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yieldtotemptation · 1 month ago

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ANACHRONISM ft. Mina

mina x male reader smut

part one of strange currencies

14k words

Go ahead, try and pretend like any of this happened by accident.

Like you totally didn’t mean to charm some poor, pretty little thing; dazzle her with the wealth, the fame, the you of it all.

Have her spreading her legs for you, bunching her dress up over her thighs, serving herself up like she’s one of those ludicrously expensive banquets you frequent, pleading—

"God, I need you inside me, like, right this fucking second."

Because here’s the truth of it all, what you’ve come to realise about this woman who has never once in her entire life been reduced to something as pithy as poor or pretty or little; let alone anything short of extraordinary. This wildly successful, elegant to the point of being untouchable, and just really, really fucking gorgeous idol:

Nothing about Myoui Mina is accidental.

Even all this—her idea: showing up at your suite uninvited, leaning against the doorframe, panties hanging off her fingertips. Showing off how ridiculously drenched she is for you and how badly she wants you to do something about it.

If only these walls could talk.

“Hurry up,” she’s gritting out. Deadlocking the door behind her. Still not used to waiting for anything, apparently. “Come on, I need your cum. Anywhere you like. Just inside me. Now.”

You should be more surprised. Instead, you’re laughing. “Patience, darling.”

A step forward, pants hitting the floor, cock in hand. Running the tip of it across her folds, making it shiny with her slick, forcing this sigh from her lips.

You pause, just to make her whine. To make her give you what you really want to hear.

Mina bites her lip.

Squeezes her eyes shut.

She knows the deal.

"Please."

That word, that crack in the composure, the control that Mina is so used to maintaining everywhere else but here. It’s the thrill of it all—the challenge in the attempt. Taking someone like Mina, all perfect posture, sparkling teeth, effortless grace; and bringing her to her knees.

Figuratively speaking, mostly.

Only, her phone lights up.

You look down and see it, left abandoned on the floor somewhere in Mina’s rush to get to you. But now its glow is stark against the dark parquet, beaming with messages by the dozen. All different variations on the same question: where the fuck is she?

Her eyes flicker to the screen, then back up to yours. There's a silent conversation happening there—desire fighting with duty, lust with loyalty.

You make it easy for her.

A push is all it takes, really. Cunt yielding to your will, cock sliding into that ridiculous tightness.

She freezes.

Braces herself.

Whimpers.

“Priorities, Mina,” you grunt through it, breaching in deeper; assaulted by the heat of her cunt around you, choking each inch. “Remember, you asked for this.”

The phone keeps buzzing, panicked vibrations at your feet. Urgent messages becoming calls, flashing faces across the screen. You can see them one-by-one, see Mina’s reaction as they pop up—sighing when she sees her managers name, eyes widening when a rather flirty photo of Chaeyoung comes next, and then her entire body tensing, tightening around you at the next picture:

Her and her boyfriend, arms thrown around each other, both looking all beautiful and famous and so very much in love. The perfect couple; so picturesque it might as well have come right off a billboard.

“God, fuck,” Mina groans out, panting, breathless. “You’d think they’d—ah—just leave me alone for one—single—night—”

“Should we snap some photos? Add them all to a group chat, send them through? Let them see the look on your face and figure it out from there.”

Mischief flashes across her eyes, mouth open to answer back with something that is no doubt clever and suggestive and designed to get you both into far more trouble than you’re already in—but she doesn’t get a word of it out.

You’re slamming into her.

Mina nearly comes apart then and there; eyes snapping shut, neck arching, back banging against the hard, unforgiving wood of the door behind her. Her lips round into this perfect ‘O’ of surprise, and this sweet, sweet needy whine comes slipping out from her throat.

And just like that, she’s all yours again.

It’s not like the phone goes silent—it just stops mattering.

“Asshole,” she’s saying—grinning now, doing that Mina thing where she says one thing but means another, expecting you to read the underneath. Which this time is—touch me, pull me close, pin me and keep me fucking trapped while you fuck the air right out of my lungs.

“Now there’s an idea.” You’re kissing her, tongue past her lips, tasting the rush of the forbidden, the lines she’s crossing just so she can have you filling up her cunt.

And there’s all this noise—the sound of your cock thrusting into her, skin against skin, shaft into wetness; the buzzing of the phone, her cries of your name dying in your mouth.

Oh, you know it’s going to be brutal if anyone was to overhear, if you’re caught and all this gets out. The narratives that will be crafted, the cliché of it all, the sizzling hot headlines that will undoubtedly paint her, as they are wont to do, in a million different unfair ways.

Seductress. Gold-digger. Slut.

But even as you’re fucking her deep, lips marking up her skin, digging your fingers into the meat of her ass and making Mina cum so hard that all she can say is— “please, please, please,”

—you know the facts, no matter who’s begging who under the shine of the outrageously garish chandelier hanging overhead:

You're the one that chased her first.

—

(It’s incredibly fitting that this whole thing started with a celebration.)

—

Taking a step back, to months earlier, at a gala:

Where it’s becoming apparent to you, and seemingly, just you, that Mina’s the only one here that doesn’t look entirely out of place.

Or at least, she’s the only one that seems to fit amongst the grandeur; the imposing pillars and archways, the ornate cornices, the glint of gold and jade beneath the soft glow of paper lanterns, and the shadow of the palace itself, cast over the sprawling garden like a looming guardian.

The anachronism of it all is the concept, or so you’ve been told. The new, the future—your company—against the backdrop of the old, the traditional. A fusion event, meant to celebrate and honour the past right before yanking it to the future; and yet it all somehow feels so…

Boring.

The same faces, the same games; sharks in a sea of corporate sabotage and political machinations. They’ll smile for you, sing your praises to the highest heavens, do everything they can to make you remember their name—right up until the moment you show your back.

All this to say, it’s going to be very hard to last four hours without wanting to punch someone in the face just to make things slightly more interesting.

(Oh come, one and all. Throw yourselves at the feet of Korea’s youngest self-made billionaire, and hope that by some stroke of luck or misplaced charm, you might just catch a crumb from his table.

That’s what this whole exhausting circus feels like to you.)

So, when you’re about done with what seems like the hundredth round of fake laughs and vacuous pleasantries with yet another politician who’s trying to sell you on the importance of family, and coincidentally, his very marriageable daughter, you make your escape.

Something about needing a drink.

Ease out of the circle, let the noise of the gala swallow you up like you were never there, and navigate across the garden to the bar.

Where you find her.

Mina, something of an anachronism herself; looking more at home amongst the pagodas and the cherry blossoms than in the company of suits and ties and plastic smiles. Like she’s been painted onto the scene; rendered in living colour—stark white, midnight black, blue silk. Or cobalt. Maybe azure.

You’ll have to reserve some time later to ask her about the colour of her dress.

What’s important is that she’s alone, which seems like a crime in and of itself, on account of, well, how fucking breathtaking she is. Add that she’s here at all, and it all amounts to some kind of serendipitous miracle.

(An idol, a celebrity, willingly spending her free time in the company of the elitist dregs of society? The world's gone mad.)

You don’t really need an excuse to join her; you know her, technically. Not intimately, but in that same way that everyone in this high society tapestry is threaded together. An award show here, a charity function there—the kind of acquaintance that lets you say hello without raising eyebrows, but not much more.

All this to say it makes some sense to slide yourself onto the barstool to her right, ignoring that the rest are completely unoccupied.

The smile that Mina gives you as you approach is a little sharper than it needs to be, a little too knowing.

“You’re not going to ask if this seat’s taken?”

You return the smile, a mirror image of hers, and lean onto the bar. You don’t even need to look at the bartender; your drink is in your hand, cold and crisp, the second you set it down. “I thought I’d risk it.”

“Neat trick,” Mina says, posting her chin on one hand, watching the sleek liquid slide down your throat. She’s got a flute of champagne in front of her, untouched.

There’s a gravity to her, you’re realising only when you’re this close. Something in the way the moonlight's kissing her skin, a blend of porcelain and peaches, glowing. Maybe that’s why she’s been left alone; the other guests were smart enough not to get swallowed up in it all. Better to appreciate at a distance than to drown in it.

She regards you for a beat, runs a finger around the rim of her glass. "Shouldn't you be off being the centre of attention somewhere? Shaking hands, kissing babies, that whole bag?”

“Nah," you’re dismissive, looking back out to the crowd milling about, lost in their own conversations and power plays. "This whole thing's more for them than it is for me."

Mina scoffs. Raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. You follow her eyes—across the banners, the placards, the giant projection cast onto the palace itself.

A brushstroke circle—the logo you designed—swirling around, stamping itself on what was once a symbol of absolute power, now reduced to just another stage for the rich and the elite and all their insignificant little games.

You feel the need to clarify. “For the company.”

Mina ripostes. “That just so happens to be named after you.”

“Just one of those funny coincidences.”

“Apparently so.”

It does occur to you that it should be somewhat startling how instantly familiar you feel around Mina. Slipping into casual conversation—light jabs, coded compliments; all soaked in insinuation. Just enough edge and implication to keep you on your toes.

There's an ease to her, to how she smiles, how she laughs, how she just sits there, all drop-dead gorgeous and oh, this? Nothing special, just how I always am.

So it’s only natural that somewhere in all this easy banter, between your third drink and her second, her hand lands on your forearm, your knee brushes against hers and you both decide to stop being so subtle.

You pick your moment, as she’s thumbing through a menu of drinks she’s already deciding she doesn’t want, to try to solve the mystery of her. Past the red of her lips, the edge of her jaw, the hollow of her throat. Along the neckline of her dress, where the silk clings like it’s afraid of letting go, and down to where it dips and angles out; the open shoulder, the collarbone, the swell underneath.

It’s the sum of it all, you’re realising. The dress, the look, the woman.

(Accentuate without revealing. Tease without giving away the prize. Show off that flawless ass and dare the world not to look. And yeah, they fucking look. They all do.

You’re just the only one that doesn’t look away when you're caught.)

But now, you could reach out and touch her; unlatch the straps of her heels, run your fingers from her ankle up, up over the smooth expanse of her calf, her knee, the bare skin of her thigh right where her dress decides to daringly split, and underneath, until your hand is filled with the heat of her and all she knows is you.

You could complete her. Or she, you, you think.

Only, there’s a slight misstep in an otherwise immaculate ensemble.

A necklace.

A ridiculous, ugly, tacky thing. Hanging off her like a misplaced jewel on a swan; more ‘costume party’ than ‘refined modern gala’. Fighting the simplicity of her gown, offensively jarring, especially against the serenity of the moonlit garden.

Mina notices you staring. “A gift.”

“Boyfriend,” you realise, doing the math in your head. A careless present, given by someone who doesn’t know (or doesn’t care to know) her. Hoping the flash, the dollars spent overshadows the unfamiliarity.

(It doesn’t.)

“Partner,” Mina confirms. There’s a slight dip at the corner of her mouth, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flash of something unpleasant. It disappears as soon as it comes, but you caught it. “A little too old to have a boyfriend.”

“Hm.” You click your tongue. Narrow your eyes. You’ve been told that it makes you appear disarming. “And where is this partner?”

Mina’s smile returns. She takes her first sip of champagne. “You tell me. Don’t you sign off on all the invites?”

“Just the important ones.”

“Even so, not like he would have come if he was invited.” Mina leaves you to fill in the gaps. “A tad too public. For the both of us, really.”

“I see.”

And you do. You’ve seen your fair share of these types of arrangements, participated in a few, even. At the beginning, the secret of it all, the cloak and dagger; it’s exhilarating. But that only lasts so long. Eventually, like all things, it fades. Leaving you with someone who you don’t really see, who you don’t even know, and the sinking realisation that maybe the thrill was the only thing that kept it interesting.

“So,” you lean forward, drawing your conclusion. “You’re here. All alone. Stuck in a relationship with someone dumb enough to let you go out looking like that.”

“Careful.”

“It’s just,” you offer, your gaze lingering on her throat, “You don’t strike me as the type to settle for anything less than you deserve, Mina.”

That makes Mina pause. Almost flinch. Imperceptibly if you weren’t looking so closely at her lips. The sound of her name rolling off your tongue, like it's always been there, waiting to escape—it has her reeling.

And yet, somehow, she recovers.

“Because you know me so well.”

So, you switch up, throw a curveball. “Is it the sex?”

To her credit, Mina barely reacts to that provocation, as if she was expecting the follow up. Just takes another sip of her champagne with a grace that seems rehearsed. You’ll have to try harder.

She shrugs a bare shoulder.

"Sex is just sex. It’s not everything."

“So, no sex at all, then.”

Mina’s smile is like a knife’s edge. “Are you always this forward?”

“All I’m saying,” you keep going, somewhat emboldened by the game, by the warmth of the whiskey poisoning your kidneys. “If it was me—”

Mina’s hand slides up your forearm, ending somewhere around your triceps. You’re close. Close enough to inhale her perfume; cinnamon, smoke, darker than anticipated. You’d fill your lungs with it, if you could. “If it was you.”

You take another drink. She watches.

And it clicks into place. What this really is. What she’s really doing here.

The slight tilt of her shoulder, a slip of her dress—just a fraction. A shift in her seat and suddenly, the silk has risen, too high, and there’s a stretch of skin leading up to a flash of lace that’s more moonlit than the night itself.

The suspicion sets in. Was she waiting for you?

Mina laughs.

You ask, “What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking,” Mina says, lowly. Grinning, like she’s reading your mind. “How even you’re the same.”

“How so?”

“All you men. How you see me, how you’re looking at me right now.” She reaches up to her neck, taps the clunky stone hovering over her throat. Once. Twice. “Making it about you. You think I need saving.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Open once more to protest—

“That’s what you think.” Mina interrupts, smirks; and your eyes are on her lips, wondering if anyone would be able to pull you off them if you were so lucky enough to taste them. “What you want is to own me.”

“Mina,” you regard her, openly. Honestly. “I could never dream of owning you.”

She nods back towards your logo, emblazoned across the castle walls. “Because you’re clearly not the type of person that likes owning things.”

And there’s a realisation here, as she’s staring into your eyes—a real, actual, bone-deep revelation—that she's been doing the same thing as you this whole time. Reading you, until she's seeing through you.

The silence stretches, thick and sweet , and it’s obvious to see where this is heading. The idea that’s being sparked—lean in, kiss her right here, right now, with all these eyes on you. Kiss that smirk right off her face, steal whatever clever rebuttals she’s composing from her lips, the flirtations that she’s left hanging in the air. Replace them all with your name.

But it’s all hypothetical, for now.

“You’re not even thinking past right now, are you?” Mina asks, amused. "The rumours you've started just by sitting next to me."

"Rumours."

"The kind that ruins careers. That never leave. That would make him want to kill you if he found out."

Another sip, letting it burn down your throat. Think about it. Attack it from every angle—

(Doesn’t it just make sense; the billionaire, and his beautiful celebrity partner? Or even if there was a scandal, just a one-night fling; wouldn’t it be worth it?

You could both live off the thrill alone, it’d reignite whatever embers her boyfriend hasn’t stomped out yet.)

“Maybe I want the rumours.”

Mina’s eyes widen. It’s the first time she’s dropped her guard.

“If you were mine,” you start, and stop immediately, reining in that last word on the tip of your tongue. “If you were my girlfriend, partner, whatever label you want to put on it. I’d tell the whole damn world. Broadcast it on every channel. Make sure everyone knows exactly who I’m fucking every single morning, afternoon, night.”

You’re hitting the mark of something, you can tell, because Mina’s hand tightens around your arm, and she doesn't seem to mind when yours lands on her thigh. A flash; the thought of spreading them, of seeing her laid bare underneath you. Or flipped over in front of you, crumpling that dress around her waist, so you can take proper purchase of that ass that’s been hinted at all night long.

And all of a sudden, she doesn't seem to be as spoken for as she might have led you to believe.

She bites her lip. Keeps it there for a second, two, before letting it go.

“So, this is what you usually say to all the pretty girls you invite to these parties?”

The alcohol’s loosened your tongue enough to state truths you’re supposed to keep to yourself. “I usually don’t have to say anything at all.”

Mina challenges. “Must be nice, being this rich, cute, and charming.”

“The being rich part does a lot of the hard work.”

“So, the cuteness and the charm?”

“I’ll let you decide,” you finish, watching her smile spread, the corners of her eyes crinkle. It makes your chest tighten.

“I suppose, in your perfect world,” Mina surmises, and now she’s so close that your knee is splitting the difference between her thighs, and you’re already planning the logistics of it all—the where, the how— “this ends with you fucking my brains out behind one of these old houses.”

“I’ve got a few in mind.”

“I bet.” Mina takes one last pull of her drink, empties it, and sets it back down. “And afterwards? After you’ve made me forget my own name and made the entirety of my existence revolve around your cock—what’s your plan then? Who are we—who are you going to be?"

You finish off your own glass, setting it down with the same deliberate clink as hers. “You know, the funny thing about money is," you say, sliding your fingers up her thigh, higher, higher. "It can make you whoever you want to be. So, the real question is—who do you want me to be?"

You’re holding your breath as she answers: “Not some knight in shining armour. I don’t need a saviour. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Then what do you need?”

Mina inches, gets close, and now her breath’s a tickle on the shell of your ear. She bites. “Just someone to help me scratch an itch.”

There’s a moment, somewhere before Mina threads her fingers through yours, lets you lead her through the throngs of guests and into the shadows of the palace; where all of this—this want, this need, boils over. Where Mina kisses your cheek and warns:

“You don’t have the time for me.”

Now it’s your turn to grin; reaching up to her throat, slipping that necklace off her, leaving it to clatter onto the granite below never to be spoken of again.

“Maybe. But I can make every second count.”

—

This is how you end up:

Pinning Mina to some ancient wall; the moon’s spotlight spilling over the contours of her body, a hand tangled in her hair, the other pushing her dress higher up her thighs.

You weren’t lying, you did have a place in mind. Namely, by the west gate, where a house that used to be the servant’s quarters stood. It’s a part of the palace that’s been neglected in the reconstruction, and thus, ironically, the most authentic part of this whole sham.

A true hideaway for those not to be seen or heard; a building that’s seen centuries of service, of lives lived in the shadow of royalty, and now it’s going to bear witness to this, to you and Mina, undoing each other with every passing second.

Something a little sacred, a whole lot profane.

She’s smiling against your lips; a smirk, more likely. Because she’s new to this kind of thing—the almost romantic picture the two of you are painting—chaste kisses stolen in quiet corners of royal residences. The kind of thing that could fuel a dozen dramas.

But you both know better.

So, you let her start things off, let her set the pace for this evening's affairs. And Mina, to her credit, is gracious enough to tell you exactly what she wants.

(Kiss me harder, touch me here, please, please, don't let go.)

