your tongue finds the tip of his cock, licking away the precum gathered there and moving to swirl around the head, tasting him properly. A surprised gasp escaped his lips, one strong hand instinctively holding the back of your head when you put the whole tip in your mouth, sucking loudly as you grip his base.

He was around the same size as Azriel, and you really weren't sure just how much you would be able to fit into your mouth without gagging, but you were determined to get as much in as you could. As your other hand moves to hold his hip, you start pushing him deeper as you bob your head, letting him help you as he thrust a few times into your hot mouth, managing to get a quarter of the way in before he tangles his fingers on your hair, pushing you off him.

You look up at him in question, a string of spit still connecting your lips and his cock. You're trying hard not to pout like he had just taken your favorite toy away from you, but this is the second time they won't let you pleasure them.

“If you keep going I'll cum,” he explains, clearly holding back. This makes you feel better, powerful even, seeing how much he's affected by you.

“That's the point, High Lord,” you say, tightening your hold around his cock, licking his tip playfully, smirking when he lets out a groan from deep in his chest. There was an air of authority in the sound - he liked it when you called him by his title, and you're certain you'd love the way he would put you in your place.

“I'm going to take care of you first,” he murmurs, thumb caressing your bottom lip, “You've been so good for us. I think you deserve it.”

He leans down, holding your head in his hands as he pulls you in for a kiss, pulling away too quickly for your liking, studying your face. Your eyes were still a bit unfocused and your lips were kissed raw, shiny with spit - yours, Azriel's and his. He can't help but bite softly and lick over your bottom lip at the thought. He then lets his eyes travel down your body, ignoring your soft whimper.

He instructs you to lay back down, and your body moves to obey his command immediately, back falling against the mattress once more, almost trembling with anticipation as you wait for his next move. Biting your lip to stop another whine from escaping when his hand replaces yours for a moment, stroking himself twice, spreading your spit all over his shaft as he studies your body. Rhysand took his time mapping out the bruises and bites his spymaster left on your spent body, his hands falling to the exact same place on your hips Azriel's had been.

“Az really made a mess of you,” he moans out, as if the way he had been eyeing you up wasn't enough to make you want to jump his bones.

Spreading your legs so he could fit himself between them properly, Azriel's cum starts running down your hole. Your breath catches in your throat when Rhysand kneels down before you even get the chance to react, tongue stopping his spymaster's cum from falling down onto the mattress, groaning deeply at the taste. He runs his tongue over your folds a couple of times, your hands fisting the sheets as he teases your already too sensitive clit, before moving back down to your heat, hands holding your thighs apart as he starts cleaning out Azriel's cum straight from inside you, driving you absolutely insane in the process.

“Fuck,” you hear the whispered curse come from the shadowsinger's, the chair squeaking as he leans back, likely feeling the same frenzy you did watching the High Lord eating his cum right out of your cunt.

From the first moment Rhysand walked into the room, you knew there had to have been more going on between the two that you had ever suspected, but you hadn't expected this. He was eating you like you were his favorite meal, moaning out in pleasure all the while. You had no doubts Rhysand wanted you, the fact was clear in his blown out eyes as he watched you throughout the night, but you don't think he wants Azriel any less, even though you were willing to bet he has already had him before.

The sloppy sounds echoing around the room would have probably embarrassed you in any other situation, had it been anyone else in the room. Your scents had mixed so thoroughly, there was no way to know where either of you began or ended. There were tears spilling from your eyes at the intense feelings wrecking through your body. Azriel had already made you cum so many times, you were too sensitive, but somehow still craving more.

A sudden movement makes you focus on the ceiling through blurry eyes, noting the way Azriel's shadows swirled around the dark painted wall, spying on you and Rhysand. If either of you were in the right state of mind, you would have noticed the way Azriel's breath came out in short pants, hand finding his way onto his already hardening cock as his shadows explained everything to him down to every sordid detail - the way your body trembles under Rhys' skilled tongue, white knuckled as you desperately tried to cling to your sanity; the delighted sounds escaping Rhys as he dove deeper and deeper inside you, cleaning you out of the shadowsinger's essence.

In the midst of the mind numbing pleasure, you hear a familiar voice whispering right inside your head, unwilling to tear himself away long enough to say the words out loud. Tell me when you're close, darling. He had never spoken straight into your mind before, and the feeling of his voice echoing in your mind mixed with the way he was already devouring your cunt, almost makes you cum right then and there.

Your hips were stuck between grinding onto his face and arching back, your own body not sure if it could handle everything Rhysand was giving you. It was all too much, the feeling of his warm tongue licking and sucking at your abused walls, the thumb oh so softly petting your clit, only giving it enough pressure, the heavy breaths coming from Azriel who was now watching you, their scents heavy in the air, their power thrumming through the room.

“I'm close,” you pant, eyes closing as your hand falls to play with his soft hair, “So, so close.”

He hums in response, lulling you into a fake sense of security before pulling away unexpectedly, right as you were about to fall into ecstasy. You let out a noise between a whine and a sob, gripping his hair harder, trying to guide him back to where you needed him. If they kept pushing away from you like this, you'd just push them onto the mattress and ride them to your heart's content.

“Bastard.”

Rhysand simply chuckles down at you, a cruel curve to his smirk, pulling your hand away from his hair far too easily given the death grip you had on the strands, even licking the palm up until the space between your fingers teasingly before letting go of it. He comes down to kiss you, silencing your cries and whatever nasty insult was following with his mouth, putting most of his weight on you to keep you melting into him.

You bite his lip vindictively, nails carving his skin, prompting yet another laugh out of him, infinitely amused by your temper. The taste of copper fills your mouth, intertwining with his and Azriel's tastes perfectly, neither of you stopping your assault as your tongues battled for dominance.

When he finally pulls away, both of your chests moving rapidly, the exact spot where your canines have pierced through were still visible on the plush skin of his lips, blood barely trickling down as his healing moved to tamper it down. Gods, blood looked good on him.

“Is this any way to treat your High Lord?” he questions, licking his wounded lip.

“You're not my High Lord,” you whisper back defiantly.

“I am for as long as you're in my court,” he starts, one of his hands running along your skin until he finds one of your breasts, thumb circling your nipple, your body treacherously arching into his touch, delighting him to no end. “Especially when you're in my bed.”

“I'm not sure how my High Lord would feel about that.”

Rhysand tilts his head to the side, eyebrow raising as a strangely possessive look falling over his eyes. “I can always send you back to him with my cum inside you,” hand abandoning your chest with one pinch to your sensitive nipple, “see what he thinks about it.”

“I think you mean your Spymaster's cum,” you say, mirroring his smirk when his breath hitches just a touch.

“Cleaned that all out, darling” the way he clenched his jaw told you his patience was close to snapping, and oh did you want to see it happen.

“He was so deep inside me,” your hand falls over your stomach as if demonstrating him, “I'm sure there's still some of it left.”

“You weren't this mouthy with Azriel.”

“I was too busy getting fucked to talk back.”

You're not sure if it was your words or the chuckle Azriel lets out that does it, but Rhysand lets out a growl, a deliciously powerful sound that echoes throughout the room, and makes you tremble in anticipation. His eyes narrow as he looks down at you, baring his teeth when you open your mouth to tease him once more, and flipping you over on your stomach before you manage to get the words out.

“Then let's keep that pretty mouth screaming my name instead.”

The High Lord is always so calm and collected, never losing his composure in front of anyone, but here he was, losing his control all because of you. He grabs your hips, lifting them up enough to place a couple of pillows under you, keeping your body raised at the right angle. You feel his palms fall over your asscheeks, spreading them apart, exposing you to him completely.

Pushing up on your elbows, you try to keep yourself up and turn your head around as far back as you can to see what he's up to, finding him dropping a string of saliva right onto your cunt. He meets your gaze right as it falls, its warmth dripping over you, before looking back down, grabbing hold of his aching cock and lining himself up, wasting no more time as he bottoms out in one single stroke of his hips.

Your forehead falls against the mattress, a broken moan escaping you at the suddenness, almost no sound coming out as if he had taken the air right out of your lungs. He doesn't give you any time to adjust either, grabbing your hips in a tight grip and thrusting into you at a reckless, punishing pace.

“Rhysand,” you moan loudly, just like he wanted you to. Rhys, he corrects in your mind. “Rhys,” you repeat, holding onto the sheets, “please don't stop.”

“Wouldn't dream of it.”

The sounds filling the room are downright filthy as he fucks into you. If you knew this would be the result, you would have started taunting him back a lot sooner. You're playing with fire, darling. You can't help but choke out a laugh between the pathetic moans escaping your lips, resulting in a particularly hard thrust from him, though you can almost feel that familiar smirk returning to his face.

That might have been the only downside to this: you couldn't look at him as he fucked you, couldn't see the way his face scrunched up in pleasure as your walls gripped his cock. You're not exactly sure if he read your thoughts again, but he slows down just enough to lean down over you, caging your body under his, his entire torso pressed against your back as he continues his assault in deep, hard thrusts.

You try to match the rhythm of his hips, arching your back into him to the best of your ability, chasing what could very well be your strongest orgasm yet. His muscles moved against you, tensing when you squeezed too hard around him involuntarily, one of his hands grabs yours, intertwining your fingers together, as his forehead falls against your shoulder.

“I'm so close, Rhys,” you choke out, feeling that knot getting impossibly tighter, threatening to completely wreck you when it snapped.

“You can let go, darling,” he pants, “I'm right there with you.”

It's hard to say if Rhys had been the one to search for Azriel's mind or if the spymaster had the idea on his own, but an image is projected onto the High Lord's mind in that moment, one that has him letting out a deep groan, sharp teeth finding your shoulder, hips faltering as he tries not to cum right then. He shares it with you as soon as he catches himself, the image of Rhysand fucking into you from Azriel's perspective filling your mind, a whiny moan leaving your lips.

You could barely see yourself under the High Lord's strong body, the way his back arched and his muscles moved with every thrust taking your breath away. Azriel was clearly focused on the way Rhysand's cock barely pulled out from you, only ever coming out until about halfway before slamming back in, pulling out otherwise pathetic sounds out of you. You could see the way your hole stretched to accommodate his thick length, thicker than you've ever had, clamping down on him viciously.

Apparently you had been right to assume there was still some of Azriel's cum inside you as it now formed a ring around Rhysand's cock mixing in with your own juices, the excess spilling down your cunt and dripping onto the sheets, covering your thighs and his, coating his balls.

As sinful as the sight was, what pushed both you and Rhysand over the edge were Azriel's unfiltered thoughts accompanying it and the desire that could be felt through them. You could tell just how much he was enjoying the show, eyes transfixed on the way your bodies moved together, stuck between wanting to keep watching, and wanting to join you, slip his cock right into your inviting mouth, muffle the sounds echoing around the room, or come up behind you, the arch of Rhysand's back would make it so easy to just slide right into his High Lord, fucking him as he fucked you.

Your entire mind goes blank when your orgasm reaches you, losing sense of your surroundings as you're pulled under. Rhys falls over your body, barely catching himself before crushing you with his weight. It takes a while before you actually feel like you can breathe or focus on anything at all, almost purring as the first thing you feel is Rhys' leaving soothing kisses over your skin, murmuring praises as he moves.

Turning your head you try to find his lips, failing as the angle works against you. A sigh escapes you when he pecks your cheek, pulling out of you with a wince, body trembling at the oversensitivity, and flips you over carefully letting you kiss him to your heart's content, molding your bodies together until you can't see where one begins and the other ends.

After a few moments, Rhys holds onto you, lifting you up with him as he sits up on the bed and pulls you onto his lap, your mouth running down his neck, marking the perfect skin and reveling in the soft sounds he rewards you with, his hands massaging your spent body tenderly.

“It seems we have a problem, darling,” he says, voice hoarse. You move your head away from his collarbone, looking up at him to find him watching something behind you - Azriel. The hunger written on his face tells you the night is far from being over, you swear you could feel him getting harder against your thigh.

You hadn't paid enough attention to Azriel in a while, too distracted with the mind numbing pleasure the High Lord was giving you. Turning your head around to see what that problem was exactly, you almost let out a moan at the sight. Azriel was still sitting on the same chair Rhysand had been before him, face leaning on his palm as he held his High Lord's gaze. He was sitting with his legs spread out, long, hard cock standing proudly against his abs, a bit of precum wetting the skin. You can't help but swallow when his hazel eyes fall on you, clenching around nothing as Rhysand speaks up once more, desire hanging over every word.

“Can't leave him like that, can we?”

#azriel x reader #rhysand x reader #azriel smut #rhysand smut #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #my writing

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gloomwitchwrites · 7 months ago

Note

Hello, hope you're a having a good day

Could you write something about 141 x reader where the sparring session turns a little too not your usual sparring (if you know what I mean). The reader and them being all sweaty and shit and like the sexual tension that's been there for a while. This idea has been plaguing my mind since forever. Thank youuuu

Haha! Yes! Omg, I love it. Okay, for this, I didn't go full smut. When someone mentions sexual tension, I tend to hyperfocus on that and want to bathe in it. Give me naughty thoughts and flirting-maybe even some actual physical contact that borders on dangerous territory. Give me the yearning! I want to giggle and kick my feet and think about what might happen later.

So, I indulged in that regard! I had lots of fun with this. Thank you so much for sending it in!!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x TF141!Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, knife play, grinding, rough kissing, caught in the act, training, naughty thoughts, mutual yearning

Word Count: 2.4k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Come on. Come at me.”

Soap rolls his shoulders and then brings his fists up in a fighting stance. He makes a “go on” gestured with his hands.

Every muscle in your body is sore. Tired doesn’t even begin to describe how you’re feeling. But you want to best Soap. He’s been on your ass for weeks now—insisting that the two of you should spar together. It’s not the sparring that makes you warm and tingly but the way he suggests it.

Always leaning in. Standing far too close. Bumping your shoulder with his.

Soap waits, but you’re not sure how to proceed. So far, you’ve been completely unsuccessful. As if knowing all your moves, Soap has dodged each blow and kick, effortlessly taking you down to the mat every time you thinking you’ve ensnared him.

Stealth is more your thing. Creeping around in the shadows. Taking out opponents from afar. A sniper scope is your friend. Hand-to-hand isn’t.

You lunge for him and Soap steps back. Fist missing him, you sidestep and go for a jab in the stomach. Soap slaps your hand away, and you want to yell in frustration.

“Sloppy today,” chides Soap, grinning like this amuses him.

It probably does. He’s one for a good laugh.

This time you feign, and Soap takes it, moving in. You’re ready for him, turning out of his swing to duck beneath and then aim for the face. Soap rises to block, and opens a clear line to his groin.

Fucking beautiful.

Lifting your foot, you don’t tap him hard, just enough for his cheeks to go pink. Soap grunts, and you chuckle.

“Shouldn’t have left yourself—”

With an oof, your back smacks against the tumble mat beneath you. Soaps snags your wrists and pins them above your head. You go to kick out at him, but Soap’s knees are between your legs. He shoves them wider.

You’re completely trapped beneath him.

And in a completely inappropriate position.

From where you’re pinned, you notice the small beads of sweat on his brow and how a few pieces of hair stick to his skin. Though his chest is covered by a shirt, it’s snug, with every muscle on display. Those powerful thighs of his press against yours in such a way that you’re imagining nothing between your bodies.

Would he feel this powerful over you if the two of you were elsewhere? Perhaps, somewhere more private. Somewhere without a tumble mat. Somewhere with a bed.

“Can’t harm the goods, love,” says Soap, his voice husky. You’re not sure if it’s from the close contact or from the tap you gave his crotch.

“Then don’t leave them vulnerable,” you reply, almost not recognizing the sound of your own voice. It too is husky as if dipped in desire.

The middle of Soap’s brow scrunches slightly. His gaze travels downward to linger on your lips and then further still until you sense him admiring more than he is observing.

“Soap—”

His gaze snaps upward. “Johnny,” he corrects. “Think we’re on closer terms.”

“Are we?” you ask, as his hips start to relax.

The press of him against you is apparent, and the hardness there is poking at you. Insistent. And you don’t want to ignore it.

Instead, you press upward, grinding against him.

Soap—no—Johnny, makes a sound in his throat.

One moment you’re under him and then you’re in his lap, the two of you sitting up, staring into each other’s eyes. Your heart hammers in your chest, and your hands fists the front of his shirt.

“You—”

“Are we interrupting something?”

You and Johnny turn just as Ghost and Gaz enter the gym. Gaz has a towel draped over his shoulder. The water bottle he holds it half-way towards his mouth before he freezes, gaze locked on you and Johnny.

Ghost cocks his head, arms crossed over his chest.

You’re speechless. Lost. Your mind hasn’t caught up.

But Johnny’s has.

With a twist, Johnny rolls and then lightly tosses you off him as if the two of you were simply practicing and not staring into each other’s eyes.