Twisting the lapels of your jacket in her hand, desperately pulling you closer, even though there's no more room left. Kissing you with longing. Making you believe that she's missed this—missed you—despite the fact that you've only just officially met. And sure, it's a lie, but it's a lie that feels so good, so right, that you’re willing to indulge her.

Indulge yourself.

Your lips veer off the corner of her mouth, ignoring the tongue and teeth that try to keep you there, the hand that kindly urges you to not stop kissing her.

Because you’ve got a ticking clock in the back of your mind, counting down the seconds before someone calls you or her away, or more problematically, catches you and her, a heap of limbs and lust and fucking in the dusty archives of history.

You break away, keep things moving, kiss your way along her neck, feel her heartbeat drum against your lips. Follow her neckline down, down; find this sweet little spot, a darkened freckle right on top of her collarbone that makes her sigh.

“Tell me something, honestly.” Mina finds her voice the same time your fingers meet the promised lace of her underwear, turning her words into these breathless moans. “How often do you do this?”

You tug the fabric pooling at her waist—once, firmly—and Mina’s dress slips from her shoulders, whispering down her arms and leaving her in nothing but flawless white and a strapless bra that matches the silk in hue.

You smile, look up. “This?”

Mina clarifies, "Whisk some innocent girl away into a deserted corner and—"

She’s cut off by the click-clack of her bra releasing behind her back, your fingers slipping beneath the cotton, and you’re filling your hand with the swell of her breast; so soft, so perfect.

The sound when you touch her and she gasps; if only you could capture, keep it forever. You’ll just have to make sure she keeps making it—kneading gently, rolling the pebbled peak of her nipple between your thumb and forefinger, feeling it bead and tighten.

Your lips to her shoulder, you ask, “And what?”

Mina sighs, “fuck her completely, thoroughly senseless,” and you swear there’s something revelatory about how she says it—sinful ideas from saintly lips.

"Honestly?" You pause, your gaze lingering on the goosebumps rising across her skin. "You're the first."

Her laughter's a surprise; it's light, disbelieving. "First?"

"First tonight."

Mina's smile widens, her grip on your jacket tightens. "You're so full of shit," she says, but there's no malice in it. Just the thrill of the hunt. Or, being hunted.

You don’t bother to argue the point; let her think what she wants. Instead, you lean into it (into her), let your other hand snake around her thigh, over the elastic of her panties and lower, until you’re palming the curve of her ass.

Firm, taut, flawless—because of course it is; exactly like the rest of her. She’s so hot under your touch; the softness, the smoothness of it. And you know—without a doubt—you’re going to worship this ass.

A squeeze for good measure—balancing the fine line of respect and greed. Mina yelps—surprise, pleasure.

“God,” Mina shudders, does her best under the assault of your lips on her neck, fingers pinching, tugging, hand squeezing. "You're—oh, you're not so bad at this."

You press a kiss to her throat. “Flattery gets you everywhere, Miss Myoui.”

“Please, not with the government names,” Mina hisses, her cheeks flushing a soft pink that matches the glow of the lanterns outside.

“Apologies.” You chuckle, slipping your hand underneath the band of her panties, and around—down—pressing against her and sinking lower until you’ve got a proper hold of her. Soaking wet and dripping heat onto your fingertips.

A cry from her lips. A shiver. A buck of her hips.

Her hands shoot to your chest.

“Please, kiss me again.”

You oblige—how could you not, with the way she’s begging?

Her nails dig into your shirt, her breath hitches as you push your finger—your index—past her entrance and inside, and just before she can moan your name into the night air, you’re filling her mouth with your tongue, licking inside.

You kiss her like it’s your first kiss, like it’s your last. Like the only way to calm her down is with your mouth and your tongue and your teeth. She’s so wet and tight and pulsing around you, she’s trying to suck you in; and fuck, when you’re knuckle-deep she bites down on your lip so hard she nearly draws blood.

The moans that she's filling your mouth with; this symphony of want sends a jolt of pure, unfiltered desire straight to your cock. You're straining—against your trousers, against her thigh, straining against the urge to rip that dress off her and leave her bare, but you're not there yet.

It's about her, about needing her, making her beg for it. Making her so desperate that she'll do just about anything to get you inside her.

(Because there’s something about her, about Mina, that just makes you want to take your time. To learn the ins and outs of what makes her tick. The secret spots that make her moan into your mouth, the places to touch that make her shiver, the sighs and sounds that only you can coax out of her.

It’s etched into every line of her body; every curve and sharp edge—just pure heat from head to toe; And there’s a beauty so absolute in her perfection, the dash of makeup, the careful draping of her hair, it’s too good not to ruin. To not want to leave your mark on her in some way so that everyone knows she was once yours, if only for a night.)

“You’re just so needy, Mina.” You hum into her jaw, when your lips slip from hers and you struggle to resist the urge to leave these marks on her. Her cheek, her neck, her collarbone. Every part of her that she’s offered to you, every part you’re eager to claim. “Like it’s been ages since someone’s touched you like this.”

“I don’t—please—” is all Mina can manage, because the pad of your thumb is ghosting over her clit, pressing in and circling, and the way her pitch rises and she sighs your name gives you your answer:

It’s been a while.

“I don’t think—gah—” She tries agin, but you torture her with another finger, stretching inside her, sinking in and curling upwards. “I don’t think I’ve ever been touched like this.”

“Good,” you tell her, and she shivers when your voice rumbles through her, when you drop down and your lips go low again, and you take one of her stiff peaks between your teeth. “I don’t settle for second place.”

“Neither do—God—I—” Mina braces herself against the wall behind her, failing to find anything but cold brick to hold onto as you map out the rest of her with your hands and your fingers and your lips.

She’s so, so hot for you; you would’ve never predicted it, not in your wildest estimations. Never thought just how easy it would be to undo someone so poised and put-together like Mina, to render her into this puddle of need.

“So why don’t you show me then,” Mina breathes, voice trembling as much as she is. You suck deep, swirl your tongue, make her arch her back to push more of herself into you. “What all the—oh my—what all the fuss is about."

“As you wish, darling.”

And there’s part of you that’s recognising the awfulness of what you’re doing, taking something—someone—that’s not yours, and having her tell you all these things, finger fucking these words of oblivion from her lips, touch me, please I need it, kiss me harder, more, more, make me feel it, make me feel you.

But even that part of you is so, so small right now, buried deep down with everything that isn’t Mina, with everything that isn’t her pussy clenching around your hand, or the taste of tits on your tongue.

Ignore all thoughts of the after, of what happens when you’ve made her cum again and again, and you’ve wrecked yourself in the pursuit of it all. What happens when you return to the throngs of nobodies, all rumpled and flushed and red, and the whispers start flying, and the glances are no longer just knowing but shamelessly envious.

That’s a problem for future you.

Right now, you’ve nearly stripped her entirely, pressed up against a wall that’s seen more than its fair share of secrets, and your two—now three—fingers are ruining her in a way that has her dancing on that borderline.

“I’m close, so close,” Mina cries, but you already know.

Because you’re already giving it to her; everything she wants and then some. Touching her, fucking her with your fingers, pushing her higher, watching her unravel.

Making her whine against your skin, making her eyes squeeze shut like she’s afraid of what’s happening, afraid of how much she wants this.

“We’re only just getting started, Mina.”

You let her nipple pop out from your mouth, leaving it to bob in the cool night air, sensitive and dying to be back between your teeth. Hand shifts from her hip, sliding up to cradle her jaw, to tip her face back—force those deep, dark eyes to open so you can really look at her.

Panting, pupils blown wide, and the sight of her so undone sends another wave of heat straight to your cock.

“Look at me.” It comes out harsher, more of a firm command than intended. It does its job. “You're going to cum now.”

She nods, frantically, eyes locked on yours as your thumb traces over her bottom lip, feeling it plump and swollen from your kisses. Her tongue darts out, swipes over the pad, tasting herself and you; and you’re thinking about filling that mouth of hers, or maybe that cunt, or if she’s game, that tight, untouched little asshole.

But one thing at a time.

“I’m going to eat your pussy,” you’re saying everything you’ve dreamt of saying to her since you first saw her, first caught sight of that ass daring to wander past your line of sight; and suddenly, every raw, filthy thought you’ve had of her is coming to the surface. “Then I’m going to fuck you. Again and again. Your cunt, your mouth. That ass. I’m going to take it all. And you’re going to let me, aren’t you, darling?”

Mina breathes, nods, signing a verbal contract to let you do whatever the fuck you want with her, promising you all of her, every part of her you’ve so shamelessly craved.

“Good.”

And so, you drop to your knees.

You glance up at her. She looks down at you.

Like she’s been burning for this; like she’ll combust if you make her wait a second longer.

Pushing her dress up until it's around her waist, keeping it up with your hands on her thighs, spreading her legs wider. And you’re seeing her pussy, the darkened, plump flesh—bare, wet, begging—and so, so pretty.

Fuck—what kind of guy could resist this?

(The kind that buys her jewellery without knowing the first thing about her. The kind that leaves her to sit alone at a gala like a trophy on a shelf. The kind that doesn’t get to taste her—doesn’t know how.

The kind that’s not you.

And maybe she was right—you do think you could save her.)

“What are you doing?” Mina huffs, impatient.

You smirk, unable to resist the urge to drag this out, to keep her on edge a little longer. "Just appreciating."

Mina's eyes narrow, but the smile never leaves her lips. "Well, appreciate faster."

You don’t need to be told twice.

Take her by the hips, spin her around, make her inhale—sharp. Force her to look away from you, to face the cold, indifferent wall, to brace herself.

“Wait, why—”

“Hold your dress up for me,” you mumble against her thighs.

Mina’s hands obey, holding the silk out of the way; and now she’s bent over, like a fucking present. Letting your eyes drink in her ass; unable to do anything but just stare.

How the moonlight kisses the curve, makes the shadows play against it. So perfect. So round and tight and full. Fruit so ripe you could pluck it from the tree with your teeth.

You’re leaning in, kissing the top of her thighs, right below where her cheeks spill over. Kissing up, a soft press of your lips to one cheek, the other, and fuck Mina’s trembling; barely holding it together, and you’re just getting started.

You drag your nose up, across the cotton of her panties and inhale her deep. Sweet and musky, a fine wine that’s been left to breathe, and she squirms.

Shivers under your breath.

And when Mina sighs something that sounds suspiciously like a warning—because she’s not the type to let you get away with anything like this so easily—you take the band of her underwear with your teeth, feeling the fabric stretch. Thin, delicate, begging to snap.

The panties fall away, down to her ankles. The sound of her heels tapping the ground as she lifts her legs to let it slide off, leaving her bare, vulnerable, and yours.

Mina goes still.

Hands spread her cheeks, and finally, you dive in, tongue first. Swipe along the crevice of her ass, taste the sweetness of her from bottom to top, forcing this gasp from her lips. You’re not shy about it—no room for anything close to it when your nose is pressed up against her asshole—and Mina’s thighs are trembling, muscles in her legs tightening like she’s trying to run away from what’s coming next.

But she won’t. You’ve got her pinned. You’ve got her right where she wants to be.

You flatten your tongue against her pussy, lick from cunt to asshole in one, long slow drag, make her sigh your name like it’s a prayer.

“I can’t believe—I never—no one’s ever—” She’s talking, trying to keep it together, trying to rationalise how something so filthy is making her fall apart in a million different, tremendous ways. But the words break off into moans, pure music to your ears.

“Like that?” You murmur against her skin, words disappearing into her.

“Oh my god, yes,” Mina cries out, a benediction. Her grip tightens on her dress, holding it up like a veil. A fucked-up kind of thing, marrying her cunt to your lips; arousal so potent you’re drowning it.

Because she’s a wreck, been a wreck since the moment you laid a hand on her. And now you just have to keep her there.

You let your tongue slide up and down her slit, teasing the folds, going lower, spreading her legs to lap up her clit until she’s begging for it—until she’s begging for you to push inside, to fuck her with it, to make her scream.

"Enjoy it, enjoy being so messy for me.”

"Oh—oh my God!" Mina cries out as you delve into her, and the sound echoes down empty corridors, bouncing off the walls, taking a grand tour of the palace. “I can’t believe—can’t fucking believe—"

You can't believe it either. That no one else has had the pleasure of tasting, of licking, of dining on this slice of Eden laid out before you. It's a crime against nature, really. A sin that you're more than happy to rectify.

"Fuck, you're so good," Mina voice is strained, her legs buckling under the weight of her own desire, she needs to post one hand onto the wall to not completely collapse into your mouth.

A dark chuckle escapes your lips. Feeling smug and utterly in control. "It's not rocket science, darling. Just a little bit of appreciation goes a long way."

But you're not just tonguing her ass because it’s there, because it’s what you’re into. You’re doing it because it’s driving her wild, because you know it’s a button that’s been left untouched, unexplored. And there’s something about being the first to do it that makes your cock throb, makes you want to worship not just her ass, but all of her.

Every part of her that's been neglected, overlooked, ignored.

"You have no idea," she breathes, her legs trembling harder now, "How good it feels."

You lean back, just a fraction, looking up at her, the tension coiling up her spine. "Oh, darling," you say, "I do. Believe me, I do."

A kiss into the small of her back, and you slide your finger back into her, once at first. So impossibly wet, stretching so easily for you, welcoming you right back in.

It’s all for you.

And you can’t get enough, so you add another, then another, stretching her even more, making her drench you and moan for you louder and louder.

You’ve figured it out. How to fuck her, lick her, press into her cunt just right. Finding the rhythm, that makes her breath skip and her body tense, that makes her pussy clamp down around your digits.

“Oh, God, oh, oh, oh—yes—right there—right there—” She’s panting, her hips jerking back, meeting every thrust of your fingers and your tongue.

You’re so close to making her cum—so close that you can almost taste it on the air—and she’s begging for it, so sweetly, so desperately.

“Please, please, don’t stop, I’m right there—” Mina’s hand reaches back, tangling in your hair, and she’s pulling you closer, grinding herself against your mouth.

Bury your face between her cheeks, fuck her fast with your fingers. It’s heaven down in the depths of hell; her thighs, her cheeks, her cunt, her ass. So soft, so wet, so very yours.

That whimper, that beautiful sigh that escapes Mina’s lips is her final invitation. You push your tongue inside her, opening it up, feeling the tightness, the warmth. The shock coursing through her as she surrenders to the unspeakable filth and bliss of your mouth on her asshole.

So tight, so clean, so delicious.

You lick and suck and kiss, fucking her with your fingers, pressing into her, exploring the depths of that tight little hole.

"This is, this is—” her voice strains, wonder, desperation, downright heat at what you’re doing to her. "No one’s ever done this to me. Keep eating my ass, please."

It’s her words that keeps you going, and it all becomes a blur of moans and shivers, of the way she tastes, smells, feels. But you don’t stop, you can’t, all you want to do is make that tight ring of muscle yours.

“Please let me cum. Now. Please. I need it—I need you—”

She needs you to never stop.

You take her, right there in the moonlit garden, hidden by the shadows and the foliage and the silk of her dress. You can almost feel the vibrations of her voice in your mouth, against your tongue, like it’s a part of her, like she’s speaking straight into your soul with every moan and gasp and plea.

The squelch of your fingers fucking her. Her cunt griping you, being devoured. Your tongue invading her ass. The way you’re ruining her for everyone else. Her cries.

She’s so loud.

It doesn’t matter.

The whispers of the gala seem so far away, so irrelevant. It’s all about Mina and her ass and your three fingers sawing in and out of her and she’s saying—

“God, fuck, how can you do this, how can you make me—fuck—"

The answer to her unfinished question: it’s because she’s worth it. It’s because of her, how she makes you want to prove yourself. Because of her hips and her thighs and her cunt and her ass and all of her, every single part.

And that’s your name on her breath, that’s your name when she’s close, that’s your name when she finally tips over, when her legs give way and she’s gasping it into the night.

“Oh my—”

Mina cums.

You swallow.

Drink your fill from her cunt, fill up your nose with her scent. Burn the memory of what it’s like to have your face buried in her ass and have her leaking down your chin. It’s a full body spasm that wracks through her, setting her soul on fire. She’s a star, a supernova, a fucking explosion on your tongue.

Her walls pulse around your fingers, squeezing, clenching, and you give it to her, keep fucking her through it, keep licking, because she’s still there, still hovering.

It overwhelms her—she lets it—you feel her body tighten, quiver, then release like a bowstring snapped.

“Fuck me, fuck me, please—yes, like that—right—right there—yes—yes—yes—”

A chant of yeses right before falling off a cliff and into an oh fuck, I’m cumming.

And you’re right there, knees in the dirt, smiling against her cheeks, holding onto her hips, making sure she doesn’t collapse entirely.

And fuck, she goes, and goes and goes.

Until the ground falls beneath her feet.

You’re there to catch her, to ease her down to the ground with you, hold her in your arms until her world stops spinning.

It takes a moment, two.

And she looks up at you, like she’s unsure of how she got there, in this tangle of sighs and limbs and you. But it doesn’t really matter because she pulls you closer, hand still buried in your hair, needing to kiss you just one more time.

Her taste lingers on your tongue—sweet and salty and so uniquely her. She kisses you again, a little less frantic this time. A little more like she means it.

It’s hard not to feel anything but pride.

Mina’s cheek is pressed to your chest, her eyes barely able to focus, her breaths coming in quiet, contented puffs.

And you’re coming to realise what kind of woman Mina is. Even now, when she should be an unrepairable mess—sprawled out on the cool floor with her dress in a puddle around her, her pussy still pulsing and leaking down her thighs—there’s this poise to her that’s downright intimidating.

She breathes, “You’re just a fantasy, aren’t you?” It feels like a warm hand sliding down your spine.

You lean down, kiss her forehead, tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

It’s peaceful. It’s perfect.

And then your emergency line rings.

Mina inclines her head. A spell is broken. “Well, that’s timing for you.”

You instantly regret the next words that come out of your mouth, the rational words that have never sounded more irrational. “I need to go.”

Mina’s far too polite, far too graceful to say what she wants to say, what you’re pleading her in your mind to say. But she knows the game. You both do.

She just nods, rewards herself with a peek at the tent angrily poking underneath your slacks.

“It’s fine,” she says. (It’s not). She reaches up to your lips, running a thumb over the gloss she’s stained you with. “I think I can handle it from here.”

Her other hand slips down to your thigh, gives you a courtesy squeeze as a farewell, and it’s all you can do not to jump. But you can’t, because the phone’s still ringing, because at the end of the day you’re still a billionaire with responsibilities and a reputation to uphold.

She’s kind of enough to give you an out. “You’re supposed to be giving a speech, right?”

Said responsibility and reputation has you answering, “Yeah.”

You’re stupid for it, stupid for even entertaining the idea of letting her go, or leaving her behind. But you’re not completely blameless—it’s near impossible to even think straight when all the blood in your body has gone south for the evening.

“Are you going to be okay with,” Mina blinks down at you. “Your situation?”

It’s painful to even say it. “I guess I’ll have to be.”

Mina sits up, pulls herself off you, untangling her legs with a grace that seems almost otherworldly. Pulls her panties back up, tucks them into place with a little shiver. Smooths her dress down, twisting it back in place.

You’re already regretting letting her leave before she’s even gone.

But the messages have piled up on your phone, and Mina can see it all, the endless frantic texts, the missed calls.

You’re late.

You’re needed.

The world’s waiting.

Mina reads your face, and you can’t tell if she’s impressed or disappointed. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

You stand up, help her to her feet, because that’s what you do—you take care of your own messes. She’s still smiling at you, and you want to tell her how much you wish you could stay.

“It’s okay,” is all she says, as you tuck your shirt back in and slick your hair down.

She’s redoing her own hair, trying to fix it into something presentable. Something less ‘I’ve been fucked raw against a brick wall’ and more ‘gee, quite a strong wind tonight’.

“I knew from the jump you didn’t have the time.”

You’re blurting out, “I can make more.”

“Not even money can buy that.”

Your phone rings again.

Mina’s eyes follow the screen, the glow lighting up her face. Ethereal. Yeah, that's the word for how she looks. You've never been sure of the definition but you're certain it fits.

And when she stands on her toes to kiss your cheek, to bid you farewell, she holds onto your shoulder long enough to whisper her address in your ear. “I’ll be waiting. If you can get away.”

“Why don’t I just come with you now?”

She laughs—but it’s empty, almost a little sad. “Because, you have a job to do, and I have an appearance to keep up. And unlike you, I’m not quite sure I’m ready to broadcast to the whole world who I’m fucking. Or who I’m going to fuck. If he’s not late, that is.”

And with a quiet breath, she’s gone.

A ghost in the moonlight, slipping away like she’s been painted out of existence, leaving you with the memory of her on your mouth and the ache she’s leaving in your cock.

You turn back to the gala.

The air feels somewhat colder.

—

The rest of the evening goes far, far too slowly for your liking.

While your absence has been noted, the whispers and glances are more curious than concerned. They don't know where you've been, and one of your assistants is kind enough to fetch you a new shirt to replace the one that's smudged with lipstick and makeup and Mina, before any real juicy rumours can start.

You try, and fail, to get things moving as quickly as possible:

(A business rival pulls you aside to congratulate you on the recent product launch—You're just thinking about Mina's ass.

A board member sings your praises about last quarter’s earnings, how you're really sticking it to those idiots that forecasted a downturn—You're only thinking about sticking it between Mina's thighs.

A reporter that sneaked in wants to know if you're planning another acquisition so soon after the last one—Yes, you're going to acquire Mina; find somewhere far away from here with another wall to pin her against and make her scream and ache all over for you.)

Thankfully, your assistant is at the ready before you can really make a scene, dragging you over to the stage and pulling you out of this shit show.

‘Just stepped away for some air’ is what you had assured her when she took the shirt off your hands, but really, there's no point trying to hide it.

She's seen that look before, that glow that you can't quite wipe off.

But she's loyal, she doesn't ask questions. Just tells you that you’re on in five, and that in the meantime, she’ll make sure the driver is ready for a quick exit.

So, you force yourself to smile, address the faces that meld together into a wall of teeth.

Make a speech that’s just a rush of words that you've recited countless times before. Innovation and growth, the future of the company, the same spiel from the annual report wrapped up in a shiny new bow.

But none of it matters. You're not even hearing yourself speak. You're hearing the echoes of Mina's moans, feeling the tremble of her thighs as you devoured her, replaying her orgasm in your mind again and again.

You can't wait to get off this fucking stage.

The second the applause dies down, you're off like a shot. The podium forgotten; the spotlight cold on your back. You grab your phone and slip out of the garden, dodging the eager hands that reach out for just a second of your time.

You find your driver waiting, just as instructed; Mina's address already punched in the navigation.

Just go, drop me off. Don't stick around. I'll call you to pick me up in the morning.

—

“It was cerulean,” is Mina’s amused answer to your admittedly idiotic question.

Not your best moment, to be fair. You raced up to her apartment so quickly that you really didn’t have anything more intelligent to say than ‘what happened to your dress?’ and ‘I wanted to know what colour it was’.

But still, show you the person living or dead that could have said anything coherent when being greeted by Mina, opening the door to her apartment—so unashamedly smug, and so very naked.

So what if you just stood there and stared?

Stared at the curves and dips, the way her hair cascades over her shoulders in inky waves, damp from a shower; making it cling to her skin, drape over her collarbone, her breasts. The nipples peeking straight at you, dusky, pointed, waiting the return of your tongue. Her pussy winking between her thighs, a treasure hidden in a sea of smooth flesh.

You don’t know whether to apologise for your lack of eloquence or thank her for being so incredibly distracting.

You kind of want to request that she turn around.

Mina laughs at what is certainly a stupid expression colouring your face; folds her arms across her chest, crosses one leg over the other. "Waiting for me to offer you a drink?"

You blink. “Thought you already gave me one.”

She scrunches her nose, answers, “I was only being polite.”

“I think we’re well past that.”

There’s that gravity again; shifting around Mina, tilting the world towards her until she’s pulling you into her apartment and you’re kicking the door closed behind you.

“Then hurry up and take me upstairs.”

—

There’s a part of you that feels like you should warn Mina when she tells you:

“Look, you’ve kept me waiting too fucking long. I need your cock, your cum inside of me. Right now. Before it’s too late and I change my mind. So, just please, please, please—”

But those kind of thoughts are lost halfway up the staircase; when you both decide that you just can't wait anymore, and your hands are back on her hips and your tongue is pushing into her throat.

Her fault, really.

Stripping you down the hallway, leaving a trail of your clothes through her kitchen; taking you by the cock. Firm, confident pumps as she leads you through her penthouse, refusing to give you a moment to breathe.

Because she’s obsessed with it. Obsessed with how it fills her hand, how it jumps at her touch, how it throbs when she squeezes it, strokes it.

“So big for me," Mina's says—to you, to herself, to your cock. "So perfectly, impossibly, big for me."

You’re never going to make it to the top.

Pressing her up against the banister, kissing her, hard. Deep, bruising kisses, because now that you’re out of the garden you don’t give a fuck if you’re leaving marks.

You just want her to remember this night, to feel it in every pulse and every breath.

Make her think of you when she’s with him, if she can even go back to him after this. Because you’ll both know that she’s yours even when she’s not.

“You’re going to ruin me, you know that?”

You look into Mina’s eyes. You can see it all, how the rest of the night will play out. You and Mina, tangled in her apartment. You and Mina, on top of the kitchen island. You and Mina, against the shower walls, on the living room floor, maybe even on the balcony.

You and Mina, until the sun rises.

You kiss her harder. “Is that a request?”

“Of course it is.”

Because now you actually have the time to appreciate her, to let your hands wander.

They glide over her body, mapping it out again, but slower this time. You've had your fill of the frantic touches, the greedy need. This is something else. This is savouring.

You start with your thumb at her navel, tracing the line down to her hips, then back up against to the base of her ribcage. It’s the feel of the muscles in her stomach tensing and relaxing as you touch her, the inhale and the exhale. How ridiculously tiny her waist feels in your hand, how your palm fits so perfectly into the curve of her side that you swear she’s been tailored for you.

Mina chokes on her breath as she tells you, “You’re going to have to stop, or we’re not going to make it to the bedroom.”

You don’t even slow down. You just don’t care.

Your hand rises, higher, finds her breasts again; cupping it in your palm. A thumb rolls over her nipple.

You pinch. She gasps.

You smile into her neck. “So, so, sensitive.”

Mina’s so willing, so keen to give herself over to you, to your touch. You’ve proven yourself to her already, made her cum with just your fingers and tongue. Now it’s just a matter of doing it all over again—but slower, better, more thorough.

You palm her breasts, rolling and pinching them until they’ve been given the attention they deserve, until she’s panting through your teases and caresses. Kneading the soft flesh beneath your hand and making her arch into your touch.

“You’re really going to take your time, aren’t you?” Mina mewls, half-sigh, half-plead. Grinding herself into you, making a shimmering mess on your waist. “Going to torture me until I can’t breathe.”

“It is your fantasy.”

Pull her closer, take a handful of that perfect ass once again. It hasn’t really been that long since you last had it in your hands but it’s all you’ve had on your mind. What it looks like under proper lighting, what it feels like without the dress in the way. What kind of noises will she make when you grope, and she doesn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing.

Press and squeeze, dig your fingers into her flesh. Not rough, but firm. Leaving little spots of red that will be gone by the morning.

Slide your finger down, down between her cheeks, and deeper, pressing into the sweet heat of her ass.

And then you feel it.

Her asshole. Wet and slick. Prepared.

A wink. A laugh. "Not my fault you're predictable."

You can’t fucking wait anymore.

She’ll just have to settle for the staircase.

Grab her by the hips—her ass, and pull her down with you onto the steps, her legs straddling you as you sit down.

Take her in—all of her. The curve of her, the line of her spine, the fucking paradise that’s her cheeks. Unbelievable.

You kiss into her back, follow down that trail right to where it swells, feeling the heat of her skin against your lips. You’re going to ruin this ass; permanently plant your flag there, mark it as property of you and your cock until she can’t take a seat without cursing your name.

Mina's shoulders tense when you pause, and she looks back over to you. There's a flash of nerves in her eyes, a gasp of "Here?" that's so faint you almost don't catch it.

Another kiss into her skin, you murmur, “Here’s perfect, Mina,” and she sighs when your finger presses against that puckered ring, cold with lubricant, made as ready as she’s ever going to be.

It’s the preparation that gets you; the idea of her in anticipation for you, for this, making sure she’s nice and primed. Mina at the store, still wearing that dress, fresh from her orgasm, buying lube. Mina in her bathroom, stripping herself bare, toying with her asshole, making it perfect for you.

And Mina, now, eyes clenched shut, breaths heavy as your digit is pushing through, slipping into her, and she’s so fucking tight around it.

“Oh my god,” she hisses through her teeth, a quiver in her legs as you push deeper into her tight channel.

Your hands shoot to her thighs to steady her, a reassuring anchor to keep her from toppling over as your finger fills her completely, twisting and turning, slowly but surely easing her into the idea of being taken.

It’s the moans that get you, the sighs as you intrude inside her. She’s so responsive, her breaths skipping and her pussy already starting to gush, coating your finger, your thighs, the steps below.

“You doing okay?”

“Yeah—yes,” Mina stutters, her footing slips just so, but she catches herself on the banister. “It’s—it’s intense. So intense. But don’t stop, I can take it. I want—I want more. I need this. I need this now, before—before I take all of you inside of me."

“You want more?” You repeat her words, before giving her what she needs—adding a second finger, pressing them in deep, making sure she’s good and open. The lube helps, but it’s the eagerness that gets her most of the way there; it’s that trust that she has in you, her willingness to let you take her here, in this way.

“Yes, please,” Mina cries, doing everything she can to not collapse on top of you, to not come completely apart.

You’re merciless, adding a third finger, stretching her until she’s panting, until she’s crying out, making this noise, this hushed whimper that takes the shape of your name.

“Please, please, please,” Mina whispers to herself, pushing back against you, starting to rock back onto your hand, taking your fingers into her ass.

“Not yet, Mina, not yet,” you tell her, because even though she’s close, even though she’s begging, you want her to be absolutely fucking desperate for your cock when the moment comes.

You reach around her with your other hand, finding that button, already swollen and begging for attention. Playing with it, gently at first, a soft pressure to help her let go, to allow herself to let her voice echo up the staircase and through the penthouse.

God, how is she this sensitive, reactive to every little touch, to every exploration of her cunt, her ass, her body.

It’s the ceremony of it all; this lurid, obscene ritual that you’re walking her through. Making her ass bounce on your hand in this hypnotic movement, making her stretch around your fingers, making her repeat your name over and over until she’s convinced herself that all of her belongs to you.

These perfect, near-silent sighs. This unbelievable tightness. Mina’s body, turning itself into a fucking playground for your touch; to do with it as you will. Even if it means ruining her.

And it’s when you have her creaming all over you; down her thighs, making a mess of herself with these pushes and pulls, these declarations of how ready she is for you, that her body shakes with one last, long shiver.

She cums.

Softly, soundlessly, another cry of your name dying on her lips. A hand to your wrist to stop you abruptly, panting.

Tiny, tiny shivers, twitches in her thighs, around your fingers, leaving her barely there, barely with you. Head hanging low, chest heaving, catching her breath, putting herself back together again.

Time stretches before she's cognisant again, and she turns back, looking over her shoulder and straight at you. Eyes half-lidded, hazy, dripping with lust, anticipation, burning with need.

Deep, heavy breaths. And then Mina says the most devastating thing:

“I’m ready. Fuck my ass. Now. Please.”

A gunshot in the quiet of her home, rumbling through your bones.

Your fingers leave her ass, her cunt with a wet pop, forcing a whine from her throat at the sudden emptiness. A look at her asshole, how it clenches and unclenches, beckoning for you to fill it, to claim it as your own.

“Good girl.”

Holding her by the hips, lining her ass with your cock, nudging her opening with your tip and making her shiver. You don’t go in immediately; you hover, giving her one last out, to really see if she’s absolutely certain.

Mina trembles. Nods. That’s all the invitation you need.

“God, I—”

You push in, slow and steady, eyes on her ass as she takes you. So fucking tight, so intense, you can feel every part of her squeezing, accommodating you, moulding itself around your girth and swallowing you whole.

“Take it slow, darling, take it slow,” you whisper into her skin, guiding her down, telling her how good she’s doing, how good she is for you, how much you love her tightness, her trust.

It seems impossible at first, the grip she has on you, like you’ll never get in. But inch by agonising inch, she takes you, and it’s nothing short of total heaven.

Mina, so fucking beautiful in this moment of raw vulnerability; all sharp inhales and strained quivers wrecking through her, voice shaky as she tells you, “I’ve never felt anything like this, I never thought—fuck—I never thought I could take anything like this.”

“You’re doing so good,” you kiss your words into her, wrapping your arms around her, holding her.

“I can—I can do better,” she gasps, and you believe her.

But you still go slow, so painfully slow, even though every fibre of your being is screaming at you to just dig into her hips and slam into that glorious fucking ass and never look back.

“I can take it,” Mina breathes, “Do it, I can take it. I want all of you. In my ass. I can handle it.”

Mina nods, clenches her ass, her cheeks firming up around your throbbing cock.

“I want it to hurt so good.”

No more convincing required. You push in deeper, make her back stiffen, her muscles contract, making her cry.

It’s a dance, a delicate ballet of bodies, of breath and touch, of your cock inside Mina’s ass. Lost in it, in the feel of skin on skin, the sound of wet, needy noises that she’s making, her shudders in your arms.

Until finally, with a strangled gasp, she’s fully seated. You’re buried in her tight, hot ass, basking in the warmth of her, leaving you both winded and struggling for air.

Stillness overrides the moment, because it’s too perfect, too overwhelming, and the feeling. You need to get used to the feeling.

You break the silence first. “Mina?”

“I know. I know.”

A kiss against her neck, scraping the soft skin there. A whisper in her ear, your breath hot and ragged.

“I’m going to fuck your ass now.”

You always keep your promises.

Mina answers by leaning back into you, her hand finding yours, her nails running along your fingers as if to say, “Yes, please, now.”

Moving, so slow it’s almost painful. The drag of her ass around your cock like nothing you’ve ever felt before—like you’re sliding through warm, velvet-covered steel.

“Fuck, yes, please,” with every inch you pull out, and “Too much, so good, too fucking much,” when you push back in, deeper and deeper still.

It builds and builds, this sweet agony, each pass in her ass faster, harder, turning Mina’s cries and wails into moans of pure bliss. It takes time and long, hard fucking for her body to relax into this rhythm, letting you take her, own her.

A vision above you, sweat glistening on her back, hair matted and sticking to her shoulders, and Mina’s ass, a snug ring around your cock. You watch as your cock slides out of her, the way her ass clenches around the head, holding on for just a second before pushing all the way back down.

You can’t help but groan, “Christ,” as she moves on top of you like that. So gracefully, so beautifully, so fucking obscenely on your cock.

“Thank you—God—thank you, thank you, thank you.” Mina’s moans are pure music to your ears, she’s babbling, talking through the pain, through the pleasure. “So, so good, filling me like—fuck—never been filled up like this.”

And as you push on, push further and further until your cock is melting inside her, burning her up in every way she's ever dared to dream, you can see the smile curling onto Mina’s face. It’s pride, you’re realising. Proud of herself, proud of how she can take you, how she can handle this kind of depraved ecstasy.

“It feels so deep.”

Tearing her open. Revealing the tender, delicate core beneath the glamour, the lights, the unreal beauty that is Mina. Leaving her sobbing, pleading, whining for more, more, more.

Bouncing on you now, each more assured than the last, cries of nothing but need. Opening up to accept you fully, completely, her ass a tight fucking sleeve for you, coming down and wrapping itself around you like a searing hot second skin.

You know the truth, but you still want to hear it.

“How many?”

Mina has her answer ready: “You’re the—you’re the first.”

You grin. A smug, triumphant baring of teeth that spreads from ear to ear. “I have no fucking idea how that’s possible. How nothing has ever been up this tight, perfect little asshole.”

“Oh, there's been toys,” Mina moans, strained and shaky as you pump into her, “But you’re just the first that's real.”

“Then your boyfriend is a fucking idiot,” you growl into her ear, your hand moving to her throat, gently clasping, making her gasp, making her eyes go wide with shock, with excitement. “He doesn’t know what he has.”

“Enough about my boyfriend,” Mina's quick to answer, snapping, her head thrown back, eyes screwed shut. “Even though—even if—he wouldn’t, couldn’t dream of filling me like this. Filling me up so much that it hurts, so much that—fuck, it feels so right, so fucking right—”

“You love this, don’t you, Mina?” You ask, but all Mina can do is nod vigorously, too overrun by the fucking to form words. “Underneath it all, you’re just a dirty slut for it, aren’t you? Letting me use this pretty, tight ass like this.”

“I—” she stutters, right before confessing, “I love it.”

She slams her hips down on you, the stairs groaning with each thrust, not built to withstand this kind of punishment.

“I love that it’s you, love that you’re the first. I can’t believe it—just—I need it. I need your cock in me, so deep—I need you, I need you, I need you—so please don't stop.”

“I would never dream of stopping.”

Never.

Not when she’s begging like this, her voice hoarse and her body quaking. When she sighs and shivers every time you fuck a little faster, push a little harder, testing just how much she can take.

Tits jiggling with every thrust, cunt leaking all the way down your thighs, ass puckering and loosening.

Her whole body, yours.

Yours for the taking. Mina’s divine body, in all its sharp planes and ridged muscles, squeezing and coiling at every juncture, every penetration setting her alight.

You declare it, even though it doesn't need to be said. “Made for me.”