“You want a go, Lt?” asks Johnny.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“You up for another round?” asks Kyle.

The man is grinning like he could do this all day. You’re sore everywhere—ready to collapse from exhaustion. Hand-to-hand combat is not your thing which is why you’re here in the training room with Kyle.

Yes, you need practice, but you’ve also had your eye on him, admiring him when you think no one is looking. It’s an excuse for some alone time.

“I’d rather eat glass,” you mutter, snatching up your water bottle and drinking the last of it.

“Hate me that much?” he teases.

“So much so that I wanted to spend the afternoon beating your ass.”

Kyle bursts out laughing. He snatches the water bottle out of your hand and aims it at you, squeezing. There’s nothing in it. A few measly drops hit your face and then you lunge for him. Kyle jumps back and extends his arms outward.

“One more round.” He winks. “Come on, love.”

He’s being cheeky, and your blood is pumping.

Kyle tosses your water bottle to the side as you stride forward. His arms go up, and then the two of you are nothing but flying fists and feet. He’s faster, blocking every blow you send his way.

Sweat accumulates on your brow and on the back of your neck, dripping down your spine. You lick your lips, taste the salt from the sweat.

You duck. Swing. Kyle snatches your wrist and twists, pinning your arm behind you. With a sharp jab of your elbow, you nail Kyle in the stomach, freeing yourself.

As you spin to lash out, Kyle is right there, in your space, blocking all movement. You try to step back, to allow space in your next strike, but Kyle rushes in. The two of you are twisted up. Falling. Slamming into the mat on the floor.

You shove and Kyle resists, his strength outmatching yours. With cheek pressed into the mat, you have nowhere to go. You’re completely on your stomach, and all of Kyle’s weight is on you. He breathes heavily, chest heaving. You feel his breath against your skin, and the contact only sends your skin into a shiver.

Your mind drifts, lingering in places it shouldn’t. Worse—Kyle is aroused. His hardness pokes at your ass. But whether he notices or not is unclear.

“You’re improving,” he says.

“I have a good teacher.”

Kyle makes a noise that sounds like agreement. Every muscle is tense, and even Kyle’s hold on you seems laced with something harsh. But then it eases. Softens. His grip loosens enough that you roll onto your side, glancing up at him.

He is so goddamn close. Just a gentle tilt of the head and your lips would meet his. It wouldn’t be that hard. He’s right there.

Kyle blinks, and then his gaze trails downward, lingering on your lips.

“We,” he begins. “We shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

His thumb traces along the side of your throat, and your eyelids flutter with contentment. A little moan escapes you, and you hear Kyle’s sharp inhale.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck it.”

His thumb becomes his whole hand. Holding you in place, Kyle goes all in, claiming your lips with his. It is dominating, and you happily give in to him.

John Price

Your back hits the tumble mat with a sharp slap. The exposed portions of your shoulders and back sting from the contact.

"Again."

Groaning, you push up to a seated position. "We've been at this for hours."

"And you need practice," counters Price.

He's hatless. And shirtless. Only in cargo pants and boots, Captain Price's bare skin glistens with sweat. You won't pretend that the sight of him like this doesn't intrigue you. For months now you've been observing Captain Price in more than just a professional manner. It's hard not to, and the sweat-drenched man before you isn't helping things.

Captain Price runs his fingers through his hair, taking a step back. The casualness to the movement causes your stomach to twist with desire. Your body betrays you, and you have no idea if these feelings are entirely one-sided. Sometimes you think you might gleam a notion of his thoughts, but it always manages to slip through your grasp.

Price offers his hand, and an idea forms.

You extend yours, but don't close the distance. Price is the one that leans forward to do so. It's the perfect opportunity. When your fingers close around his, you tug back, throwing him off balance.

Price tips forward, and you turn to the side as he crashes down to the mat. In one fluid movement, you roll Price onto his back and straddle his stomach.

"Never let your guard down. That's what you always say."

Price's eyes widen slightly before softening. The corner of his mouth twitches into a hint of amusement. It immediately sends heat flaring through you.

"I do," he replies, and it's nearly a coo.

That smirk of his widens into an actual smile, and then it's you on your back and Price straddling. You strike out with an elbow but Price catches your swing, trapping your arms above your head. He bends forward a bit, and it is then that you feel the stiffness against your stomach.

Price makes no move to hide it, and you don’t dare glance downward.

"You need to do better-"

"Captain."

Price immediately recoils, sitting up and releasing your arms. You twist to look behind you, only to find Ghost and Soap standing nearby. Ghost is ever the silent observer, but Soap's head is slightly tilted to the side, the middle of his brow pinched like he's not sure what's happening.

"Meeting starts in five,” says Soap. “Came to find you."

Price coughs and then he's off you, kneeling and offering you a hand again. You don't try to knock him down.

"Just going over some pointers,” replies Price.

"Pointers?" deadpans Ghost and you shoot him a look. He shrugs at you, gaze lingering before moving to his captain.

"Give me ten minutes. Shower. Then I'll be there."

Captain Price gives you a quick glance before walking off with Soap. Ghost crosses his arms over his chest and just stares.

“What?" you snap

"Pointers," he repeats.

"Oh, fuck off, Simon."

He chuckles and turns to follow the two out of the training room.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

"Your posture is terrible."

"That's very helpful, Lieutenant,” you deadpan.

"Are you sassing me?"

"No."

Simon shakes his head and sighs. “Can’t throw a knife accurately if you’re hunched like a goblin.”

“Goblin,” you mutter under your breath. “Asshole.”

“What was that?”

You clear your throat. “Seems easy, Lieutenant. You just throw the pointy end at the enemy.”

Simon grunts and then grabs your raised arm. "You won't hit anything standing like that."

You resist his pull but you're outmatch when it comes to strength. With one hand on your arm and one on your waist, Simon shifts you into position.

"Like this," he instructs, bringing your arm back. "Firm grip. Feet pointed forward." Simon releases your arm but his hand on your waist remains. "Throw. At the target."

You let the knife fly. It strikes just right of the bullseye.

"Again,” nods Simon.

"Really?"

Simon slowly drops his hand from your waist, the tips of fingers lingering a second longer than necessary.

Removing a knife from his boot, Simon flips it end over end. "We could hone your skills a different way."

"What way?"

“Grab your knife and find out.”

Stalking toward the bullseyes, you yank out the knife, joining Simon in the sparring ring. He bends at the knee, crouching into a fight stance. You mimic the movement.

Simon lunges first and you sidestep. But he's quick for such a large man. He moves around and behind you so fast he's almost a blur.

Grabbing your wrist, Simon lightly twists and pins you against his front, the knife tip pointed at your throat.

"Again,” he growls.

Simon lightly shoves you away. You spin. Striking out. He slaps your arm down and raises his own, the knife tip pointed at your throat for a second time.

"Again."

Showing your teeth, you charge at him, barreling into him at the middle. Simon staggers but doesn't faulter. He attempts to toss you off him, but you remain firm, grabbing hold.

This unloads him, his weight toppling with you. The two of you go down. Simon rolls you onto your back, his body pressed to yours, knife at your throat again.

"Better,” he says. “Still needs improvement."

You go to shove him off, but Simon doesn't budge. He remains where he is, and every point of contact is like an electrical spark. Even his face is close, balaclava nearly scratching against your skin. There is not part of him you’re not touching.

Awareness settles in.

Simon is all hardness over you.

"Have any tips you can give me?" you reply.

His gaze slowly lowers to your lips. His hips shift slightly, something stiff poking against your inner thigh.

“I have one,” he murmurs.

Bet I can guess.

“How do you want it?” he continues.

"You're the expert," you reply softly, hooking your leg over the back of his.

It's an invitation, one you aren't sure he'll take.

There’s a brief pause, and then Simon hums in agreement. It’s a pleased sound, one that instantly makes you shiver. Without taking the knife from your throat, he closes the distance, lips pressing against yours through the balaclava.

Heat erupts, the knife in your hand forgotten on the floor as you grab at him, fingers digging in.

It's only a tease. You want the real thing.

"What's the tip?" you ask once he breaks the connection.

Simon answers by grinding his hips against yours.

That one. Got it.

“We should—”

A door slams from somewhere down the hall. Simon’s head snaps up. The knife disappears, and then Simon is pushing himself away, kneeling beside you. His head is turned toward the main doors, but no one enters.

“It’s late,” you say. No one should be coming this way.

He turns back to you. “Your knife skills are shit.”

You groan. “I know. Goblin hunch. Got it.”