“Yes,” she’s nodding. Or rather, letting her head fall into one. “God yes.”

“Just been waiting for me for so long, haven’t you? Been waiting for the right cock to come along and split you in half.” You’re saying these things, these stinging words that you fuck into Mina, send shooting through her like sparks. She’s a live-wire, a fucking blackout waiting to happen.

Weeping down her thighs, choking out every whine, “Yes,” she whispers, “yes, yes, yes, been needing to be ruined. Needing it, needing you. So much, so much, so—fucking—right—”

“Fucking criminal that you had to wait,” you’re saying, loving this, so enraptured by all of it. “But I’m here now.”

Mina shivers, pussy clenches, and she just can’t stop saying, “Yours, yours, yours—”

Completely, totally yours, now.

You know it. She knows it.

It’s written in the way she takes your cock, in the way she loses herself to you, loses all semblance of composure and decorum, peels back all the carefully curated layers that make her Mina, until all there is to see and touch is the raw, unfiltered need that you’ve unleashed from underneath.

"Touch me, fuck me, take me, take my ass, I need more—"

Again, your fingers find her folds, sticky and swollen and waiting.

You touch her, press down on her clit. Circling it with the same rhythm as your hips. Striking a match in a dark room, lighting up her body in this blaze.

The noises that it all makes; the slosh of your fingers at her cunt, the squelch of your cock invading her ass, so fucking explicit, so fucking filthy.

She’s erratic, breath catching, throat pulsing against your fingers, and she somehow, impossibly, clenches even more around you, suffocating your cock with just her tight, tight ass.

You keep that same tempo. That desperate, fucking unyielding beat that’s going to make her come, going to turn this idol, this mystery, this drop-dead fucking gorgeous woman who should belong to someone else but is now screaming proudly just how much she’s yours, into nothing but a trembling mess of whimpers and whines.

“More, fuck—oh my god, oh my fucking god—it’s so fucking good—so good—so fucking good—”

She’s reaching her peak—her voice, her body, her cunt, her ass—all of her reaching that perfect crescendo of pleasure that you’ve been orchestrating, that you’ve been waiting for.

“I’ve never—no one’s ever—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

Sinking into her, making her feel like she’s being torn apart and remade with every stroke, making her feel nothing like she’s ever felt before, making her feel like nothing but your fucking whore.

So, so close, barrelling towards it now, all these tears running down her cheeks, these filthy words slipping from her lips. Coming apart in your arms, because she’s never been this filled, this complete.

“Going to—going to cum—fuck me, harder, harder—going to cum all over your cock—” Mina tells you, a warning, the last one you get before she screams, “Too good—filling me—so good—give it to me—God—I can never go back—”

She shatters. Monumentally.

Into a million tiny pieces of pleasure, each one more brilliant than the last.

Her body spasms, her ass squeezes so fucking tight around your cock that you can feel the orgasm ripping through her, up her spine, through her throat, until she’s crying out and it’s hitting your ears—

“Oh my God, I'm going to—just, say my name—please, say my name when I—”

“Mina,” you say, and she cums.

“Mina,” you repeat when her pussy floods over your hand, ass smothers your cock.

“Mina,” again when it ripples across her skin, leaves her in fits, uncontrollable quakes, consumed by pure, unfiltered joy.

You watch the whole thing—watch her scream your name, watch her shake and quiver and fall apart, right there on your cock; and you're fucking her through it all, fucking her well past it, chanting “Mina” over and over again.

You'll never forget this, never forget this sight—this woman, this star, built up and broken down just for you.

“Mine,” you bite into her ear, because now, it’s true.

Mina’s barely there, eyes glassy, hand cradling your face. But she’s able to say it, because it’s branded into every bone of her body: “Yours.”

It’s a complete disaster.

And now you're cumming.

Brand new sensations, devastation in full measure—your soul ripped from your chest, until all that’s left is this impulsive, overwhelming need to give her your all, your everything—to fill her entire existence with just you.

You drive your cock into her once more, impaling her deep, and let go.

It floods her, rushes inside her, spills and spills.

Mina can't do anything but feel it—every pulse, every spurt. She throws her head back, her mouth open in this silent plea, satisfaction painted across her face as your heat surges inside her. Her ass milks you, needy for every drop, so, so thirsty for it.

“It's—cumming inside my ass—so, so nice, keep cumming for me.”

You hold onto her, throb inside her, pump ropes into her, and there's a kiss—hot and clumsy—somewhere in the midst of it all, your mouths colliding and tongues wrapping around each other in a futile attempt to last just that little bit longer.

Getting all dizzy and spellbound, floating back down to the ground as the last waves of your climaxes start to subside, until one of you says, “Thank you,” and the other echoes it back.

You stay like that, swallowed up inside her, dripping out of her ass. Lowering one hand from her throat, rising the other from her pussy, pulling her into an embrace, keeping her as close as you can while you both try to put yourselves back together.

It’s sex that soaks the air, fills the penthouse—sweat, lube, the musk of all the evidence you're leaving behind. Intoxicating, breathing it in, setting your nerves alight, rousing your cock inside her all over again.

But Mina, she’s a stunning catastrophe, torn asunder in all the best ways. Perfection not marred, but made better. Completed. Looking up at you with wonder, with gratitude, with a smile.

You look down at her and admit it, “Perfect.”

Mina laughs out loud, “Disastrously perfect.”

“This is going to be a problem, isn’t it?”

You kiss her once more.

Mina kisses you back.

“Only if we make it one.”

—

You think you can read her mind.

And she, yours.

It’s the only way any of this makes sense—how perfect you fit together, how well you read each other; fill each other’s needs without use of any words outside of curses and names and strangled pleas.

Printed onto your DNA, carved into your bones, these exact pathways you shape through her home and into her skin.

You do make it to the bedroom, somehow.

And then, exactly as predicted:

The shower, where Mina takes you into her mouth, gags herself around you, covers herself in your cum before letting the water wash it all away.

Then the kitchen, polishing off a bottle of wine, slurring promises into Mina’s cunt, having her rake the back of your scalp and scream the same promises back into your ears.

And finally, the living room, folding her over the couch, tumbling onto the floor with Mina, riding you so hard the neighbours below start banging on their ceiling in protest.

It's only the balcony that goes untouched.

Maybe another time.

But that’s where it ends: sprawled across a lush rug, sticky with sweat and cum and wine, naked and bare. Ignoring the watchful eyes of the photos that line the walls and shelves—family, friends, her boyfriend. Just living in this bubble where the sun will never rise and the world outside ceases to exist.

Getting to know each other in ways few people ever do.

Tracing patterns into the small of her back, asking these questions. Is this what you always imagined you would be doing? How you thought your life would be? Does it ever actually feel enough?

Mina pokes and prods back, her nails lightly scraping against your chest, leaving half-moons in her wake. Do you think you could ever be happy? Do you ever wonder why it’s so hard for other people to keep up? Are you fucked up in all the same ways as me?

And it’s so easy to answer truthfully, to be honest, because you’re both still maintaining the façade of this just being a simple fling; a blip along the timeline of your lives.

The yours and mine of it all, all those promises you were spilling. Just callous words tossed in the throes of passion.

They didn’t mean anything real.

Because it’s not like you’re going to see each other again, not like there’s going to be a mess of emotions and consequences that will have to be dealt with in the morning after.

Eventually though, the light does slip through the curtains, the clothes come back on, and you’re kissing Mina against the doorway and thinking of a million reasons why you should stay.

"So, how long are we going to pretend that this is normal?" You broach, and it immediately feels like you’re breaking some unspoken rule.

Mina’s keeping herself busy, hands at your shirt, buttoning it back into place, one by one. Hiding away evidence that her mouth, her lips, her teeth were ever on you.

She looks up at you. Smirks. “Fucking ‘til the break of dawn, giving each other orgasms that never quite end? Flooding each one of my holes with your cum?”

You tilt your head.

“I don’t know. This whole thing is… unique. Uncharted territory and all.”

“It goes without saying, but, yeah. Same for me.” You echo, “Unique.”

You reach for her, smoothing her hair back. The early morning light makes it shine like a crown of jewels.

“Do you want it to stay that way?”

Mina considers. Leans into your hand. “You think we should make a habit out of this? I didn’t pin you for the type.”

“Neither did I, but it didn’t seem so bad when you were riding me on that couch,” you tease. “And in the shower, and on the staircase, and in the kitchen…”

She blushes, lips caught between her teeth, looking like she’s struggling to hold in a laugh. There’s this glint in her eye as her hand wanders up to your cheek, thumb hovering just shy of your mouth. For a second, you think she’s going to kiss you again.

But instead, she just looks at you.

Eyes you with something close to fascination, something that makes your heart stop. And you're reading each other’s minds again, knowing you're both going to lie, going to pretend like this was just a one-night thing. Something the two of you can easily wipe your hands with and walk away from like it never even happened.

Because this really is the first time—you’ve never done anything like this before. Sure you’ve dipped your toe in the pool of commitment, paddled around in the shallow end, but you’ve never fallen for someone proper.

Never worried about what someone's going to be doing when you’re not there, never thought about whether you’d be better off sticking around to find out.

But you have a job. A company to run.

And Mina, a career. A boyfriend. A life.

So, you don’t make plans.

You don’t even ask for her number.

You don't need to.

Deep down inside you know you’ll find her again.

For now though, you spin your bullshit: “It’s probably for the best if we don’t, though.”

“Probably.” Mina agrees, but she can hear the same ticking clock as you.

The timer that’s already started, counting down to when she’ll inevitably be undoing the same buttons, redrawing the same patchwork of red and pink across your chest, and pulling you into her home and into her; fucking her pussy, her ass, her mouth, in all the ways she needs, until you’re spilling out of her all over again.

“Definitely.” Mina unlocks the front door. “For the best.”

#kpop smut #mina smut #twice smut #male reader

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hotvintagepoll · 8 months ago

Text

Propaganda

Jane Fonda (Barbarella, Sunday in New York, Barefoot in the Park)—Feminist icon, LGBTQ+ rights activist since the 70s, Civil Rights and Native American rights advocate, environmentalist… she really is THE woman ever

Rita Hayworth (Gilda, Cover Girl)—Absolutely, drop-dead gorgeous. She steals every movie she’s in; she was Fred Astaire’s favorite dance partner, as you can see in clips from their movies [link][link]. Born Margarita Carmen Cansino, Rita's story had its tragedies—her father was awful and had her performing in nightclubs way, way too young; the studio totally remade her look because they were afraid of her hispanic image, putting her through painful treatments and diets; she had a string of failed marriages. But beside all that, I think there's something about Rita that still glows through—an inner beauty that has nothing to do with the studio, or the men who pinned their dreams on her. Rita brings an incandescence to roles that's impossible to replicate, and was truly a great actress in that she could switch from herself—shy Margarita—into a bold and glamorous femme fatale so convincingly everyone fell in love with her as Gilda. She's my favorite movie star, and I think she was a beautiful human through and through—Rita, gorgeous and real and shining bright.

This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Jane Fonda:

" I assume she's already been submitted but I gotta make sure. I think there's an element to movies like Barbarella or her segment of Spirit of the Dead of those having been directed by her husband, who famously made movies about her being hot, and the incredible costume design also helped, but good lord. Look at her"

"She was so pretty, dear lord! She was and still us stunning. She’s great at comedy and drama."

"Shes so hot im so gay for me i will let her hit me with hers car"

"Gorgeous and also still getting arrested at climate protests, which is sexy behavior"

"Watching her in Barefoot in the Park seriously made me, a straight woman, question things"

"PLEASE I LOVE HER SO MUCH"

"Her vibes in these movies are so interesting because she, the daughter of an Old Hollywood star, went on to make both poignant dramatic movies and the some of the silliest things you've ever seen but even in the silly space adventures and sexploitations there's always this undeniable gravitas to her. It's like she's able not to take herself very seriously but at the same time never stops having this grace and elegance and makes it all work together. And she's always been very politically active which is also sexy. Her famous mugshot is from 1970 so right at the cutoff mark but come on"

Rita Hayworth:

Do you need any other propaganda? Here’s the video.

youtube

She was not called "the love goddess" for nothing: beautiful, glamorous, despite playing sexy and provocative roles her inherent shyness somehow also would shine through sometimes, creating this contradictory and incredibly attractive image

Often played "the bad girl" who tempted the male hero away from "the good girl"; but did have roles that broke her out of that mold. She was also the inspiration for Jessica Rabbit. THE pinup girlie.

HELP

youtube

She was soo beautiful when she was young and she MAINTAINED that beauty into her later years and I think that old lady glamour is hot. bombastic sex appeal

every line she delivers in gilda is so flirty and passionate or absolutely desolate and it's so good

I just have a lot of feelings about her

#rita hayworth #jane fonda #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 5 #Youtube

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callsigns-haze · 4 months ago

Text

Unexpected twist

Pairing: Tim Bradford x Reader

Chapter Summary: Tim and Y/N's first date at a fancy restaurant is interrupted by a robbery, turning a romantic evening into a spontaneous takedown and leaving their relationship exposed to their curious colleagues.

Chapter Warning: This chapter contains a sudden shift from a romantic date to an intense, potentially dangerous situation involving a robbery, with moments of suspense, gun use, and police intervention.

A/N: My first fic about the rookie eeeeeeeeek

The evening was perfect—the kind of night that begged for romance. The sun had just set, leaving behind a soft twilight that bathed Los Angeles in shades of purple and gold. The upscale restaurant Tim Bradford had chosen was nestled in a quiet corner of the city, known for its elegance and discretion. It was the kind of place where celebrities could dine without being disturbed, and tonight, it was the stage for a first date that had been a long time coming.

Tim arrived first, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and nerves. His usually steady hands betrayed a slight tremor as he adjusted the cuffs of his navy-blue suit. The suit was perfectly tailored, accentuating his broad shoulders and athletic build, the sharp lines giving him an air of authority even out of uniform. The crisp white shirt he wore beneath it was open at the collar, revealing a hint of tanned skin, and his dark leather shoes were polished to a mirror shine. His hair was neatly styled, though a few rebellious strands fell across his forehead, softening the hard lines of his face. He glanced at his reflection in the window, making a mental note to ease up on the cologne—he wanted to make an impression, not overwhelm her.

Just as Tim settled into his seat, Y/N Y/L/N entered the restaurant, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. She was a vision in an emerald-green dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, the rich color bringing out the warmth of her skin. The neckline was a perfect balance—elegant yet suggestive, hinting at the strength beneath the softness. Her hair was styled in loose waves that cascaded over her shoulders, and her makeup was subtle but impeccable, with a soft shimmer on her eyelids that caught the light just so. A delicate gold necklace adorned her neck, matching the small, sparkling earrings that completed her look. She moved with a grace that was both natural and practiced, each step exuding confidence.

Tim stood as she approached, his heart beating a little faster than usual. "Wow," he said, his voice dropping an octave, full of genuine admiration. "You look... stunning."

Y/N smiled, a hint of a blush rising to her cheeks. "Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself, Bradford. I almost didn't recognize you without the uniform and scowl."

He chuckled, the tension easing slightly. "I save the scowl for the rookies. And for bad guys. I promise you won't see it tonight."

She raised an eyebrow playfully as she took her seat. "We'll see about that. I’m sure I could get it out of you if I tried."

Tim’s eyes sparkled with amusement. "Careful, Detective. You don’t want to see me at my worst tonight."

"Oh, I’m not afraid of you," Y/N teased, her voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper. "In fact, I’m looking forward to it."

Tim leaned in slightly, his gaze locking with hers. "You know, I wasn't sure you'd actually say yes to this. We've worked together for a while, and I didn’t know if you’d be interested in mixing business with… pleasure."

Y/N's lips curled into a slow, seductive smile. "Who says I’m interested in pleasure, Bradford? Maybe I just wanted to see if you’re as tough off-duty as you are on."

His grin widened, clearly enjoying the banter. "Oh, I’m just as tough, but I can be pretty charming when I want to be."

"Charming, huh?" Y/N’s tone was light, teasing. "I’ll believe it when I see it."

They continued to flirt as the evening progressed, their conversations flowing easily from work to personal interests, each revelation bringing them closer. The chemistry between them crackled like electricity, unspoken but undeniable. Every now and then, they would exchange a glance, both of them half-expecting a familiar face from the station to walk through the door.

"You know," Y/N said, breaking the momentary silence, "I keep thinking someone from work is going to walk in and ruin this."

Tim nodded, his expression softening. "Same here. It’s like we can’t escape the job, even on a night like this."

"Well, if they do show up, we’ll just tell them we’re working undercover," she suggested with a mischievous grin.

Tim smirked. "Yeah? And what exactly are we investigating?"

"Restaurant quality," she replied with a wink, making Tim chuckle.

Just as they were starting to relax, the door to the restaurant was thrown open with a loud crash, and the once tranquil atmosphere shattered like glass. A man in a black ski mask stormed in, waving a gun wildly in the air. The room fell into a stunned silence, every patron freezing in fear.

"Everyone stay where you are!" the man shouted, his voice edged with desperation. "Empty your wallets, your purses—now!"

Tim’s eyes sharpened, his instincts kicking in immediately. He looked at Y/N, who had already reached under the table, her hand on her off-duty weapon. Her expression had gone from flirty to deadly serious in an instant. She gave Tim a quick nod, and they both moved with a speed and precision that spoke to years of training and experience.

"Hey!" Tim barked, standing up suddenly. His voice was authoritative, commanding the room. "LAPD! Drop the weapon and get on the ground, now!"

The robber spun around, momentarily thrown off by the unexpected confrontation. His gun wavered, but his desperation outweighed his common sense.

"Don’t move!" he yelled, his voice cracking. But it was too late—Y/N was already moving, her gun drawn and trained on him with deadly accuracy.

"Put the gun down!" Y/N ordered, her voice steady, every bit the seasoned detective. "This doesn’t have to end badly for you."

The man hesitated, his eyes darting between the two officers and the terrified patrons around him. The tension in the room was palpable, everyone holding their breath, waiting for the situation to explode.

Tim slowly approached, his gun also drawn. "You’re outnumbered, and we’re not going to ask again," he warned, his voice low and threatening. "Drop it."

The robber’s resolve broke. His hand shook violently as he looked from Tim to Y/N, realizing he had no way out. With a defeated sigh, he let the gun slip from his fingers and clatter to the floor. Y/N was on him in an instant, kicking the weapon away and securing his wrists with a pair of handcuffs.

Tim kept his gun trained on the man until he was sure the situation was under control. As the adrenaline began to fade, he glanced around the restaurant, noticing the wide-eyed stares of the other patrons. Applause broke out, tentative at first, then growing louder as relief washed over the room.

Y/N looked up at Tim, a grin spreading across her face. "So much for a quiet evening, huh?"

Tim couldn’t help but smile back. "Yeah, I guess we have a talent for finding trouble."

Y/N stood, pulling the cuffed robber to his feet. "Or maybe trouble just finds us."

Before they could share another quip, the sound of police sirens filled the air outside, and moments later, a familiar group of officers burst into the restaurant, weapons drawn, ready to respond.

Nolan was the first through the door, followed by Harper, Aaron, and Lucy. Their faces were a mix of surprise and confusion as they took in the scene—Y/N and Tim standing over a cuffed suspect, both looking more like they were on a night out than responding to a robbery.

"What the hell is going on here?" Harper demanded, her sharp eyes narrowing as she holstered her weapon.

Tim and Y/N exchanged a quick look, trying to come up with a plausible explanation. Y/N opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Lucy chimed in, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"Were you guys on a date?" Lucy blurted out, the question hanging in the air like a bomb waiting to explode.

Tim felt his face flush, the color rising from his neck to his ears. Y/N seemed equally flustered, though she quickly tried to recover.

"Uh, we were just… grabbing a bite to eat," Y/N said, her voice a little too casual.

"Yeah, just happened to be in the right place at the right time," Tim added, though his tone didn’t quite carry the confidence he hoped for.

Nolan raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across his face. "A bite to eat? In suits and fancy dresses?"

Harper crossed her arms, clearly amused. "Right place, right time, huh? Sounds more like a date to me."

Y/N sighed, knowing they were caught. "Fine, it was a date. But in our defence, we didn’t expect to be playing hero tonight."

"Well, you certainly picked a memorable first date," Aaron remarked with a smirk, looking at the subdued robber. "Though, maybe next time choose a place that’s less likely to get held up."

Lucy’s eyes sparkled with excitement. "I knew it! I knew there was something going on between you two!"

Tim shot her a look, though there was no real heat behind it. "Can we maybe focus on the fact that we just stopped a robbery?"

Harper chuckled, clearly enjoying the situation. "Sure, Bradford. But you know this is going to be all over the station by morning."

Y/N groaned, rubbing her forehead. "Great. Just what I wanted."

Nolan grinned, clapping Tim on the shoulder. "Hey, at least you didn’t have to pay for dinner."

Tim couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, I guess there’s that, still get to keep the two hundred in the budget."

As their colleagues began to process the scene and take the suspect away, Y/N leaned in close to Tim, her voice low and playful. "So, how about round two? Somewhere a little less public?"

Tim’s eyes lit up with a mix of humour and affection. "Sounds perfect. And maybe this time we can actually finish a meal."

As Tim and Y/N walk out of the restaurant, still riding the adrenaline from the robbery, Tim glances at her with a playful grin. “So, any ideas for our second date? Preferably somewhere without armed robbers?”

Y/N laughs, shaking her head. “Yeah, I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night. How about something a little more low-key? Maybe a quiet dinner at my place? I make a mean lasagna.”

Tim’s eyes light up at the suggestion, and he nods. “That sounds perfect. But just so you know, I’m bringing dessert.”

“Deal,” Y/N replies, smiling warmly. “And this time, let’s keep our badges out of sight.”

They exchange a look filled with anticipation, both eager for a date that will hopefully be free of interruptions—and a chance to really get to know each other.

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@iliketopgun

@rosiahills22

#the rookie #the rookie abc #the rookie fic #the rookie fanfic #the rookie imagine #tim bradford #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford fic #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford x fem!reader

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w4ndal0ver · 24 days ago

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Members Only (Agatha x Reader) [Part 1]

[minors don't interact, 18+]

pairing: milf!tennis!agatha x student!lifeguard!reader

summary: When Agatha notices you've been watching her play tennis every day from your lifeguarding chair, she offers you tennis lessons, an offer which you can't refuse.

content warnings: nothing yet, just build up

word count: 4000

I also know nothing about tennis, I had no idea where this idea came from (I do, its the thought of Milf Agatha in a tennis skirt)

Members Only (Agatha x Reader) [Part 1]

The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting golden hues over the country club pool, the warm rays slipping through the trees and shimmering against the water as the few swimmers created ripples as they completed lengths of the pool. From your perch high on the lifeguard chair, you had a view of the entire pool, including the sunbathers basking in the glow. This job was always slightly more interesting when there were children to actually look out for, but at this time of morning no one brought them along. You’d only been a lifeguard at The Westview Country Club for two weeks, wanting to be able to save up some money while you were back from college for the summer. While it could be pretty boring, there were definitely some perks to the job.

From your chair you could just about see the tennis courts in the distance, something that you’d realised was way more interesting than watching the same few people swim up and down the length of the pool. The sounds of the ball ricocheting off rackets and the sharp, breathless calls of the players drifted across the air. You squinted into the sunlight and as you expected, Agatha was there in the same tiny tennis skirt that she always wore, the outfit that drove you up the wall. She was alone today, playing against another club member - a man who, despite his best efforts, couldn’t seem to keep up. You felt a familiar stir of admiration as you watched Agatha’s powerful, fluid movements, her every strike and pivot executed with a grace that made your thighs subconsciously squeeze together.

Her white tennis skirt fluttered with each swing, her toned legs flexing in rhythm with the force of her game. Her sweat-dappled skin caught the sunlight in a way that made her glow, every movement commanding attention. You couldn’t help but notice how well she fit into this world, this world of country clubs, exclusive memberships, and pristine courts. She belonged here, she usually sauntered confidently throughout the grounds, and you couldn’t help but keep your eyes trained on her.

You’d always admired Agatha. She’d been your Mother’s best friend for as long as you could remember - always around during family gatherings, always kind but so incredibly elegant, with that same playful smirk that she wore now, even on the tennis court. But over the years, something had shifted. The innocent crush you’d once harbored as a teenager had slowly morphed into something far more consuming, something that you couldn’t ignore.

And now, with every day you spent lifeguarding at the pool, watching her from afar, that longing had blossomed into a full-fledged fantasy. You’d caught yourself more than once, eyes lingering on her as she walked past the lifeguard station in her tennis gear, or when she’d casually from by the poolside, always making the time to check up on you, and every time she did your cheeks flushed scarlet to the point that you think Agatha must be playing on your reactions now.

As Agatha’s match came to an end, the string of tense, rapid exchanges turning into a graceful final point, you shifted in your chair, your gaze still locked on her. She took a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Her brunette hair, usually so perfectly styled, was now tousled from the intensity of the game. But there was something about the way she looked, disheveled yet composed, that only made your own heart quicken at a pace that was yet unreached. She tossed her tennis racket into her bag, and you knew she was heading your way before she even looked up.

It had been like this every day since the start of summer, you would watch her finish her early morning game and you’d sit back in your chair pretending that you’d not been watching her, brushing your own wisps of hair that had fallen from your updo back.

Agatha’s steps were slow but deliberate as she approached the poolside, her eyes flicking upward to meet yours, her hips swaying in that tiny skirt that you couldn’t help but glance at. A playful smile tugged at the corner of her lips, one you knew too well. It was the same smile she’d worn when she’d tease you as a kid.

“Busy up there?” She asked, her voice light and teasing, like she already knew the answer. She tilted her head back slightly, looking up at you as if she was taking her time to study you. Her gaze lingered on you in a way that made the corners of your lips twitch and the look she gave you made you understand that she found something amusing in the way you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

You swallowed hard, caught off guard by the sudden attention, and forced a smile. “Oh you know, the usual,” You said, trying to sound casual, but failing miserably, “Just keeping an eye on things.” You gestured to the calm pool, the stillness that filled the space between the two of you.

She hummed in acknowledgement, her gaze flicking over the pool for a moment before returning to you, “Mm, must be pretty dull up there all day,” She said, her words dripping with playful mockery. “Just sitting up there, I bet you get so bored,” She raised an eyebrow, the slight curve of her mouth betraying the way she was enjoying the effect she had on you.

You fidgeted with the whistle around your neck, suddenly self-conscious, wishing you could hide behind the safety of the high chair that had always been a buffer between you and everyone else. “I don’t mind,” you mumbled, your voice coming out softer than you’d intended. “It’s peaceful, I guess.”

Agatha let out a soft laugh, the sound making your pulse spike. “Peaceful, huh?” she said, her tone laced with amusement. “Seems like the kind of thing someone would say when they’re just waiting for something to happen. But then again,” she paused, eyeing you up and down, “maybe you don’t mind the stillness. You get to watch everything, don’t you?” Her voice dipped a little lower at the end, as if the words were meant only for you.

You swallowed, the heat creeping into your cheeks once more. You were certain that Agatha knew exactly what she was doing - playing this game with you, reading your reactions like an open book. The way she lingered, just close enough for you to smell the faint scent of her sweat mixed with her perfume, it was all just too much.

“Anyway,” She continued, stepping back just a little, her hands resting on her hips as she glanced at the tennis courts in the distance, “Your mum was supposed to meet me this evening for a play around, but she cancelled on me.” Agatha explained, “So what do you say? Care to take a break from watching me play all day and actually play against me instead?”

You heart skipped, you, on the court with Agatha. It felt like a fantasy, something completely out of your reach. You opened your mouth to protest the idea, knowing that being opposite her in that outfit would be way too much for you to handle, but the words get caught in your throat. “I don’t think so,” You say quickly, almost apologetically, “I’ve never played tennis before, not really.”

A smirk tugged at her lips, “Oh you’ve never played?” Her tone was almost too sweet, as if the idea of teaching you was the plan all along, “Well that’s a shame, but I suppose I could teach you if you wanted.” Her eyes flicked back to you, her mouth dragging the words out, drawing attention to each one, as if she was savoring the thought of showing you something new.

You swallowed again, your mouth dry. “I’m not sure I’d be any good at it”

“I’ll go easy on you. But you have to promise me that you’ll come play. It’ll be fun I promise.” Her eyes twinkled with something dangerous and exciting, and you couldn't help but feel like you were on the verge of something you had no control over.

You hesitated for a moment, your thoughts swirling with uncertainty and the sudden thrill of her offer. Finally, you nodded, your voice small but firm. “Fine, I’ll be there.”

Agatha’s smile deepened, and she straightened up, letting the silence hang between you for a moment longer. “Good,” she said softly. “I’ll be waiting.”

And with that, she turned and started walking toward the courts, her hips swaying effortlessly with each step, her tennis skirt fluttering in the light breeze. You watched her go, your pulse still racing, and realized you might’ve just made a promise you weren’t quite ready to keep.

The rest of the day felt like a blur. Agatha had disappeared into the club’s main building not long after her invitation, leaving you to sit in the high lifeguard chair, mind spinning. The sound of her voice, her teasing smile, the way her body moved when she turned to walk away, every detail replayed in your mind over and over. You couldn’t stop thinking about the offer she’d made, the warmth in her eyes when she’d mentioned teaching you tennis.

It was ridiculous, right? You, playing tennis with Agatha. You didn’t even know the first thing about tennis. But something about the way she had said it made it seem almost inevitable, like she knew you'd come around. Her words lingered in the air, vibrating against your skin, making it feel like everything else had faded into the background. The only thing that mattered was her, and the way she made you feel.

You tried to focus on the pool, the few swimmers in the water now lazily stretching out their laps. But the thought of Agatha, flushed from her match, walking away with that knowing smirk made it impossible to concentrate. How had she done it? How had she managed to turn your entire world upside down with a few words, a couple of steps, and that teasing look? You’d never been so unsettled in your life.

Finally, your shift ended. You had a brief moment of respite before you had to face the inevitable. The thought of changing and heading over to the tennis courts made your stomach twist with nerves. You grabbed your bag and headed to the locker room. The sounds of muffled conversations and the hum of the air conditioning made you feel oddly detached as you changed into the only clothes you had brought with you—a pair of shorts and a baggy top that barely fit over your damp swimsuit. You knew you probably looked ridiculous, but there was no turning back now.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you were nervous. Terribly nervous. Your fingers fumbled with the hem of your shirt as you glanced at yourself in the mirror. It wasn’t exactly tennis attire, and you could already picture Agatha’s teasing comment about how out of place you looked, but something deep inside you urged you to go anyway. You didn’t want to disappoint her, not after everything she’d said, not after that look she’d given you. Besides, you weren’t backing down now. You were going to play tennis with Agatha, even if you had no clue how to.

You took a deep breath, grabbed your water bottle, and made your way out the locker room door and towards the courts.

When you got to the tennis courts, there was no sign of Agatha yet. You stood awkwardly by the fence, clutching your water bottle, feeling every inch the outsider in your mismatched outfit. You could hear the faint thwack of tennis balls being hit in the distance, and when you rounded the corner, there she was, standing at the edge of the court, pulling a ball from her bag, her tennis skirt fluttering gently in the breeze.

The sight of her made your heart skip a beat. She looked even more effortlessly stunning up close, her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail that framed her face perfectly, her posture confident as she adjusted the strings on her racket.

You swallowed hard, your stomach doing flips as she turned toward you, catching sight of you standing there.

“Well, well,” Agatha said, her eyes scanning you briefly, her lips curling into a smile. “You actually came.” There was a twinkle in her eyes, the same playful glint that always seemed to be there whenever she looked at you. “Not bad, considering this,” she motioned to your outfit, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “But I suppose it’ll do for now.”

You flushed but didn’t say anything, suddenly feeling very self-conscious as she walked over to you, tennis racket in hand.

“Ready to learn?” Agatha asked, her voice low and teasing, almost like a dare. You nodded, trying to keep your cool, but your mind was racing. There was something about the way she looked at you that made everything feel so much more intense.

“Let’s start with the basics.” She placed her hand lightly on your shoulder to guide you to the other side of the court, her fingers lingering just a moment too long. The touch sent a jolt through you that made your skin tingle. You barely managed to steady yourself as she positioned you correctly, stepping close enough that her breath brushed your ear.

Her hands hovered over your arms, adjusting your grip on the racket, her fingers brushing the skin of your wrist just a little longer than necessary. You couldn’t help but notice how warm her touch was, how the slight pressure of her hands on your body sent waves of heat through your chest. Her fingers slid down your arm, adjusting your posture just a little more. It felt almost like an intimate dance, the closeness making everything else fade into the background.

“You’ll need to get the ball over the net first,” Agatha said, her voice smooth and steady, but with that same teasing edge. “You don’t want to hit it into the net, or you’ll look like a real amateur.”

Her eyes locked with yours as she handed you the tennis ball. You could feel the weight of her gaze, the subtle pressure it created in the air between you. “Ready?” she asked softly, her lips curling at the edges.

You nodded, your throat dry. You tossed the ball in the air, trying to focus on her instructions, but when you swung your racket, it went completely off-target. You missed by a mile.

Agatha let out a soft laugh, and you felt your face flush. “Not quite,” she said, stepping closer, her body warm and solid beside yours as she moved behind you. “You need to angle your racket like this" Her breath was warm against your neck as her hands came to rest on your waist, guiding you into position. Her fingers lingered just a moment longer than necessary on your skin, and you stiffened, your heart pounding.

Her body was so close now, and the pressure of her hands on you made everything feel different. Intimate. You could feel her chest lightly brushing against your back, the heat of her body so palpable you felt like you were drowning in it.

“That’s better,” Agatha said, her voice low, her breath sending a shiver down your spine. “But now, you need to follow through with your arms.” She stepped even closer, if that was even possible, her body practically flush against yours. You could feel every inch of her as she moved, the soft fabric of her skirt brushing against your legs. Her hands moved from your waist to your hips, positioning you perfectly. “Let me show you,” she whispered, her voice like a velvet caress.

She placed her hands on the sides of your hips, guiding you as she demonstrated the motion, her body pressing into yours as she bent over your shoulder, her fingers brushing against your skin, lingering for just a second too long before she pulled back. You could feel the heat radiating from her, her closeness sending an electric current through you.

You couldn’t concentrate on the tennis lesson at all anymore. Every touch, every movement she made, was burning itself into your memory, making it impossible to focus on anything else but her. The way her hands lingered on you, the soft teasing in her voice—it was too much. You tried to clear your mind, but it felt like the air itself was thick with unspoken tension, with everything left unsaid between the two of you.

"Ready to try again sweetheart?" Agatha asked, pulling back just enough to give you space but still staying close enough that her presence was overwhelming. Her gaze never left yours as she handed you the ball again, her smile slow and suggestive.

“Alright,” you murmured, trying to push past the haze of nerves and desire swirling in your chest. “I’m ready.”

Agatha’s smile softened, that same teasing glint still in her eyes, but there was something else there now, something more intense. She took a step back, just enough to give you some space to swing the racket, but not far enough to lose that magnetic pull between you. “Good,” she said, her voice smooth, but with an edge that sent a thrill down your spine. “Now, show me what you’ve got honey.”

You tossed the ball into the air, trying to focus on the instructions she’d given you, but the whole world seemed to narrow down to just her, the scent of her perfume mixing with the fresh air, the soft rustle of her skirt as she moved. You swung the racket again, this time making contact, but the ball barely skimmed the top of the net and fell to the ground with a soft thud.

Agatha’s soft laugh rang out, and your face flushed. You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, even though you knew she was just being playful. She took a few steps toward you, her heels clicking against the court, her eyes glinting with amusement.

“You’ve got a nice swing,” she said, her voice low and teasing. “But you’re not quite putting enough into it. Here let me help.”

Before you could protest, she was behind you again, her presence overwhelming as her hands moved to adjust your stance. She placed her hands on your hips, guiding you into position, her fingers grazing against your skin, sending a shockwave through your body. The closeness, the heat of her touch, made it nearly impossible to think straight. You could feel the rapid beat of your heart, the warmth spreading from her hands to the rest of you, the way your body seemed to react to her presence without your permission.

Her body brushed against yours as she leaned in, just enough for you to feel the soft pressure of her chest against your back. “Relax,” she murmured, her voice soft but commanding, as her fingers lightly traced the curve of your waist. “Just let go. It’s all about feeling the motion, not forcing it.”

Her breath was warm against your ear, and the scent of her—a mix of fresh linen and something floral—invaded your senses, making your pulse spike. You were hyper-aware of every part of her, her hands lingering on your skin for just a moment longer than necessary, like she was savoring the contact. You could feel the way her fingertips barely brushed the waistband of your shorts, a touch so light, but it was enough to make your body hum with awareness.

She shifted slightly, guiding your body into the right position, her fingers dancing across your skin like she was memorizing every inch of you. Her grip tightened just a little on your waist, and you felt a sharp jolt shoot through you. “There,” she whispered, her voice like silk, sending shivers down your spine. “That’s it. Now, try again.”

Your body was on autopilot as you tossed the ball into the air once more, trying to focus on her instructions, but all you could think about was her hands on you, the way they moved with such precision and care, the way her body was pressed so close to yours. The world seemed to fade away, and all you could hear was her soft, encouraging voice and the rhythmic sound of your own breath, fast and shallow.

You swung again, and this time, the ball soared over the net, landing neatly on the other side. You couldn’t help but let out a relieved breath, a small smile tugging at your lips as you looked back at her. “I did it.”