Simon snorts, and offers his hand. You take it, and he pulls you into a seated position. “Just a few more rounds,” he says, and then with a husky twinge to his tone, “and then I’ll go make sure the locker room is clear.”

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devilishchaos · 3 months ago

Text

Shower | Lando Norris Imagine

Rating / genre: M (18+); smut, fluff

Pairings: Reader x Lando Norris

Summary: Y/N and Lando have soft shower sex.

Warnings: Explicit smut, explicit talk, oral (m receiving), unprotected vaginal penetration (don’t do it!!! stay safe!), hair grabbing, swallowing, use of pet names

AN: domestic Lando, because I'm a sucker for domesticity <3. also..not me and yet another shower sex fic. also pt.2..am I back? I don't know, just wanted to write about Lando. enjoy x

Word Count: 2 517 words

This is a work of fiction. The story, names, characters and incidents either are product or the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

You had it coming for a while, you knew it in the back of your mind. And it’s not like you weren’t looking forward to it, but just that the urges, that were slowly growing stronger for Lando, inside of you took a backseat as real world deadlines threatened to overcome you.

Lando had been staying home a lot more than usual, and found himself with a rare two-week break between races, a welcome pause in the relentless pace of the Formula 1 calendar. After months of high-pressure performances and grueling travel schedules, the weariness has started to catch up with him, coupled with the need to be with you and make up for the lost time, due to his hectic schedule, caused him to not want to leave the house.

Coming back from work every evening, you were greeted with the sight of him whipping up something simple but delicious for you to feast on, his eyes getting all crinkled up as a smile covered his face whenever he heard you yell “I'm home!”. He was playing the part of a perfect boyfriend to the T and you really couldn’t have been more thankful for everything that he was doing for you, even though you couldn’t always say it out loud.

But behind his loving exterior was something he wasn’t really telling you, for fear of coming across as selfish when he could clearly see the amount of stress you were already in. You weren’t blind though and just like him, you too could see that he was in need of some affection and some attention, was in need of someone telling him he did well on the circuit and was still doing well at home, and you also knew you were that someone.

You could feel it in his touch, lingering just a second longer than necessary, his fingers dipping under the hem of your shirt to rest against your skin. You could feel it in his kisses, turning hot and fervent despite starting out as soft and gentle. You knew he needed it and you knew he wasn’t going to be explicit enough and say it out loud nor was he going to pressure you into doing something you didn’t have the energy to do.

Yet upon hearing the slow pitter-patter of water as you came back home, you had found your feet leading you towards the bathroom, your heart picking up its pace at the thought of Lando taking a shower. The bathroom door unlocked as always, his steamy silhouette could be seen through the glass wall. You couldn’t tell what came over you in that moment, but before you could stop yourself, your hands were moving on their own, getting rid of your clothing piece by piece, until you were naked.

Your hand came resting against the glass as you peeked inside, taking in the sight in front of you. Lando looks gorgeous, the water trickling down his body and hugging him at all the right places, his shoulders and hipbones, making you want to lick the wetness away. The sight alone is enough to make you press your legs closer together, a need growing inside of you as you take your time admiring the beauty that is your boyfriend.

Lando had his head under the water, his wet curls sticking to his forehead and the side of his face, his mouth slightly parted to let the warm water hit his tongue as he was lost in thought. And to say that he was beyond surprised when he opened his eyes and found you on the other side of the glass, naked and looking nothing but breathtaking to him, would be an understatement. A groan escapes his lips under his breath as he stares at you, his eyes trailing down, taking in your completely naked body and swallowing thickly, a hunger rising in him, just looking at you.

That is, until a voice snaps you out of your thoughts, your eyes meeting Lando’s as he calls you out.

“Baby?” He murmurs, his voice sounding low as the water still hitting his face causes his words to come out muffled, but you could still hear that his tone was filled with need and anticipation. His left hand moves from where it was against the wall to press against the glass, his eyes meeting yours. There’s a silent conversation happening between you within just that moment, his eyes full of want, making his desire for you clear.

"I'm home" you say in a soft murmur.

“Yeah I can see that..” Lando mutters, his eyes still glued to you through the glass, his mouth going dry as his eyes rake you up and down, taking in every inch of you as if it was the first time he was seeing you like that. He was trying to focus hard on not letting his eyes linger between your legs, because the thought of it already has his brain short circuit.

“You want to join me in here?” He questions, his fingers tapping the glass lightly, giving a small smirk.

Lando can’t fight the grin that appears on his face as you nod, his mind already racing over what the two of you would do. He grabs the shower glass and pushes it open, his arms spreading out towards you as a silent invitation for you to come inside. He can’t wait to touch you again, to feel your skin against his, to hear your soft moans, but even amidst all of that he still has a tiny voice inside his head reminding him that you’re probably tired.

Lando closes the glass door back when you make your way inside, and all it takes is a couple of seconds for him to pull you into his chest against his wet, warm body, his strong arms wrapping around you gently. He lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as he buries his face into your neck, the stress melting away from him just from having you close. His hands move up and down against your wet back, the water trickling between you.

He can tell what you’re planning and while it is something he’s been craving all these past days or weeks, now that you were right in front of him, he feels as if just having you so close to him is enough. And so he decides to show you, placing the softest of kisses to your crown as his grip tightens around your waist, the sensation making you lift your head up from his chest, a smile on your face.

“You are so beautiful.” Lando whispers and that’s all you need to lose your footing.

Before either of you can realize, your lips are moving in sync with his, a rhythm both familiar and new, being set up as you dance around your desires. You don’t know who started it, but it’s not like it matters anyway. All you can think of in that moment is the way his tongue explores every inch of your mouth, his teeth digging into your bottom lip as you get lost in the love only he can give you. And it’s the same for Lando, his senses getting overwhelmed as he finds himself getting high on you, on the way you make him feel. You’re all he could ever want and more, and every time you touch him, it feels like you’re reminding him of the reason he’s alive.

So he takes it in his stride, finally letting go of his fears and his worries, completely losing himself in you, in the love he feels for you. His hands roam all over your water-covered body, from your cheeks to your neck to your breasts and hips, and he takes his sweet time caressing and feeling every single one of them, just like you do too, your own hands lying pressed flat against his toned body. You touch him everywhere, letting your focus shift from his hair to his biceps to the round cheeks of his ass, and as you do so, you also find yourself pulling away from his lips, kissing down his body, crouching lower and lower till you’re on your knees in front of him.

The sight makes something turn on inside of Lando’s brain, his hands making their way to your cheeks again. But this time, he’s just a little more assertive, pulling you closer to his crotch, because he can tell you already have eyes for his cock.

“Want a taste?” he asks, his voice hoarse already and a lazy smirk playing on his lips. You can only nod at that, biting your lip as you lean in, placing a kiss to his tip. And from the sigh that escapes from Lando’s mouth at the small gesture, you know it’s just like the first time for him, over and over again.

“Then suck on it, baby.” his voice calls out again, pulling you out of your thoughts.

With that, your hands are quick to get wrapped around his shaft as you take him into your mouth, making him throw his head back in the slightest of pleasure. As your tongue begins to roll around his head, you make sure to savor the heavenly taste of his finest delicacy, your teeth grazing against his flesh as you decide to make up for the time and the rounds you’ve lost out on.

His tip was already leaking, his body eagerly reacting to your touch, the anticipation building within him. He swallowed, his words caught in his throat, all he could do was let out a groan in response. His hips instinctively moved forward, pushing his cock further into your mouth, his body seeking more pleasure, more of you. He was powerless to the sensations coursing through him, every swipe of your tongue sending a jolt of pleasure through him.

"More," he found himself whispering, his voice rough "I want you to swirl your tongue around the tip, take it into your mouth, then-" he whispered, his eyes flicking down to you, the intensity in his gaze burning with need "Push your tongue into the slit, please.”

Lando's body tensed, a low groan escaping him as you did as he asked, his eyes falling shut, his face flushed, his jaw clenched in an effort to hold back.

"Good girl," he groaned, his words husky, his voice filled with appreciation and a hint of dominance.

Lando's eyes fluttered shut, a low moan escaping him as your free hand found his balls. His body tensed, his fingers gripping your hair a little tighter, his hips instinctively pushing forward in a shallow thrust.

"That's right," he growled, his voice filled with need, his words a husky rasp as he tried to control himself, his body trembling.