Agatha’s smile was slow and knowing, her eyes flashing with something unreadable. “See? I told you I’d teach you,” she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re a quick learner.”

Before you could respond, she was moving again, closing the space between you with that same fluid grace that made your heart race. “You know,” she said casually, her voice light, but there was an undercurrent of something more in it, something deeper, “it’s not just about hitting the ball. Tennis is about control, about using your body, your movements, to keep things in balance.”

Her hands rested gently on your shoulders, her fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your collarbone, the sensation of her touch making your breath catch. She was so close now, her body practically flush against yours. You could feel the heat from her, the steady rhythm of her breathing as she moved behind you once more. She wasn’t just guiding you anymore. She was positioning you, shifting your hips, your shoulders, all while her hands moved with such delicate precision that it was almost impossible to focus on anything but her.

The tension between you both was undeniable now. The air was thick, heavy with the weight of her presence, her touch, and her soft, teasing words. “Don’t tense up honey,” Agatha murmured as she positioned you to swing once more. “Let the movement come naturally.”

Her hands glided down your arms, her fingers lingering on your skin, tracing the muscles in your forearm with careful attention. Her touch was slow, deliberate, each contact sending a shockwave through your body. She wasn’t just teaching you tennis anymore. She was holding you, guiding you in ways that felt far more intimate than any lesson could.

You swung again, the ball landing in bounds, and Agatha smiled, her lips curling at the edges. “You’re doing so much better sweetheart,” she said, her voice smooth, but there was something more in it now, something that made your pulse quicken.

Agatha stepped back for a moment, her eyes never leaving you as she ran a hand through her hair, fixing her ponytail. “I think you’re ready,” She said, a playful glint in her eyes, “How about I book you in for some more lessons hon?”

“I’d like that,” You say, your voice quieter than usual.

Agatha’s smile widened, and she stepped closer again, her body coming into your personal space with the same casual grace that made your breath hitch. “I knew you would.” Her fingers brushed over your arm once more as she retrieved her racket from the ground, and for a moment, her touch lingered. “You’re a quick learner, I like that. But we’ll need to work on your form a bit more.”

Her hands slid over your shoulder, a warm, firm pressure that left a lingering warmth in its wake. “But don’t worry,” she continued, her voice low and almost seductive, “I’ll be here to guide you every step of the way.” Agatha moved back slightly, just enough to give you space to breathe. “I’ll make sure to go easy on you for your first real lesson. Just remember, I’m a patient teacher. But I don’t take too kindly to bad form, darling.” She grinned as she swiped her racket from the ground, the smooth movement making her look effortless, almost untouchable.

You nodded, still dazed, your heart hammering in your chest. You couldn’t decide whether to collapse from the tension or leap into the next lesson with her. It wasn’t just tennis anymore. It was something else entirely, something far more thrilling and dangerous than you’d ever expected.

“You can’t get better if you don’t keep trying,” she added with a wink, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of challenge and something far deeper.

Your gaze dropped to her lips, her teasing grin still there, and you felt the pull again. This wasn’t just about tennis, and you both knew it.

Agatha was playing a game, and you were already too far in to back out now. You nodded again, feeling a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. “I’ll be ready,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

“Good,” she replied with a soft, satisfied hum. “Right I could use a drink after that, the bar’s open for another hour, you coming?”

You nodded quickly, the words coming easily. “Yeah, sure.”

You couldn't help but smile. Yeah, you thought to yourself with a little internal smirk. I’m sure I’ll be coming real soon.

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angelicsoka · 10 months ago

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BLIND DATE, j. drysdale

part two <3

word count | 758 words

pairings | jamie drysdale x single mother!hughes!reader

summary | you were never one for dating, especially when trevor is the one setting them up. but one date can’t hurt, right?

warnings | talk of pregnancy and terrible ex boyfriends. not proofread. one use of “y/n”. lowercase intended. this is a work of fiction, i am by no means saying this is how they act in real life.

a/n | thank you for 200 followers! i can't believe people actually enjoy my writing but here we are lmao. i’ve had this idea sitting in my drafts for a while but i finally decided to sit down and write it. its pretty short but i’m not against writing a part two :) anyway, enjoy!!

dating was never really your thing, at least not since your last boyfriend left you pregnant and alone in a city you were unfamiliar with. your ex had convinced you to move from michigan to california, something your family tried to warn you against, but you were stubborn. finding out you were pregnant was an accident, a routine checkup. what was supposed to be a wonderful thing turned terrible quick. your ex was angry, he wanted nothing to do with a kid. he gave you an ultimatum: get an abortion or we are over. but, as stated before, you were stubborn and had already to start to fall in love with the idea of being a mom. so, he left and you chose to stay in anaheim, a difficult decision but your ego was already hurt and proving your parents right was not what you wanted to do.

so, here you were, the mother of a two year old little girl who was your whole world. she was your moon and stars, the light of your life. it was you and her against the world, and you were content with that. that was until trevor zegras decided to intervene. “one date.” he begged, “he's a good guy, you’ll like him!” you had simply rolled your eyes, but after he offered to babysit for you whenever you wanted, you faltered, agreeing to the date.

now, you were sat in a fancy restaurant awaiting the arrival of trevor’s friend. she felt out of place, her dress not nearly as elegant as the women that surrounded her. she checked her phone once more, ready to leave when a man in a suit rushed over, a hurried look on his face. “sorry, i’m sorry! trevor wouldn't stop yapping.” you stood up, smoothing out your dress before offering him your hand to shake.

“it's all good, you must be jamie?” he nodded, shaking your hand. his smile made your heart flutter slightly, bringing a smile to grace your own lips. “y/n, it's a pleasure.” the anxious pit in your stomach began to settle as you sat, feeling comfortable in the presence of jamie.

“trevor didn’t tell me much about you.” jamie smiled sheepishly.

“guess we’re in the same boat then.” you smiled, taking a sip from your water. “tell me, jamie, how is it that a handsome guy like you is resorting to blind dates to find a girl?” you questioned, a teasing look in your eye. jamie blushed, ducking his head slightly.

“well, hockey takes up most of my time and trevor takes up the rest of it.” you laughed at that, “it's like wrangling around a small child.”

“oh, i know that feeling all to well. my daughter is great at matching his energy.” jamie did well in hiding his shock, masking it with confusion, but you had learned to pick up on the small cues. “he didn’t tell you?”

“no, uh, he wasn’t very forthcoming with information.” you nodded, unlocking your phone and pulling up a picture of your daughter.

“this is my daughter, isla. she has enough energy to outdo trevor, but she’s my world and i wouldn’t change a thing about her.” jamie smiled at the photo of isla who was wearing an elsa dress, her mouth covered in chocolate.

“she is very cute.” jamie looked to you, “just like her mom.” you blushed, laughing slightly. “how old is she?”

“just turned two, here’s her with my brothers at her frozen themed party.” you swiped to the photo of isla opening her presents with the help of your brothers.

“is that jack wearing a… tiara?” jamie questioned, pointing to jack who had a crown, which was too small, on his head.

you giggled, swiping to another photo, “yeah well, quinn and luke were wearing tutus but they attacked me when i tried to take a picture, but isla has them wrapped around her finger.” you showed jamie the photo of your daughter in her elsa dress, quinn and luke wearing matching tutus. “they don’t know i have this photo.” jamie laughed, a sound you were already growing to love. you closed your phone, setting it beside you.

“anyway, tell me about you.” and he did, and you listened intently, never once losing interest. what you thought would be a boring date, had turned into one of the best dates you had ever been on. you exchanged numbers before you went your separate ways, another date already in the works.

who knew trevor would make a decent matchmaker?

#angelicsoka #nhl imagine #trevor zegras #jamie drysdale x hughes!sister #jamie drysdale imagine #jamie drysdale x reader #jamie drysdale #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #luke hughes #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes x reader #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 8 months ago

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In the Moonlight

Author's Note: This is a part of the Dancing With the Devil AU, but can be read as a stand alone. The Vamp!Rhys brain rot has taken over and there aren't enough fics to satisfy me so I wrote more ;)

Pairing: Vamp!Rhys x Reader x Vamp!Azriel

Content Warnings: SMUT, threesomes, oral (f and m receiving) blood, typical vampire stuff

Based on this post/ original fic

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You’ve always loved music, the steady flow of the strings, the heavy pulse of the drums; it’s always been something that moves and excites you, your body knows how to respond to it as if it's its basest instinct. Music was the siren song that had pulled you and Nesta to the dance floor all those years ago, as children, eager to dance and move and lose yourself in the steps of a blooming waltz that made the other mortal children dizzy. It had been one of your few chances at freedom, and you had chased that opportunity all the way to the Velaris Estate weeks ago, and had now found a new sense of freedom.

It’s still tied to music, by some humorous twist of fate. You’d learned early on that the Lord of the Estate had the set list planned: Something graceful and elegant to start, the slow thrum of the string section pushing people onto the dance floor, highlighting easy prey in those lingering on the edge with no partner to claim them. Then something more sensual, as the predators take the floor, snatching their prey with a charming bow and disarming smile. These will span several songs, get their prey comfortable with their presence, before the shift becomes something with more drums and base, music to disappear into the dark corners to.

Their ability to move so seamlessly, so flawlessly that no one suspects there might be ill intent in the gesture is still mind boggling. You stand in the shadows of the upstairs veranda, watching Rhysand and his horde move as you sip from a full wine glass, content to study for now. The bargain had never specified when Rhys was supposed to turn you, for now, you attend his parties and do your best to study them, so when the time comes you’ll be prepared.

There are new faces in the crowd tonight, less and less of your neighbors and childhood friends filling the expensive ballroom now that word had spread that you hadn’t returned home, all those weeks ago. As expected, your brother had nearly torn the Spring Estate to shreds when he’d found you gone. Nesta had apparently witnessed you sitting in Rhys’s lap--though by some magic or sheer luck, she hadn’t seen him drinking from your neck--and had gone straight to Tamlin to tell him. The betrayal had burned white hot, and not for the first time, were you thankful the ancient vampire hadn’t turned you yet, or else the destruction you might have caused in the aftermath would have made Tamlin’s look like a child’s temper tantrum. She hadn’t tried to explain herself, every one of your friends had turned their back on you, a couple of them had outright called you a whore to your face before vowing to never speak to you again. None of them were known to be tight lipped either, the whole town was sure to know that you’d “debased yourself with the Lord of Velaris”. It would have hurt less if you hadn’t spent the last couple of years protecting Nesta’s own secret lovers, but you had to admit, the newfound freedom of living here lessened the sting more and more each day. There were no governesses dictating your every outfit and hairstyle; no stewards limiting the amount of food you got at each meal to ensure you stayed pretty and thin for a would-be husband; no guards to regulate how much time you spent outside and where you could go. If you wanted to wear something, you did; if you wanted to eat you could go into the kitchens now and ask for it and the staff would do so eagerly; if you wanted to go outside and run until you got lost in the mountains, you were free to do so. There were no restrictions with Rhys, the fact alone was enough to keep you here, though the prospect of immortality pulled a little more and more each day. It wasn’t even the living forever thing, you really weren’t that interested in that part. It was the strength, the power, the freedom to be wild and unrestrained and never have to worry about being hurt or caged again. Once you were a vampire, no one could keep you locked away.

You take another sip of wine as the music begins to shift and the lights dim. Feeding time. Rhys dances beneath you with a blonde woman, the neckline of her gown so deep you can see the heavy swell of her breasts from your vantage point. You shove down the pang of jealousy you feel upon seeing those hands on someone else’s hips with another deep drink from your wine glass.

Mor dances with a female on the edge of the crowd, the darkest part of the dance floor, where the judgmental eyes of the town won’t be so quick to spot her. Cassian hasn’t danced all night, has spent the evening prowling around the refreshment table, trying to get drunk despite his accelerated metabolism making it hard. He’d hoped to make a similar bargain with Nesta all those weeks ago, but you’re pretty sure he’d stepped on her foot and she’d left scowling in search of you before she’d found you in Rhys’s lap. Poor Cassian has been moping since.

You haven’t seen Azriel all night, but that’s how he likes it. He could be as charming as Rhys if he wanted, but he likes his solitude too much to risk it. When he steps out of the shadows to your left, as if your thoughts had materialized him, it’s little surprise. Rhys had explained that every vampire had their own unique abilities, among some shared traits, and Azriel’s shadow manipulation made him an excellent hunter.

“You’re not dancing tonight?” He says as he comes to stand beside you, scared hands resting on the banister railing.

You take another sip of wine. “I didn’t know I was on the menu tonight.” A lie, Mor had helped you pick a gown with a neckline that plunged all the way down to your midsection with the intent of catching the Vampire Lord’s eye, but you had chickened out at the last minute and hid. Having the freedom to chose and the bravery to walk out in public were two very different things, but you hadn’t realized it until too late.

Hazel eyes roam the expanse of your exposed skin, the way your hair is pinned up out of the way so that the full expanse of your throat is available. It doesn’t hide the hickey’s Rhys had left a couple nights ago either, the dark marks smattered across your collarbones and lower, following the path of your gown. “So everyone knows your mine,” Rhys had purred in your ear and before the ball you had been thrilled to show them off. Until a few wandering eyes had lingered too long, the judgment clear on their faces. You’d spent the rest of the night hoping everyone would forget you’d existed.

“He’s looking for you,” Azriel says half-heartedly, eyes still exploring you. There’s a hunger there you can’t miss; that has you pressing your thighs a little tighter together. Azriel is as devastatingly handsome as Rhys is, and this is not the first time you’ve noticed the attention he gives you, but it has never gone anywhere. Especially not when his sire is the one leaving all these marks on your throat.

“He seemed plenty preoccupied with that blonde,” you reply.

A half-smile creases the vampire’s usually stoic face. “Jealous, little one?”

“No,” you say. “Just observing.”

The grin remains as he holds out a hand in silent invitation and when you take it, you can’t help but wonder how those large, scarred hands would feel on your thighs, spreading you open…

The world spins and flips as Azriel shadow steps the two of you down into what they call the Den, the unlit corners of the ballroom where they can feed in near privacy. There’s no doors to lock, though there are several glamors in place to keep wandering eyes from getting suspicious.

Mor and a newly turned Emerie are already sharing a female on a couch in the corner, and the blonde winks at you as she sinks her fangs deeper into her prey.

On the opposite side of the Den, nursing a glass of whiskey under the light of the full moon peeking through the curtains, is Rhys. He looks like a god in this lighting, violet eyes glowing in the dimness. You can’t help but notice that he sits alone, his dance partner nowhere to be seen. While it’s never been discussed that you’re the only human he’s feeding on, a part of you is relieved to see that he hasn’t taken anyone else. It’s a strange sort of satisfaction, knowing there’s something in your blood that keeps him coming back again and again.

Violet eyes watch your every step forward with the intensity of a jungle cat on the hunt. “There you are, Darling,” he purrs. “I was looking for you.”

“Liar,” you tease.

He makes himself more comfortable in the large wing-backed chair, legs spread and you can’t decide if you want to climb in his lap or get on your knees for him more.

“Did you spook your dance partner?”

“No,” he says as he brings the whiskey back to his lips and takes a slow drink. “She was dull and she kept stepping on my toes.”

“You poor baby,” you croon and he grins as he sets the whiskey down on a small side table.

“I would have been spared if you hadn’t decided to be a wallflower tonight,” he replies, hand tapping at his thigh for an invitation for you to come sit. “What’s bothering you?”

The slit in your skirts makes moving them out of your way easy as you climb into his lap, knees bracketing his hips. Every time you think you’ll enjoy it less, but there is no feeling quite like this one, you could sit here forever. “I-”

Rhys presses his lips over a bruise on your neck.

“I was going to come down, but,” the words catch in your throat a bit, your cheeks flushed. “I think I should have worn something else.”

Slender fingers brush over your exposed skin making a shiver run down your spine. “Why would you do that?” He counters. “You look breathtaking. Doesn’t she, Az?”

You’ve almost forgotten the other vampire was still standing there, still watching in that silent, shadowy way of his. When you throw a glance at him over your shoulder, he’s standing with his hands in his pockets, eyes narrowed into the exposed bit of your thigh from where the dress is split.

“Absolutely sinful,” he says softly.

Now you’re really blushing. “I-I was hoping you’d like it,” you stammer. “I just… I don’t like when people are looking at me.”

“I do like it,” he says so lowly that heat begins to build in your core. “So much so that I had to stop myself from taking you against the railing over and over again.” Teeth scrape lightly over your skin, teasing, not quite tasting you yet.

“Az was thinking about it too,” he hums into your skin. “You should hear the things he thinks about you.”

“Rhys-” Azriel begins, the apology on his lips, but Rhys pulls away from your neck to motion him over.

“What do you think, little one, should we give him a little taste?” You’ve never been more aware of your own body than you are with Azriel at your back, and the firm planes of Rhys at your front.

You glance back and forth between them, at the tension that rolls off Azriel, at the hunger that chases your every motion in Rhys’s eyes. In your mind he says, “It’s your choice, Darling.”

“You-you won’t be mad?”

His laugh is a beautiful thing, even in your mind. “Azriel and I have shared many females. Cassian too. I enjoy it, as long as my partner does too. And I know that you’ve thought about him, it’s hard not to, but only if you really want to.”

You’ve been studying all of them: The way they hunt, the way they move, what separates them from humans and other vampires alike. Rhys is refined in his ability to hunt, uses his charm and his wits to bait prey into the Den; he makes feeding an art form, something graceful and dazzling, an allure only someone who’s done this for a long time can make possible. Cassian is messy, he likes to splatter blood when he feeds, and while he’s calculating and strategic in the initial hunt, he has no qualms getting dirty. Mor thrives in the dark corners of the ballroom, meeting in secret with her lovers because she does not trust people enough to bring a stranger into the Den. And Amren, well you’ve only met her once, and she’d traded some of her books for a mere drop of blood from your wrist before she disappeared again. But Azriel, you haven’t really figured out. He always hovers at the edge of the crowd, only speaks or feeds when he needs to, as if denying himself the pleasure the others chase will absolve him of whatever darkness lingers in his past. You know it’s there, have heard it hinted at, but no one will say it out loud. The more you try to learn about them, the more a mystery Azriel remains, and you’d be a liar if you said you weren’t curious to see how he feeds compared to Rhys.

“I do.”

And there is no judgment there. Unlike everyone else tonight. The freedom to choose, to want, is enough to make you toss your arms around his neck and lean in to kiss the tip of his nose. Anywhere else he might be regarded as a monster of the night, but here, like this, you’ve never felt safer.

Rhys presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “And who am I to deny my little pet anything?”

Azriel’s hands settle on your hips, that immortal strength never failing to make you feel fragile and small in their grip. It sends a shiver of delight through you; there’s no denying how much you love the freedom of handing over your power and knowing they won’t abuse it.

His warm breath fans your neck as he brings his lips to your exposed throat. “Been thinking about this since you arrived.”

Rhys nips at where your neck meets your collarbone, hands skimming your sides until he finds your breasts, nipples peaked through the thin fabric. “How would you like to taste her first?”

Teeth scrape over your pulse point, savoring the rapid beating of your heart. “Turn her around.”

They move you together, fingers digging into your hips as you're positioned with your back to Rhys’s chest, legs spread by his knees. Your skirts get caught, bunched up around your hips, baring most of your legs and you give a little squeak of surprise as you try to close them, to spare what’s left of your dignity, but there’s no room as Azriel kneels between both yours and Rhys’s legs.

Heat pools in your core, even as your cheeks heat in embarrassment. “Someone is going to see us!” You squeak, voice more shrill than you would have liked it to be. You want this, you want it more than you’ll ever allow yourself to say out loud, but there is a crowd nearby and even with the glamor in place, it is still a far more compromising position than you’ve ever been in. At least before, your skirts hid your coupling, but there’s no hiding like this, as Rhys loops an arm around your waist and sinks his fangs into your neck.

The shadows that leak from Azriel drift off his broad shoulders, shimmering and darkening, as if they’re absorbing the moonlight seeping through the window. “Not unless you want them to,” he says as those scared hands drag up your soft skin.

Your hips buck despite yourself, body aching to be touched; for more, more, more. The aphrodisiac in Rhys’s venom takes hold quickly, makes your whole body molten. The combination of pain and pleasure makes you close your eyes and lean your head back against Rhys’s shoulder.

“Good girl,” Rhys purrs into your mind so he doesn’t have to release his grip on your neck. “Just relax, let us take care of you.”

Azriel must be linked into your conversation, because he says in your mind, “There’s not much room for creatures like us in temples, but I’ll worship here just the same,” as his own fangs sink into the tender flesh of your inner thigh.

It’s a far more tender spot than you thought it would be, a whimper of pain escaping you, body rocking back into the hard planes of Rhys’s chest and the growing bulge in his pants to try and escape. Their combined grip on you keeps you from getting far, but that whimper turns into a moan as Rhys drags a hand down between your legs to give you some relief. He chuckles into your mind when he finds you’re not wearing any underthings, but the slit in your skirts had made you nervous that someone would see the lacy underthings that kept appearing in your drawers if you moved too fast.

“Fuck,” Azriel moans as he unlatches his fangs from your thigh, fingers playing in the bit of blood that trickles out the puncture wounds. “She’s so sweet!”

Rhys, never one to make a mess, laps at what escapes from the wounds he made at your throat before saying, “I told you she was.”

Hazel eyes narrow into the teasing strokes the other vampire is making between your legs, watching with rapt attention the way Rhys spreads you open as he licks your blood off his lips. Vampires, you’ve noticed, have a strange sort of stillness about them, they can become still as statues, unmoving, never blinking, it was still nerve wracking, especially now that you know that predatory stillness comes right before they pounce, and Azriel has that same look about him, right before he leans in and licks a stripe up your center.

Rhys chuckles in your ear as you moan and try one more time to squirm away from their dual ministrations, body overwhelmed as he curls a finger inside you and Azriel follows with his tongue.

You’re going to reach your high embarrassingly fast at this rate, especially when Rhys’s free hand slides your top to the side so he can roll a nipple between his fingers. You squeeze your eyes shut, one hand reaching behind you to tangle in Rhys’s hair, the other in Azriel’s to try and ground yourself. The intensity of both their venom in your bloodstream has heightened everything beyond what you’d already thought possible, your skin burning, coated in sweat from this alone. Their efforts are somehow too much and not enough and you’ve lost the presence of mind to tell which of their names you’re crying out first, it might be both of them.

Azriel feasts on you like a male starved, and the shadows not making a shield around the three of you writhe eagerly over your thighs, dusting your heated skin with cool touches that make you buck your hips as best you can against their master’s grip. Rhys adds a second finger, using your gathering wetness and Azriel’s spit to spread you open further, giving the other male more access to you, his nose brushing your clit, chin absolutely soaked in the mess you’re making. The move has you panting, stars blurring across your vision as an orgasm tears through you.

“Fuck,” you whimper, body shaking from your high.

Rhys peppers kisses along your neck and shoulders as Azriel pulls back, licking your release off his lips. “No wonder you’ve been hiding this one from the rest of us,” he says huskily. “I could spend all night like this.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, little one?” Rhys purrs in your ear, breath tickling your still flushed skin. Their venom hasn’t worn off yet, body still not satiated, still begging to be touched and claimed. There’s not a chance you can close your legs, the evidence of your still budding arousal leaking onto his pants.

“Please,” you whimper.

“Which one of us do you want first, hm?”

How are you supposed to choose? There are too many things you want and it’s all getting muddled in your head. “Both.”

It’s Azriel’s deep rumble of a laugh that skitters across your skin as he says, “You can’t take both of us in this body, little one.” Scarred hands skim your exposed thighs, fingers kneading into the bite marks that are quickly turning into a bruise. “Humans are so fragile.”

And damn do you certainly feel it like this, tucked between the two of them. They could so easily break you, so easily overpower you. It’s thrilling and terrifying all at once.

“Want…” your cheeks heat, a blush crawling its way up your neck and Rhys runs his tongue over it with a chuckle.

“Tell us what you want, Darling.”

You shiver, despite the flush of your damp skin. “Want to taste you then.”

You watch with rapt attention as those hazel eyes widen, the golden ring thinning until there is nothing but pupil as he processes what you’re saying. Still, you grind yourself down on Rhys’s bulge as you reach for the laces on Azriel’s pants, hoping he gets the hint as well.

“Greedy little thing,” Azriel tuts, but he steps closer anyway, letting you figure out how to get the laces untied in the moonlight. “I don’t think you’ve properly trained your pet, Rhys.”

Rhys’s fingers dip into the tender flesh of your hips mercilessly as he grinds you back against his erection, a rumble of a moan echoing through his chest. “Don’t want this one trained,” he purrs. “They taste better when they’re wild.”

You manage to get the laces undone, hands shaking a bit when you realize what you’ve just gotten yourself into. Rhys is a lot on his own, Azriel is… bigger than you expected. A lot bigger, his cock heavy and erect against his stomach.

They must be having their own mental conversation, when you pause to consider how to even go about this, Azriel suddenly reaches out to grab you by the hair, pulling you forward as Rhys moves your skirts out of the way. Their movements are in perfect sync and you don’t know whether you should hiss from the sting of those large hands in your hair or moan as Rhys rubs the tip of his cock against your center. The sound that comes out of you is a little bit of both in the end.

“Are you sure about this?” Rhys inquires as if there could possibly be any thought in your head other than how much you need the both of them right now. Do they not share the same ache you feel? How are they not consumed by this thing that begs beneath your skin to be touched and soothed and filled?

You lean forward just enough to lick Azriel’s tip, catching a bead of pre-cum on your tongue as the male’s fingers tighten in your hair, a hiss escaping him. “Very sure.”

“Tap my thigh twice if it gets to be too much,” Rhys orders.

You nod your understanding as he slides slowly into you, letting you get adjusted to the feel of him from this angle. He’s deliberately slow, gliding in inch by inch, making your eyes roll back into your head, all your focus on the feel of him instead of tending to Az.

“I see she gets her greediness from you,” Azriel teases.

You have to brace yourself against Azriel’s hips as Rhys rocks your forward, chuckling. “Just because I said I’d share, doesn’t mean I’m not going to have my fill.”

Stars dance across your vision as he hits an angle inside you he hasn’t reached before, mouth falling open as pleasure licks its way up your spine.

Azriel grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at him when all you want to do is squeeze your eyes shut under the pleasure. “Are you gonna put that pretty little mouth to use?”

You run your tongue over your lips, whimpering as Rhys settles fully inside you, “Mmhhmm,” is all you can manage to get out before he’s guiding you down to his leaking cock.

“Been thinking about this for a long time,” Az whispers. “Always wearing that pretty shade of lipstick that would look so good smeared across my cock.”

You swirl your tongue over his tip again and his hips jerk involuntarily. It’s a greedy sort of satisfaction you get in knowing that you can reduce a thousand year old vampire to this with just your tongue, and you want to see how much farther you can push him. Keeping a hand on his hips for balance, you use the other touch him, tracing a line down the underside of his shaft that has him hissing as the muscles in his abdomen tighten.

Rhys takes as much time sliding out of you as he had sliding in, setting a leisurely pace you know is to help you get comfortable with this setting. As tight as his own muscles are, you know he’s holding back, and you’re grateful for it, as you start to take Azriel in your mouth. It’s going to take time to get used to, you have to focus all your effort into breathing out your nose and slackening your jaw. There’s no way you’re going to be able to fit all of him.

“Just like that,” Az moans, using the hand in your hair to guide you down further.

“Look so pretty like this,” Rhys encourages as he trails soft kisses over your spine. He’s far more gentle with you than a vampire ought to be, and you can’t help but think he might be getting attached to you; a notion that would have sounded absurd weeks ago, but makes your heart stutter a little now.

“Feels so good,” you tell him mind to mind.

He slides back into you with a groan, just a little more forcefully than before, making your head bob down Azriel’s cock until he hits the back of your throat. Az moans louder than someone who is usually so stoic ought to and you have to release him for a second to catch your breath.

He gives you mere seconds before he’s hurriedly pulling you back, groaning like he can’t bear to not have your mouth around him anymore. Rhys sets his pace to match, giving you a rhythm to follow as you get a hand around the parts of Az you can’t get your mouth around.

This is a pleasure you didn’t know you needed; the way they both moan and pant over you has you rocking your hips back into Rhys, your hand pumping a little harder around Az. As much as you want them to ruin you, you want to do the same to them.

Rhys’s fangs scrape over your shoulder, fingers tightening into your hips in a move you know will leave bruises. He’s getting closer to the edge, all his praises whispered in pants against your skin.

Az throws his head back as he hits the back of your throat once, twice, then a third time, the muscles in his abdomen tightening with every thrust.

They’re both so close, you not far behind, especially when Rhys slips his hand between your legs again.

“Fuck,” Az whispers. With his head thrown back like that, eyes pinched shut, muscled body bathed in the moonlight, he looks every bit a god. And if his tongue between your legs counts as worship, then so should this as you take him as deep as you can without gagging, face a mess of spit and pre-cum.

“Gonna cum,” he warns.

Rhys’s thrusts are getting harder, the chair groaning beneath him as he fucks up into you. This is usually where he likes another taste of you, you’re used to the routine of it, ready for him to sink his fangs into your shoulder, though the force of it this time is different, as if he’s losing control, the bite sloppy, teeth scraping against your skin before they push in.

Your whole body tenses at the sensation of a thousand year old vampire losing a bit of his usual control, pleasure building white hot in your core. You want to see him a complete mess one of these days.

It’s your moan around his cock that pushes Azriel quickly over the edge, warm cum spurting in your mouth before he can pull away from you. Azriel, quite, broody Azriel groans and pants as he cums, the sound like music to your ears as you drink him down. His hand still hasn’t left your hair, now scrapping gently against your scalp as you release him with a pop that turns into a squeal as Rhys bites down on your shoulder a second time.

One more thrust, then a second before your own release barrels through you, white hot in the buzz of sensations swirling around your head. Your own release chases Rhys into his and he jerks forward with a cry as he spills inside you.

You fall back against his chest as you come down from your high, body trembling, breath escaping in pants.

Azriel reaches out and wipes a bit of the mess he made on your chin with his thumb, muttering, “Beautiful.”

Still catching his breath, Rhys presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek, and judging by the wetness on his lips you think there might still be some blood on them, but you’re too blissed out to care.

“Did so well,” he praises in your ear, voice still low and husky.

You raise a hand to card your fingers through his hair, eyes drifting shut, beyond satiated. If someone had told you this would have happened because you’d decided to sneak into a party and dance with a stranger, you wouldn’t have believed them in the slightest, but now, it doesn’t matter how long it takes for him to fulfill his end of the bargain. There are new freedoms to be found still, new pleasures to experience. You know things will be different once he turns you, and you’re not ready to feel so different yet. Right now, you like this thing between you. It’s good. Freeing.

“I’m glad I met you,” you admit softly.

“How very human of you to say,” Azriel teases as he fixes his pants. Despite his words, once he’s done, he still leans down to kiss your forehead.

“You like that I’m human,” you counter.

Rhys manages to get you repositioned so he can stand and carry you upstairs to his room, where you know a warm bath will be waiting for the two of you. “That we do, little one,” he purrs. “There’s still so much more to explore before you turn.”

#rhysand x reader #Rhys x reader #Rhys x reader smut #azriel x reader #azriel x reader smut #vamp!rhys #vamp!azriel #Rhys x reader x azriel #acotar fics #Rhys fics #azriel fics #my writing #my fanfiction #smut #poly!batboys #batboys x reader #batboys x reader smut

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thef1diary · 4 months ago

Text

Royally Fucked | One

— Guarded Encounter

series masterlist

wc: 2.9k

here it is, my first ever oc and au story with my beloved ofc!! Let’s hop in to a world of royalty, romance, and restrictions. Thank you sm to @chilling-seavey for proofreading and letting me talk about Juliette and Daniel for hoursss, this story literally wouldn’t be written without your support <3

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The morning sun cast a golden glow over the secluded outdoor training grounds of the palace, filtering through the lush canopy of ancient oak trees, creating intricate patterns of light and shadow on the freshly mowed lawn. The spring air was crisp and fresh, carrying the faint scent of blooming jasmine and the distant murmur of the bubbling fountain that had rested in the courtyard for centuries.

Juliette stood alone in this tranquil space, a considerable distance from the bustling palace. The noise of the palace–where maids were likely preparing for the day and guards stood watchful at every corridor–was a stark contrast to the serene quietude of the training grounds. Here, in the calm early morning, she found a fleeting sense of peace before the grounds would be teeming with activity. The only sounds were the gentle rustling of the leaves in the breeze and the soft, rhythmic thud of her arrows hitting the target.

Juliette drew another arrow from her finely crafted quiver, its polished wood glinting in the sunlight. With practiced grace, she nocked the arrow and drew back the string of her elegant bow, the tension humming in her ears. She took a deep breath, the cool morning air filling her lungs, and focused intently on the distant target. The world around her seemed to fade away, leaving only the bow, the arrow, and her steady heartbeat.

As she released the arrow, it soared through the air with a faint whisper, striking the bullseye with a satisfying thud. Juliette allowed herself a small, triumphant smile, her eyes lingering on the target for a moment longer before she heard footsteps approaching from behind.

Drawing another arrow from her quiver, she spoke without turning around, her voice steady and tinged with mild annoyance. “You’re late.”

“Apologies, Your Royal Highness,” came an unfamiliar accented voice, smooth and respectful.

Startled by the unexpected voice, Juliette spun around, bow still in hand, nocked with an arrow, and instinctively pointed it at the source of the unknown voice. Before her stood a man in a sharply tailored suit, his attire crisp and formal. A pair of dark sunglasses concealed his eyes, but the cheeky glint in them was betrayed by the playful smile that tugged at his lips. His curly hair, slightly tousled and catching the morning light, added an effortless charm to his otherwise polished appearance.

He raised his hands in a placating gesture, his expression calm and slightly amused, a hint of cheerfulness in his demeanour that seemed at odds with the seriousness of the situation.

“I was not informed you would be here, so it took me a while to find you,” the man continued, crossing his arms for a moment before pointing at the weapon in Juliette’s hand. “Do you always point a bow and arrow at your bodyguard?”

“Who are you? Where’s Oliver?” Juliette demanded, her gaze sharp as she assessed the stranger before her.

“I’m Daniel Ricciardo, Your Royal Highness.”

“That doesn’t explain who you are.”

“I’m pretty sure telling you my name does,” Daniel said with a slight smile, crossing his arms again confidently. “But to clarify, I’m your new bodyguard.”

“New bodyguard?” Juliette asked, still not lowering her guard entirely.

Daniel smiled, nodding. “I’m here to fill in for Oliver while he’s on paternity leave.”

“Paternity leave?” She repeated, incredulously. “And no one thought to inform me?”

“It appears so, Your Royal Highness,” Daniel replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. “I understand the surprise, but I assure you, I am qualified to protect you. Now will you lower the bow?”

The princess, still not convinced, cast a skeptical glance towards the palace doors, which stood a fair distance away. A few other guards were stationed there, ever vigilant. Her voice carried an authoritative tone as she called out, “guards.”

Two of the palace guards approached, maintaining their respectful distance. Juliette pointed towards Daniel, her eyes narrowing. “Is he my new bodyguard?”

Daniel, noticing the guards, gave them a playful wave, his lips curling into a friendly smile as he muttered their names in acknowledgement.

One of the guards, nodding, confirmed, “yes, Your Royal Highness. Your previous bodyguard is on paternity leave for one year starting today. Daniel Ricciardo has been assigned as your temporary guard.”

Juliette scrutinized Daniel for a moment longer before dismissing the guards with a curt nod and a wave. “Very well. You may stay,” she directed at Daniel.

As the guards returned to their posts, Juliette resumed her archery practice, her movements precise and fluid. Occasionally, she glanced towards Daniel, who watched her with an encouraging smile, his demeanour relaxed yet attentive.

Determined to test his capabilities, Juliette decided to issue a challenge. She turned to Daniel, her expression a mix of curiosity and skeptism. “Show me what you’ve got. Let’s see if you can match my aim.”

Daniel’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he removed his sunglasses, revealing a spark of playful confidence. “As you wish, Your Royal Highness.”

As he took the bow from her, Juliette caught a hint of his cologne–a subtle, sophisticated scent that lingered in the air, adding an unexpected touch of elegance to the moment. Daniel took careful aim, and with a fluid practiced motion, released the arrow. It flew straight and true, hitting the target dead center. The arrow quivered in the bullseye, a perfect shot.

Juliette raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching slightly in surprise, though she did her best to mask it. “Beginner’s luck,” she said, maintaining her composure.

“Perhaps,” Daniel replied, handing the bow back to her with a grin. “But I’m confident I can keep up with you.”

The sun began to climb higher in the sky, casting longer shadows across the training grounds. The peaceful solitude of the early hours was gradually being replaced by the sounds of the palace stirring to life. Juliette could hear the distant chatter of servants as they wandered around the garden, completing their tasks one by one.

As she released the next arrow, she felt Daniel’s presence close behind her, a silent, watchful guardian. There was no need for conversation, save for the occasional words of encouragement and compliments from Daniel. Juliette appreciated that he understood the importance of remaining as quiet as possible, even though she preferred complete silence. It was a change she would have to adjust to, no matter how irritating, since Daniel was an unorthodox bodyguard, different compared to what she was used to with Oliver.