As you pick up the pace, your surroundings fade away, the sound of the water acting as background music while you continue to give head to Lando, enjoying the effect you have on him. His hands guide you along, resting at your head, as your own take to worship his cock, your cheeks hollowed out to the max. Maybe it’s the lack of touch that he’s been forced to go through for the past weeks, or maybe it’s the way you seem so determined on bringing him to his knees, but Lando can’t seem to control the urge to cum right then and there, his body involuntarily thrusting his dick right down your throat and making you choke.

“Go faster, please.” he groans, pretty sounds emanating from deep inside his chest as you oblige, going faster and harder as you begin deepthroating him. Countdown from ten in your head and that’s all you need to have him lose it, his seed seeping into your mouth as you lap every bit up. He tastes just as you remember or maybe even better because it’s been so long. As the last drops trickle down your throat, you let out a sigh of satisfaction, licking your lips before gripping his thighs to pull yourself back up.

Your eyes meet his and you don’t miss the way he smiles at you, and you can’t help but ask, “Was I good?” and make him chuckle at your cuteness.

“Incredible as always, love.” Lando says, leaning in to catch your lips in another kiss, his body weight pushing you flat against the glass wall. Maybe it’s you imagining things, but he somehow tastes even sweeter now, the aftertaste of his cum still fresh on your tongue as you make out with him once more. Parting your mouth open with his own tongue, he doesn’t leave a single spot untouched as his cock prods around your heat, silently seeking entrance.

And you’re only too keen on granting him that, a whimper making its way out of you as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer than closer.

“I n- need you..” you whine, kissing him harder as you feel yourself grow more needy by the second. Lucky for you though, your boyfriend is a great listener, listening to your demand as he thrusts himself into you, penetrating into your pussy at long last. He feels so delicious like that, moving in and out of you as your thighs squeeze around his, your walls tightening around his length as he fills you up with himself.

You’re a moaning, struggling mess within seconds, the water making everything foggy and slippery as he continues to thrust in you, massaging all the right places you didn’t even know existed inside of you up until you started dating. Every move of his hips, as they roll against yours, sends you into a frenzy, gibberish rolling off your tongue as he starts speeding up more and more. Your bodies mold into one as you claw at each other’s skin, wanting to be as close to the other as possible. You’re in bliss at that moment, the pent up stress from work and the sexual frustration finally coming to the fore and bursting like a bubble as you make love.

He cums first, his cock still sensitive from your lip-service as his load fills you up to the brim, his thrusts not stopping as he leads you to your own orgasm. It feels like an eternity and like a single second at the same time, your sense of being completely distorted as you focus only on the pleasure, your nails digging into the skin of his back as he pumps into you one last time, making you ride out your climax in style and leaving you panting for air.

As a new slew of moans racks through your body, he vows to drown them out in a kiss with his hands holding you in place. When he pulls away, the expression on his face is the most lovesick one you’ve ever seen.

“Thank you.” is all he says, but it’s enough to fill your heart up with warmth as he pulls away, ready to dry you up and lead you to the bed for another round.

#lando norris #ln4 #lando norris fic #lando norris imagine #lando norris imagines #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris smut #lando norris fluff #f1 imagine #f1 imagines

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frmisnow · 9 months ago

Text

THE SWEETHEART NEXT DOOR ! (nsfw)

summary. maybe you were a little naive believing that your pretty neighbour only invited you for some drinks..

notes. TUMBLR CAN NOT TAKE ME DOWN! i come back stronger, better- nastier.. also i learnt how to do multi colored gradients, are y'all proud of me? anyway enjoy! 𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐

warnings/includes. SMUT!, pervy! neighbour! jungkook x sweet? f! reader, masturbation mentioned, god awful horny thoughts, jk has a short skirts kink?, cumming on tummy

Getting invited by your pretty neighbor for some drinks was definitely not weird, right? I mean, maybe you were a little naive, not noticing how he'd look at your laundry line and the panties you hung up, not noticing how his eyes wandered to your tits when you casually talked— he just was such a sweetheart.

you also brushed of how jungkook always seemed to be just outside of his yard when you came back from your little morning run, how his eyes traveled over your tight leggings while he passed you a cold water bottle. or how he starred just a bit to long when you bent over to pick something up when he helped you carry groceries.

all those times were just him helping you, silly!

and late at night, when you heard loud moans from his apartment side, you didn't try to think much of it. the walls were thin! you lived so close! and masturbation was completely normal! the thought of him with his hands wrapped around his own length definitely didn't make your mind all fuzzy, because you were a good neighbour just like him- and good neighbours don't think about stuff like that!

so when he invited you over to his for some drinks, the fact that you picked the shortest of your dresses - and "forgot" to wear some panties - was just a thoughtless 'mistake' on your part! you most definetly didn't do that on purpose, right?

you swore you were listening properly when he was going on and on about his boring job, your nipples definetly did not harden at just his voice, right?

you didn't flinch, when he spilled whiskey accidently over your top as he apologised, grabbed some paper towels and his fingers stayed just a little to long, a little to intimately on your tits.

you yourself couldn't quite believe the words that slipped out of your mouth to be truly yours, "can you just fuck me already?"

for a split seconds his lips parted in response, a light dumbfounded look on his face, you enjoyed way more then you should've. but he regained composure so quick like he had waited years for this, "then be a good girl and pull up that dress for me"

you do as he says in one swift motion the second you hear the words leaving his mouth, pulling up your dress. your bare pussy revealed in front of him, maybe you were a bit to eager. but your pussy ached to be taken care of!

"did you come here with no panties on, just on the hope that i'd play with you?" his voice cut through the air filled with thick tension as he opens his belt.

oh god please fucking play with me. the words lingered on your tongue but all you managed to do was nod

his pants drop down, and he makes the mistake to look at you as you look up at him with innocent eyes and the little pout on your lip - and he groans, because no one has looked at him like that, grunting, "you're so damn pretty" while his thumb brushed over your lip, the motion gentle though his words weren't, "how often did you to yourself? thinking of me? all the time, huh?"

you admit that you tried to be quit about it with a quit whine, all that your eyes could focus on was his dick right in front of your swollen pussy.

"i always imagined you'd be all cute when i'd finally get my hands on you... but i always imagined you with a tight little skirt, you know the ones i mean?" he starts talking, his fingers almost in a torturous manner wandering over your thighs, slow.

why was he talking? stop talking, fuck me. you suppress, biting your lip in response, "was a tight dress not enough? i thought of you y'know"

"it's cute," he played with the ridden up hem of it, "it'll do for tonight"

'for tonight' the words ringed in your mind, all of the filthy positions running through your head, this was the first time but it certaintly wouldn't be the last. he made himself a mental note to buy you some of the tightest skirts he could find, and some cute thigh highs, later.

his hands moved to your ankles, spreading you just how he wanted, positioning himself infront of him.

"you're so pretty," he mumbles once more though it seemed more like it was a thought that had just escaped him. for a second he thinks he's going to be rough with you, just take you. but then he changes his mind - the first time, he'd go slow. he'd be gentle. you deserve somebody gentle.

he slowly pushes himself into you, hands wandering over your hips reassuringly, a silent 'you can take this, i know you can'

he was thick, scretching you out just right.

"i can take it, please, don't be slow" your hips bucked against his, even as you whined, the words coming out more demanding then you had intended, "please"

he groans and grips your hips harder at that, you're so impatient - he's trying so hard to be careful and sweet about this, for once in his god damn life and there you go.

"can't go too fast, you hear me? you're so tight, i just want to make you feel-" he groans, having a hard time keeping himself together.

you bite your lip, throwing your head back slightly, you could feel him somewhere in your tummy. fuck how was he so big?

jungkook takes the opportunity to trail kisses down your throat, finding the same place on your shoulder he always imagined putting his teeth on.

he gives you a second to catch your breath, before he starts to move, slow and deep, making sure to hit that sweet spot inside you.

a string of sweet nothing's leave him on 'how you were made for this' and 'how you had such an innoccent fucking face but you were such a slut'

he picked up pace, grinding into you whilst cursing something under his breath.

this was nothing like the times you had touched yourself. as he pushed his tattoed fingers into your mouth gently as you licked with a passion that was concerning.y

"you like this, huh? you like feeling big dicks in you?" he moaned out, knowing you wouldn't be able to respond.

"so this is what it's like," he groaned, his hand left your hip, finding their way up to your tits. "you're the best damn fuck i've ever had."

"fuck, jungkook...i'm cumming"

"fuck" he breathed out, his orgasm not far behind. he pulled out, only for a moment, jacking himself off and coating your stomach with his release. jungkook leaned down to kiss you lazily, groaning against your lips hkw sexy you were with the cum painting you.

his tongue peeked through to lick his release of you himself, sensualy.

"we're not done"

#ᯓᡣ𐭩 smut! oneshots #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #bts fic #jungkook #jungkook fic #bangtan x you #bangtan fic #bangtan x reader #bts x y/n #bts x you #bts x reader #bts x fem!reader #bts smut #bts fanfic #jeon jungkook x reader #bts fanfiction

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blacknailsandheartbreak · 1 year ago

Text

Imagine the group cannot understand how you and Zuko are so close with you being a literal saint and Zuko being... well Zuko

AN: I am back! Man, it's been a hot minute since my last post! ...Lets not think about that because I am back! :) woo hoo

~1400 word count

Part 2 once your done reading :)

SO, lets jump in and see what this Zuko fic about??? Well, imagine this...

The whole group is together and you are the newest member joining from an encounter at a local market. You'd travel alone from town to town, trying to help in any way you can to help fix the wounds the war had created. You fit in well, very polite and nice, never showing any anger, but very capable of defending your own with a bow. You became close with Katara, almost like sisters. Though, unknown to the group that you were a fire bender, you wished to keep that a secret. Your nation had done too much damage and could not bear to be tied to such a name. You hadn't practiced in a long time and were contempt on keeping it that way. You were good enough with your bow, you could protect yourself without the aid of bending. But one person saw through your mask, the only other fire bender in the group. You had a feeling he knew, as he was finding ways to spend more time with you, offering to walk with you to the market, to fetch water or wood, and he seemed to only ask you questions while it was just the two of you. If he did know you were a fire bender, then let it be so.

You volunteered one night to gather firewood, and Zuko promptly offered his assistance, in your nature you gladly accepted, you did like the company. While you two walked, you held a wicker basket against your hip and did most of the talking. Zuko hummed in response, keeping note of their far distance from the camp. As the conversation seemed to die out, Zuko stopped walking and you walked a couple more steps before realizing his halt. You turn around and lock eyes, both of you stand straight and still like statues. You knew what was coming next, your hair swayed slightly in the wind, the setting sun leaving amber shadows across you both.

"You're a bender, a fire bender." Zuko states, no question to his voice. You couldn't deny it, there was no point, he knew. You looked at him and smiled. You confirmed his suspicions, and explained to him that you have been building a new reputation for yourself outside of a fire bender label, trying to heal the brand the fire nation left on your skin as well as all its people and the ones it had affected. Zuko seemed sad, he apologized for his nation, our nation. He had promised things would change after Sozin's comet, once he overtook his father. You smile and agree that Zuko would make a fine Fire Lord, you talk to him about how much you believe can change. Ever since that night You two became close, very close. Close in ways the group could only suspect, but no proof.

On the last night of the Gaangs regrouping, before they had to pack up camp and keep moving, everyone had gone to bed, except for Zuko. He had a hard time trying to get to sleep that night, so he went out for a walk to try and clear his head. He sat by the nearby river and thought about what you had said, to rebuild a new reputation as to not be associated with the fire nation, start anew. Zuko balled his fists in anger at his country, the horrible things, unspeakable notions they had unleashed. Zuko scrunched his nose in disgust and felt the pull of his scar, a sensation that he was use to, one that would usually bring more frustration but only brought him sorrow tonight, as your words passed though his mind, 'trying to heal the brand the fire nation left on your skin as well as all its people and the ones it had effected'. Zuko felt the shame of his land pile on his shoulders, but he decided to head back to camp before he got too far into his head.

Back at camp, everyone was in bed, Toph slept alone in her stone tent, the boys had their own tent, while You and Katara shared a tent. Katara took a leap on that last night and decided to ask you about you and Zuko. She thought now would be the best time over any. Katara looked at you laying with your back to her, she gently poked your shoulder and you turned over.

"Sorry for waking you, but I had a question and I hope you take no offence, but you and Zuko... you guys have seemed to be getting very close... so um... are you guys... you know... together...?" Katara asked you in a quiet whisper with wide curious eyes.

While Katara spoke, Zuko had made his way back into camp and heard the faint whispers. It was unlike him to listen in on others' conversations but they had obviously not heard him return, and he seemed to be the topic of their subject so he decided it was fair game to listen. He caught on quickly as it was something about you and him.

You smiled and replied in a steady whisper, "Zuko and I have become good friends, nothing more." You and Zuko knew there was a bond beyond your secrets you shared, but you two were not together, just close.

Zuko had his arms crossed across his chest, he felt no offence towards the statement you shared, it was true, it was a neutral answer he could respect.

Katara responds "Oh okay... um if you don't mind me asking another question," You nodded her on, Katara continued, "Zuko and you seem to be very different, as in you are so... vibrant and kind, I don't think I have ever seen you mad." She said giggling quietly, and you smiled. "But Zuko... well you know Zuko, he only ever... scowls. Spirits, I think a smile might split his face in half..."

Zuko furrows his brows at the comment, and grabs across his mouth, 'I can smile', he thinks to himself, lowering his hand.

Katara continues, "and... and it's like pulling teeth trying to get him to talk..." Katara looks at you, "How do you- being your bubbly self, connect with someone like him? How can you talk with him for as long as you do when he seems to barely listens half the time?"

'Barely listen??' Zuko thought as his eyebrows shot up at the comment, 'Is she serious? How could she possibly think that!'

You smile at her observation, "Zuko is very kind to me," you say sweetly.

Zuko's face relaxes to your answer, and he uncrosses his arms.

You continue, "But you're right, he never says much, and yes, he is indeed quiet, but when one has gone through so much, it is understandable. We all know that feeling to some extent and we all have our ways of dealing with it. I have accepted how Zuko conveys himself as he had accepted me for how I present myself. But over all, yes, he does listen, even if it seems he is not, he always does." You conclude with a sweet smile.

Zuko is almost taken back from your answer in a way he cannot explain, but it feels as if an unknown weight has lifted off his shoulders from your response. He decided to leave the conversation there as he had heard all he needed to, and turned to walk away. But the next thing you said had caught his attention.

"Who knows," You add, "his ears are probably burning right now with the mere conversation of us talking about him...". You both giggle and say your goodnights. Zuko smirked and rolled his eyes and walked back to his tent. Although, as he replays the conversation over in his mind, something sits like a small rock in his stomach. 'Zuko and I have become good friends, nothing more.' Nothing more, he thought over and over in his head, maybe with time that could change. Once Zuko becomes Fire Lord and is able to start the change that the world needed to heal, you would embrace your bending and be proud of your nation. But that would come in time, so for right now, he could work with good friends.

#prince zuko #zuko #atla #zuko fanfic #zuko x reader #avatar zuko #avatar #avatar fandom #atla fanfic #avatar the last airbender #grumpy x sunshine

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hellobykittys · 4 months ago

Note

sooo i have a idea if you want obvi, i think about Lando's girlfriend who is best friend with the 2 Lilys and not with Alexandra or Francisca and Rebecca? I think these last 3 are like idk antipatic but not antipatic...(Not hate for they, its my personally opinion)

𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 ✦ 𝐋𝐍⁴

SUMMARY: You're going to accompany your boyfriend on a racing weekend and you're taking the opportunity to spend time with your friends. NOTES: English is not my first language! I hope I understood this request correctly. PAIRING: Lando Norris x Reader! Girlfriend. WARNING: girls meet and some fluff. WC: 1.6k

MASTERLIST

Y/N wasn’t a constant presence during race weekends. Balancing the demands of college with the travel needed to accompany her boyfriend was a challenge, but she made it a point to be there whenever she could. The Singapore GP was one of those rare occasions where she managed to escape to the paddock and cheer for Lando.

Y/N had been at the McLaren hospitality suite for a few minutes. Lando had to leave her alone to handle some team-related matters, so she settled at a table, trying to pass the time while waiting for him.

“Y/N?” A sweet voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “Why didn’t you tell me you were here already?”

She turned around to see Lily Zneimer, Oscar Piastri’s girlfriend and one of her closest friends. Ever since they met—thanks to their boyfriends’ insistence—their friendship had quickly blossomed. At first, both were too shy to make conversation, but with a little nudge from Lando and Oscar, they discovered just how much they had in common. Since then, their bond had flourished, and they stayed in touch even outside of race weekends, constantly texting and planning meet-ups.

Lily flashed a radiant smile as she walked toward the table where Y/N was sitting.

“Oh, I just got here,” Y/N replied, smiling as she stood up to greet her friend. “I sat down to wait for you and got a little distracted.”

“Should we go find Lils?”

“Lils” was the nickname they gave Lily MuniHe to avoid confusion since the two girls shared the same name.

“Let me just ask where she is,” Y/N said, quickly pulling her phone out of her bag to text Lily MuniHe, while Lily Zneimer chatted enthusiastically.

“Are you feeling good about this weekend?” Lily asked with a hopeful smile.

“Absolutely! I’d love to see a double podium for our boys,” Y/N replied, tucking her phone away after sending the message. “Imagine if one of them wins? It’d be perfect!”

“I think we’ve got a good chance,” Lily said optimistically. “The track suits them, and it’s all going to come down to today’s qualifying.”

“Ah, Lils just replied!” Y/N announced, glancing back at her phone. “She said she’s at the Williams hospitality.”

“Then let’s go find her,” Lily suggested, already grabbing Y/N by the arm. “And after that… we should grab some food. I’m starving!”

The two started walking through the paddock, exchanging laughs and comments about the drivers and the bustling atmosphere around them. Singapore’s heat was relentless, and Y/N was already regretting her choice of a long-sleeved top, even though her outfit looked amazing.

“Fingers crossed the Williams hospitality has strong air conditioning,” Lily remarked, fanning her face with her hand. “If not, I might pass out before we even get to the food stand.”

“Not if Lils convinces us to stay and gossip,” Y/N joked, laughing.

When they arrived at the Williams hospitality, they found Lily MuniHe waiting outside, looking like she was melting in the heat.

“Took you long enough!” Lils exclaimed, pointing dramatically at the sky. “I almost turned into a puddle of sweat out here!”

“That’s because you can’t stay in one place,” Lily Zneimer teased with a playful grin. “You could’ve waited for us inside.”

“Well, now that we’re here, let’s get something to eat!”

“Let’s go!” Y/N said, grabbing both of their arms and leading the way toward the VIP area’s food court.

“I was thinking,” Lils began with a mischievous grin, “why don’t we grab some snacks to try? I saw some really interesting options around here.”

“I love trying savory snacks!” Y/N said enthusiastically, her eyes lighting up. “Let’s get all the flavors.”

“I’ve never been here before,” Zneimer commented, looking around with curiosity. “But I saw some desserts that look amazing.”

They reached the snack kiosk, which was relatively quiet, making it easy to pick their choices. Soon, they sat down at a nearby table with their selections.

“It’s such a shame you two don’t come to races often,” Lils commented, pulling a funny face. “Imagine how much fun we could have if you were here more often!”

“I’d love to be at every race, but college doesn’t make it easy,” Y/N said, with a wistful smile. “Some days, it feels like there’s no time to even breathe!”

“Same here,” Lily Zneimer added, sorting through the snacks she had picked. “Between work and travel, it’s hard to keep up with everything.”

“You’re both so boring!” Lils teased with a mock pout.

“Not everyone is born with the talent for sports like you,” Y/N quipped, raising an eyebrow. “It’d be great if we were pro golfers too, but sadly, I’m just a struggling student.”

“Lucky for me, I’ve got the best of both worlds!” Lils joked, earning laughs from the other two.

The trio continued joking and chatting about silly topics, losing track of time. It was amazing how, despite the chaos of race weekends, they managed to carve out these little moments of fun.

“By the way,” Lils said with a cheeky grin, “what happened to your boyfriend’s hair? I saw him earlier, and it looked like he just rolled out of bed.”

Y/N burst out laughing and rolled her eyes. “I know! He swears it’s ‘casual style,’ but really, he’s just too lazy to use a comb.”

“At least he’s not as careless as Oscar,” Lily Zneimer chimed in, laughing. “I swear he doesn’t even know what a hairdryer is.”

“And he doesn’t care!” Y/N added, raising an eyebrow. “I try to fix it, but he always says, ‘I’m comfortable like this.’ At least he still looks good with messy hair.”

The laughter flowed naturally as the girls joked about their boyfriends’ quirks. Between the pressures of the season and the intensity of race days, these lighthearted moments were crucial to keeping their spirits up.

“Speaking of our boyfriends,” Lily MuniHe said with a mischievous smile, “how about we plan a double-date dinner? What do you think?”

“That would be perfect!” Y/N exclaimed, excitedly. “It’s been ages since we all went out together.”

“I’m in!” Lily Zneimer agreed. “I just need to talk to Osc first.”

“Osc! So cute!” Y/N teased, watching as Lily Zneimer’s cheeks turned pink.

“You can’t tease her!” Lils defended with a laugh. “You’re always calling Lando ‘Lan.’”

“Oh, but ‘Lan’ is adorable!” Y/N replied with a shrug, playfully provoking the two.

The three kept chatting animatedly as they finished their snacks, but the announcement that qualifying was about to begin had them scrambling to get up.

“Time to head back,” Y/N declared, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. “I need to see my boyfriend secure pole position today.”

Lily Zneimer and Lily MuniHe followed her, still laughing and joking as they left the VIP area. The paddock was busier now, with mechanics and engineers rushing around, but the girls’ energy remained light and cheerful.

“So, what’s your prediction for today?” Lily asked, casting a curious look at her friend.

“Easy,” Y/N replied confidently. “Lando on pole and, with a bit of luck, Oscar right behind him.”

“Alright then, but if that happens, Osc and I will pay for the dinner we’ve been planning,” Lily countered, crossing her arms with a playful smile.

“Deal!” Y/N said, laughing. “And I’ll take care of dessert.”

Both girls laughed, sealing the agreement with an exaggeratedly dramatic handshake. As they reached the entrance to the garage, they shared a quick cheek kiss before parting ways to cheer on their respective boyfriends.

As Y/N stepped into the McLaren garage, her eyes immediately found Lando. He was already suited up in his signature orange racing gear, deeply engrossed in a conversation with one of the mechanics. She approached slowly, not wanting to interrupt. The moment the mechanic walked away, Lando noticed her presence and broke into a warm smile.

“Hey, honey! You finally showed up,” he said, his tone light and affectionate. “I was starting to think I’d have to get in the car without my good luck kiss.”

“I was with the girls, just wandering around the paddock,” Y/N explained as she stopped beside him. “But, of course, I wasn’t about to let you head out without seeing you first. By the way, I made a bet with Lily—if you get pole, she’s paying for dinner.”

Lando’s grin widened, clearly pleased with her confidence. He placed his hands gently on her waist, leaning in closer.

“Well then, I guess I’ve got one more reason to give it my all today, don’t I?” he said, his voice full of affection. “I’ll do it for you, my girl.”

Y/N smiled and stood on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I know you will,” she said with conviction. “But now you need to focus.”

“Just one more kiss,” Lando pleaded, his playful tone one she knew all too well.

Y/N gave in, brushing her lips against his again. What was meant to be a quick kiss deepened as Lando held her firmly by the waist, prolonging the moment. When they finally pulled apart, she rolled her eyes, trying to sound stern but failing to hide her amusement.

“Lan, you can’t kiss me like that in the middle of the garage!” she scolded, though her voice carried more laughter than seriousness.

“Why not?” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “You’re my girlfriend. I’ve got every right.”

Y/N sighed, shaking her head but with a smile tugging at her lips. “Alright, Mr. Confident. Now go. Show everyone what you’re capable of.”

He grinned from ear to ear, pressing a kiss to her forehead before finally pulling away to get ready.

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine

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suguann · 9 months ago

Text

✎. you've been on the run for a while. you knew someone would come eventually—but not him.

tags. fem!reader, old west era, bounty hunter simon, size difference, size kink, implied the reader's husband is a terrible human, accidental voyeurism, period-typical sexism, masturbation [18+ only]

masterlist

You’ve been running for months, first from your husband (the phantom grip of his hand still sending an ache through your wrist) and now as a wanted conwoman for stealing the clothes from an unsuspecting cowpoke who thought he was getting lucky. You can only imagine what Mama would say about trading your ruffled skirts for grass-stained trousers and boiled-leather suspenders.

(It’s unbecoming of a respectable woman, dear. Uncouth.)

She’d probably have a lot to say if she knew everything you’ve done to survive.

You hop from one place to the next only by the mere chance someone was willing to let a helpless woman accompany them on their travels. Nearly a month has passed since being stranded in a dusty old mining town after a man and his wife dump you off and leave you behind. Washoe’s a little gritty and not welcoming unless there’s money to spend.

It’s not exactly safe, not unsafe, either, but nobody asks questions as long as you keep your head down and play the part of a mourning widow just passing through.

You know you’ve overextended your stay when you can’t leave your room during the day without worrying about a noose and the open end of a barrel meeting you outside.

(That your husband or that gun-waving cowpoke finally found you.)

Sleep practically clings to you like a second skin, but you don’t dare close your eyes—you can’t.

This is how you end up sitting in the corner of the saloon, using the last of whatever you have in your change purse to order something strong, something your husband kept locked away, and anything else he thought women shouldn’t have a part in.

You don’t even realize that your eyelids begin to feel heavy, steadily blurring out the flickering lantern on the wall while you wait for your drink.

You catch yourself once or twice before your head can hit the table, rapidly blinking away the exhaustion before your eyes slide to the swinging doors.

You should stay awake.

You need to stay awake just a little bit longer—

Your luck runs out that day.

It’s one thing to know it’d happen eventually, and something else to realize that you make it easy for him—the man with an infamous name and a faded black bandana covering half his face—how he walked into the saloon and scooped you up (all unladylike sleepy dead weight) out of the weathered booth without a fight.

When you’d woken up to find yourself trussed up and thrown over the back of his horse, you cursed him out with every word you could think of that would make Mama clutch her skirts. Your captor ignored you, only talking to you whenever he warned you he was about to set up camp.

“Did my husband send you?” Acknowledging him after all this time tasted like pennies on your tongue.

The man, Simon Riley, had leaned back against his bedroll and tipped the brim of his hat over his eyes. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

That was several weeks ago.

Now, you find yourself stranded in another state that’s more green and vibrant than anything you’re familiar with, stuck with a man who refuses to answer the questions you throw at him. He doesn’t talk outside a few cursory words you greedily latch onto. Anything’s better than silence and the sound of hooves hitting earth.

The pace he keeps you at is exhausting. You complain about it enough until he moves you in front of him, tying your hands to the saddle's horn.

“I would strongly advise you to shut that mouth for the rest of the ride unless you want me to do something about that, too.” The low growl of his voice in your ear makes the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand up, muddling your brain.

You’re distantly aware you had something to say to that, but you don’t.

And that is really saying something.

It’s because there’s someone he needs to meet in town—an errand that lawbreakers who run their mouths aren’t allowed to go on.

This is how you end up sitting in camp alone, twirling around a knife he gave you solely for emergencies.

(Surprise, sharp and quick through your middle, when he tosses his pocket knife into the grass beside you. “What’s to stop me from leaving?”

You could’ve sworn he rolled his eyes. “Will you?”

It doesn’t seem worth dignifying with a reply. You don’t want to travel alone, and there’s a high possibility of getting lost, finding yourself saddled up with worse company than the one you’re stuck with.

Until he evidently catches you again.)

He’s a lot nicer than you first gave him credit for—if only by a fraction—not that you know much about Simon other than what you overheard from gossip circles before you became Mrs. Thornton. Afternoons spent sipping tea laden with honey and lounging around a table full of cakes in the sun parlor while wealthy women talked behind their lace-covered hands to hide secret smiles you were too naive to understand.

Trying not to stare at the bulge of his arms with thin pink scars—unlike the men you’re used to who got through life with a silver spoon hanging from their mouth—as he places his saddle back on his horse, you think you finally know what they smiled about.

You learn those scars also litter his torso from the time you accidentally walked upon him mid-way through putting his trousers on after washing in the river. It’d been too dark for you to see much else, and you quickly returned to camp before he could say something that would embarrass you both.

Then, of course, tucked away into your bedroll, you can’t help wondering what the rest of him would have looked like if you had stayed a second longer.

If his jaw is sharp or soft behind that mask he insists on wearing—that’s if he’d let you see at all.

Simon’s always so serious that it’s often hard to determine whether he’s merely tolerating your existence until he can get rid of you or if he’s unused to traveling accompanied for so long. It’s not as if he goes out of his way to make pleasant conversation with you for you to assume otherwise.

You look off in the direction where he disappeared into the dense line of trees hours ago, wondering if you should go out looking for him (mainly because you’re hot and sticky from the humidity) despite his order to stay put.

But after four hours turns into five, you head off, searching for something to help cool you off.

Luckily, unlike the heavily eroded lands you’re used to, there isn’t any water shortage in a place that sees rain three times a day, so it doesn’t take long to find a lake. You set your knife down on the stone-covered beach, followed by your boots, until you’re left in nothing but your undergarments.

The water is icy cold and laps gently at your feet when you step in. You can’t find it in you to complain as the heat from the day slowly washes away the further you walk in and find a wide ledge to sit on.

Your thoughts drift back to Simon, incessant and intruding even though you shouldn’t be thinking about him while wet and naked. And suddenly, you can picture it: his hands replacing yours as they trace along your neck. You have a feeling they’re probably rough and scarred from years of living hard and gunslinging, extracting the readily available knowledge that they’re big enough to encase your waist.

He could maneuver you around however he wants (you know this), and you feel dizzy just thinking about it.

Sighing, you sink deeper into the water while your hands smooth over the tips of your breasts and down your stomach.

You wish you could see him without violating whatever personal preservations hide him from the rest of the world. Instead, you’re left with your imagination—the benefits of being a married woman and the little experience you have in the bedroom finally coming into play.

Closing your eyes, you picture what he might look like under those sun-weathered leathers, knowing that the broadness of his shoulders isn’t only due to his vest and holsters but also from how his job has shaped him.

Your hands travel lower, fingers brushing through the creamy, soft wetness between your legs, evidence of what Simon does to you even when he’s not around. A moan, too high and breathy, slips past your lips as you use your middle finger to circle your clit in slow, clumsy swirls from lack of practice and patience that spreads warmth through your middle despite the cold water.

It’s good, your fingers discovering places your husband always ignored—too many nights spent with your hand under your nightgown long after he’d tucked his cock away and gone to sleep—but probably don’t compare to the ones you’ve caught yourself staring at far too many times.

They don’t fill you nearly enough, unlike how you know Simon’s would—thick and unrelenting. Rough and long, reaching deep enough to make you breathless.

Your breath hitches from pinching the tight, sensitive peak of your nipple until you feel a slight sting, and then it slips out, a tiny thing that’s only audible to your ears—Simon—a secret you now share with the lightning bugs and crickets.

“Dirty, no good rotten—” he’d tell you for thinking such lewd thoughts about him, for sinning so easily. Maybe you are, for getting so worked up over a man who isn’t your husband (no matter how terrible a husband he may be).

A man who’s so big that he makes you feel small, the type that gives before he takes. It’s enough to make you work your hand faster—your body vibrating from the chill of the water and the ache between your trembling thighs.

Fantasies aren’t enough to sate the deep longing in your chest. Yet you’re slipping over the edge of ecstasy before taking your next breath—all of it builds up and gradually crests inside you like the lake rippling against the shore.

Afterward, it leaves you feeling soft and blurred around the edges, a watercolor painting drying under the sun while you wait for your rapid heartbeat to slow.

You don’t realize your eyes have fallen shut until they flutter open, and you’re startled to find Simon standing at the shoreline, his chest heaving as if he ran here.

(Though he probably did to see if you took the opportunity to leave.)

You’re glued to your spot on the rock, suddenly struck with the mortifying realization that he’d seen you come—that he possibly heard you cry out his name so intimately.

You watch him remove his hat and hang it on a branch with wide eyes. Followed by his undershirt, guns, and—

He keeps removing clothes until he’s completely naked on the shore—aside from his face that stays hidden—scars marred his chest, spreading to his collarbones and below the water as he steps into the lake and sits on another ledge across from you.

His mask makes him look more menacing, erasing any trace of softness there. And you wonder if he’s angry at you for wandering off.

"Come here." His voice is low and deep, rumbling in his chest.

You don't think he'd hurt you. If he wanted to, he would have done it by now.

At least, that’s what you’re going with to settle the nervous fluttering in your middle.

Water laps at your arms as you wade through the water, each shaky step bringing you closer until you stop before him.

"In my lap."

Your breath sticks in your throat as you do as he says, settling down onto his sturdy thighs, palms falling flat against his broad chest. That same breath comes out in one large exhale as his fingers slide along your jaw, to the nape of your neck, curling into your hair, wet and falling around your shoulders.

“Like this?” you ask, trying to ignore how breathy you sound.

He grunts, apparently in confirmation.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so conflicted in your life—fear and arousal turning into a messy cocktail in your veins.

“Why do I always have to use a heavy hand to make you listen?”

Your lips part. Breath growing short. “I’m sorry.”

And then—

Simon pulls your head back sharply, exposing your throat.

Your body goes slack against his. Mind blissfully blank.

“No,” he says, tone flat. “But you will be.”

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