Oliver had been stoic and reserved, his demeanor always serious and focused. He rarely spoke unless absolutely necessary, blending into the background and providing a comforting, silent presence. Daniel, on the other hand, was cheerful and approachable, exuding a relaxed yet attentive confidence. His occasional light-hearted comments were a stark contrast to Oliver’s predictability, adding a new dynamic Juliette wasn’t sure how to handle yet.

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As Juliette walked through the grand halls of the palace, the opulence and history that surrounded her were unmistakable. Ornate chandeliers hung from high, vaulted ceilings, casting a warm golden light that danced off the marble floors. Tapestries depicting the kingdom’s rich history adorned the walls, their vibrant colours a stark contrast to the cool, elegant stone. Large windows allowed the waning sunlight to stream in, creating a serene yet majestic atmosphere.

The palace was a hive of activity, with maids bustling about, preparing for the evening, while guards remained vigilant at their posts. The air was filled with the aroma of the fresh flowers set in vases, and a hint of lavender that Juliette favoured. Noting the time, Juliette knew the hustle inside the palace would calm down as the day would go on, like clockwork.

As she continued her determined march, she finally spotted King Albert returning from a diplomatic trip. She quickened her pace, Daniel trailing a few steps behind, his presence a constant, reassuring shadow.

“Father, I should know about my bodyguard’s whereabouts as much as he should know about mine,” she started without properly greeting her father, following him into a room before glancing at Daniel pointedly. “So why wasn’t I informed about the change from Oliver to Daniel?”

The king, sensing her distress, gestured for Daniel to leave. Daniel nodded at both her and the king before stepping outside the room, giving them privacy.

Once the door clicked shut, the king turned to his daughter, his expression softening. “I know Oliver was like a close friend as much as a protector to you, but his absence was unavoidable. I personally appointed Daniel because he is the best of the best. I would not trust just anyone to protect you, and you know that.”

Juliette frowned, still unhappy but reassured by her father’s confidence in Daniel. “I just wish I’d been informed.”

“I understand,” King Albert said gently. “I should have informed you myself. WIth everything happening, it slipped my mind. But believe me, Daniel is exceptional. He’s not just skilled; he’s loyal and trustworthy. Give him a chance. You’ll see he’s more than capable.”

Juliette nodded in agreement, deciding to try her best to adjust to an unfamiliarity in her structured routine. Her father’s words lingered in her mind, softening her resistance, but she couldn’t shake off the irritation of not being informed. If he trusted Daniel, then perhaps she should give him a fair chance. Yet, the thought of replacing Oliver, who was like a close friend, gnawed at her. How could Daniel, with his cheerful demeanor, fit into the role of her protector?

As she left the room, Daniel perked up, falling into step behind her.

“Your Royal Highness,” Daniel said softly as they walked. She turned to face him, her expression void of any emotion. “I’m sorry for the abrupt introduction earlier. I assure you, in a couple days, you won’t feel the difference between Oliver and I at all.”

Juliette studied him for a moment before nodding, “We’ll see, Daniel, in a few days, how true that is.”

Deciding to test Daniel’s capabilities and patience, she thought of assigning him a series of errands. “Follow me to the library,” she ordered.

To Juliette, the library was one of the most majestic rooms in the palace, a sanctuary of knowledge and history. High, vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes depicting scenes from the kingdom’s past loomed overhead. The walls were lined with dark mahogany bookshelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with an extensive collection of leather-bound volumes, ancient manuscripts, and modern texts. Each shelf was meticulously organized, reflecting the care and reverence given to the collection.

Juliette led Daniel through the vast room, the faint scent of aged paper and leather filling the air. She moved with ease among the towering bookshelves, her fingers occasionally brushing against the spines of the volumes she knew so well. This library was more than just a repository of knowledge; it was a sanctuary, a place where she spent countless hours lost in thought or absorbed in a book. After the training grounds, it was her second home.

“If you ever can’t find me anywhere else in the palace, I’m most likely here,” Juliette said, her voice soft but certain. She paused by the ladder on wheels and pointed to a stack of books perched on a particularly high shelf, their spines gleaming in the soft, golden light.

Daniel smoothly maneuvered the ladder, retrieving the requested volumes with practiced ease. As he handed her the books, he glanced around the library, taking in the room’s opulence and the sheer number of books. “Are you an avid reader, Your Royal Highness?” he asked, curiosity tinged his tone.

Juliette shrugged slightly, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I love organizing this place as much as I adore reading the books here,” she admitted. “There’s something soothing about the order and tranquility of this room. It’s a world of its own, away from the chaos and demands of palace life.”

“Well, it certainly is an impressive collection,” Daniel replied, his tone genuine as he scanned the shelves.

Juliette decided to push a little further. “Since you’re so eager to help, Daniel, could you arrange these books alphabetically by author? And then by genre, within each section.”

Daniel looked at the towering shelves, each packed with numerous books, and nodded without hesitation. “Of course, Your Royal Highness.”

Juliette watched as he began the task, moving efficiently yet carefully, his focus unwavering. She threw in more specific instructions as he worked. “The historical texts should go over there, and make sure the classics are separated from the modern literature.”

Daniel complied without complaint, even as the tasks grew more intricate. His demeanor remained calm and cheerful, never showing signs of irritation or frustration. He took her detailed directions in stride, organizing the books with precision.

After a while, satisfied with her experiment, Juliette decided to up the ante. “Could you also retrieve the books from the highest shelves over there? I’ve been meaning to reorganize them.”

Daniel nodded, moving to the next set of shelves with the same unwavering dedication. As he climbed the ladder, the scent of his cologne wafted through the air, a subtle blend of cedar and spice, adding an unfamiliar but not unwelcome layer to the library’s familiar aromas.

As Daniel continued his work, Juliette couldn’t help but feel a grudging respect for his patience and efficiency. He didn’t just tolerate the tasks; he embraced them, showing no sign of annoyance or fatigue. When he finally finished, she realized he had passed her test with flying colors.

“Impressive,” she said, unable to hide her approval. “You handled that well.”

“Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” Daniel replied, playfully winking at her. “I’m here to serve.”

As evening fell and it was time to return to her chambers, Juliette walked in front of Daniel, glancing at him a couple of times, noting how he noticed everything around him, always on alert. His presence was a constant, reassuring shadow, even if his cheerful demeanor was unorthodox for a bodyguard.

“So, Daniel,” she said, breaking the silence, “what exactly qualifies you to be my bodyguard?”

Daniel met her gaze steadily. “I’ve had extensive training in combat, strategic planning, and diplomatic negotiation. I’ve protected several dignitaries in high-risk environments.”

Juliette raised an eyebrow. “And what do you know about protecting a princess?”

Daniel smiled slightly, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “It requires vigilance, discretion, and understanding the unique challenges of your position. Trust must be earned.”

Suddenly, she threw a blade directed at him, thinking he was distracted with their conversation. It was a small, sharp knife she had discreetly picked up from the kitchen as they passed through. But she was proven wrong when he caught it by the handle, right before it stabbed him. He glanced at it and chuckled before looking at her. “Did I pass all your tests now?”

The princess smirked, clearly impressed but unwilling to show it too much. “You’ve proven yourself capable, for now,” she said, her tone still guarded. “But trust is earned over time, not in a single day.”

Daniel nodded, handing the blade back to her handle-first. “I understand, Your Royal Highness. I’ll continue to prove my worth.”

As they reached her chambers, she paused at the door, turning to face him. “Be ready to escort me to our private plane in the morning, let’s see how well you do on an international trip.”

“Understood, Your Highness. I’ll be ready to escort you in the morning,” Daniel said with a nod.

“Also, I’m not sure if you know, but you don’t have to follow me around the palace. You just have to be there when I need you, mainly when I leave the grounds. You’re free to roam around otherwise, do whatever you’d like,” Juliette explained.

“If it is alright with you,” Daniel said, “I would like to stay by your side until you’re used to my presence and until I know your routine, then I can bother the other guards.”

The princess raised an eyebrow. “Bother the other guards? They might not thank me for that.”

Daniel grinned. “Well, I’ll make sure they get used to me. I’ll even bring them pastries from the kitchen as a peace offering.”

She laughed softly, “and that’ll work?”

“I’ll try,” Daniel replied. “Besides, a little charm and a few pastries go a long way in a royal palace.”

Juliette shook her head, still smiling. “I suppose we’ll see how well you handle the job. Just make sure you don’t distract the other guards from their duties.”

Daniel placed a hand over his heart, feigning a dramatic hurt expression. “Me? A distraction? Never.”

The princess raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “We’ll see about that. For now, try to stay out of trouble.”

“Trouble and I are old friends,” Daniel said with a mischievous grin. “But I’ll do my best to keep it at bay.”

Juliette chuckled, her expression softening. “Alright then. Goodnight, Daniel.”

“Goodnight, Your Highness,” Daniel said, bowing slightly, then looking up at her before winking playfully.

As Juliette entered her room, a small, amused smile played on her lips. Daniel’s playful demeanour and easy charm were a stark contrast to the seriousness she was used to with her previous bodyguard, Oliver. Despite the initial irritation she felt at his unconventional approach, Juliette found herself intrigued by Daniel’s personality. His cheerfulness, though odd for a bodyguard, seemed to be a breath of fresh air amidst the palace’s often stifling formality. Perhaps, she mused, it was a change she could grow to appreciate.

─────────── ♛ ───────────

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stormhearty · 7 months ago

Text

✨ pairings: Eris x Reader x Azriel (ft. Cassian)

🔮 preview: Everything about the three of you was very opposite — you were a pastel princess, while the two were dark macabre. And yet the three of you melded together like a melting pot. Eris and Azriel adore their little princess — and would do anything to make you happy — whether it be distracting you from the voices in your head to killing a boy who looked at you a little too long.

📣 trigger warnings: mentions of blood and killing, Azriel and Eris being overly touchy with our reader, short skirts, corsets, mentions of sex (kind of explicit), pet names: my morose, my darling, sweet angel, temptation (Azriel and Eris to (Y/N)), mia cara (Azriel to Eris), mon cher (Eris to Azriel)

🔎 rating: PG-13 | 🔏 word count: 3.5k

💜 masterlist + notes: Like… I love dark gothic and the Addams family is so iconic, love them. So… Why not do an Addams Family AU x ACOTAR with our favorite boys Eris and Azriel? They would be gorgeous in macabre — like Eris giving me Morticia vibes, elegant but ruthless while Azriel is big Gomez vibes with the pinstripe suit and cigar in between his fingers; both wearing black, all the while reader being this pastel princess in bright pastels and pinks. Ugh, such a vibe. I’ve never written a bratty reader before. And thank you to @prythianpages (and sorry Hope! I couldn’t do the FIRE OF MY LOINS” as much as I love it LMAO) and @dawneternal for suggestions for the nicknames for (Y/N)!! This fic has a bunch of sexual tension and dark intentions, I hope I portray it correctly. I hope you enjoy it.

A long sigh escaped your lips, eyes staring into the hearth across the room, your eyes distant and your mind racing — a normal occurrence for you. It seemed as if your mind never calmed; voices echoed in your head, real and from beyond the grave — a silly power of clairaudience. You didn’t know what to focus on — you didn’t even know if the thoughts in your head were yours anymore and you often were found like this, staring into space, eyes unfocused.

You arrived at the spooky hilltop house not too long ago, stepping through the large wooden doors and going through familiar halls and doorways to your favorite little nook in the whole house: a simple overgrown sunroom.

Flopping down on the familiar black gothic couch, you laid perpendicular, body facing the glass ceiling, legs slung over the back of the couch. The hearth across from you roared to life as if the house knew you were home, and that thought made you smile softly. Eyes wandered around you, spotting a familiar book on the side table. You immediately recognized whose book it was — Eris’s. That man loved a good Edgar Allen Poe book, and always seemed to carry one around in his large lithe hands.

Attempting to be as graceful as your lover, you plucked the book from its place, opening the book to read a page of poetry, in an attempt to drown out the voices in your head; however, your mind continued to race, the voices in your head relentless with whispered words.

That lady down the hill… she kept saying…

The girls at work called you —-

People think you’re nothing but a —-

With a frustrated groan, you threw the thick book across the room, hearing the loud thud as it landed a few inches from the fiery hearth. A pout tugged at the edge of your pink-stained lips, eyes shifting from the faced-down book and focusing on the movement of the fire, another attempt to muffle the voices in your head.

Azriel heard the loud thud from the grand staircase and he couldn’t help but raise a brow at the sound. His shadows zoomed from underneath his feet, guiding him towards the familiar sunroom, quiet footsteps following their trail. He saw familiar pale legs slung over the black couch, feet bound in pink lolita heels, topped off with a pretty bow, and calves covered in white lace leggings.

(Y/N).

He wasn’t aware that you had arrived home, not even his shadows were aware. Usually, you would parade yourself throughout the whole house — practically announcing your presence to your lovers. But the fact that you had arrived at the house, both he and his husband were not aware of your presence in the large house made his heart feel unsettled.

Cradling a glass of wine in his hand, he summoned his shadows back to him as he walked over to the large carved archway and leaned against it, eyes shifting up from your feet to your legs, and just a bit over your knees, before noticing the discarded book near the hearth.

“Sweet angel?” he called your nickname and watched as your head popped up, eyes focusing on him and a delicate hand giving him a little wave from your position. He could tell you were too lazy to shift yourself into a proper position; however, he did not mind at all.

He got to see a gorgeous view of your tempting legs.

Though he was quite sure Eris would have a few words about it.

You laid your head back down, head hanging from the edge of the couch, and focused back on the hearth. As much as you loved being around your lovers, your head was far too occupied and all you could focus was on those damned voices.

You didn’t even hear Azriel’s footsteps grow closer to you, didn’t hear the gentle clink of the wine glass being placed down on the marble side table where the book had laid earlier. But when you felt cold hands on your knees, you were brought back from your thoughts and looked up at your lover, a worried gaze hidden deep in cobalt hues. His hands ran up your thighs, fingers touching the edge of your white tennis skirt, gently squeezing your naked thighs in his grasp.

You shivered at his touches, eyes fluttering close and a deep chuckle vibrated through Azriel — his voice always made your body tingle in the right ways.

But what you were grateful for the most was that when Azriel touched you, the voices in your head stopped — silence finally taking over your brain. And you let out a relaxed sigh, your body becoming putty on the couch, your head slacking over the edge of the couch.

Azriel recognized that sigh and couldn’t help but coo, fingers continuing to massage your thighs, his shadows slithering from underneath his fingertips to crawl over your skin, as his eyes looked over your outfit. You were dressed in a pretty white ensemble with hints of pink — a short skirt that stopped above your thighs and an intricate floral corset that hugged your curves in all the right ways. Due to your position, your skirt bunched a bit higher on your thighs, showing the juncture between your legs, with a tiny peek of your pristine white underwear, where he noticed tiny pink bows at the bottom seam. Azriel wasn’t sure whether you were trying to seduce him, but he knew from that sigh that you weren’t overtly trying to seduce him.

Your brain had just been in overdrive because of your powers.

His eyes traveled from the column of your neck to your face — one full of content and relief. Azriel was glad that he could keep you at peace, he knew how awful your powers could become when your mind was overwhelmed with voices. You had always told him and Eris that their touches were the only thing that kept the voices at bay — and they didn’t mind, they loved touching you — whether it be in the most sinful ways or the most innocent ways … but both opt for the former.

“You feeling better, sweet angel?” he murmured, his voice soft and gentle, not wanting you to be overwhelmed by your senses. He watched as his shadows slithered over your outfit and your skin and your body shivered again.

You nodded, a soft hum escaping your throat as your eyes fluttered back open to look up at him. You focused on his touch, focused on those tendrils of shadow — feeling those calloused and scarred hands squeezing and rubbing your flesh. His hands and shadows were nice and cold against your normally warm skin.

It helped calm your racing mind from those pesky voices that bothered you throughout the day.

Eyes locked onto cobalt hues and he gave you a soft smile, his hands sliding up your sides before grasping your upper back and heaving you up. A squeal escaped your lips as you were brought up to sit at the top of the couch, arms wrapping around Azriel’s strong shoulders as his hands slid to wrap around your waist, keeping you steady.

“There’s my sweet girl…” Azriel murmured, pressing a kiss on your cheek and you giggled, smelling the fruity taste of the alcohol he was drinking in his breath.

“Hi, Azzie…” you greeted him with a smile, snuggling your cheek against his own.

“You scared me for a moment, I didn’t even know you were home…” he hummed out, fingers slipping underneath the lace of your corset, tugging them to free you from the bindings.

A sigh escaped your lips and rested your cheek on his shoulder, just savoring his touches, savoring the silence of your head — focusing on your lover.

“…I’m sorry, Azzie…” you murmured, “My head was too much, I just wanted the voices to stop…”

“—-Is that why Eris’s book is on the floor, darling?” he asked with a chuckle, pressing a kiss on your shoulder as his eyes went back onto the book on the ground. He should pick it up and place it where it belongs — he didn’t want his husband’s favorite book to be burnt.

But he couldn’t be bothered at the moment — not when his favorite girl was in his arms. And he wasn’t mad — how could he be with his darling? He knew you were trying to distract yourself but it wasn’t proper etiquette to be throwing things in the house.

“Did you have a tiny tantrum?”

You pouted, bottom lip shaking a bit. You didn’t like throwing tantrums, and most of the time it wasn’t; however, you were just so frustrated with the voices you just threw the book.

You didn’t mean it.

“I’m a good girl, Azzie… Always have been…” you muttered.

Azriel chuckled again at your statement, soothingly rubbing your back.

Yes, you had always been a good girl — their good girl.

Before he could retort that statement, he heard familiar footsteps behind him, his shadows slinking back into his form. Azriel didn’t need to look behind him — he knew those foosteps like the back of his hand, “Do you think (Y/N)’s been a good girl, mia cara?”

You blinked momentarily and looked behind him to see Eris stepping into the room, dressed to the nines — a red vest over a pristine white see-through shirt and simple black slacks. You loved how opposite the two men could be — Azriel in his blue and black ensemble and Eris always in some red hue.

The redhead walked over, standing next to his husband as a hum escaped his lips, looking over your outfit.

Much like Azriel, as much as they adored you in black — what they had dubbed family colors — Eris loved you in your pink and white outfits, you were like a candy waiting to be eaten.

But mind out of the gutter, amber hues noticed the discarded book near the hearth and he couldn’t help but raise a brow. That wasn’t where he had left his favorite poetry book. It didn’t take long for the male to connect the dots — the discarded book to the question.

Eris gave a low chuckle, reaching over to run long fingers through your hair, tugging the pretty little pink headband, and watching it drop onto the couch. He smoothed your hair down over your back before he opted to grasp your hips, squeezing them as he stepped closer to you, feeling his husband step to the side to give him room.

“Seeing my book haphazardly on the floor tells me she hasn’t been a good girl, mon cher…” he answered, his breath over your features.

You could smell and taste the hint of rose tea in his breath and you couldn’t help but lick your lower lips on how alluring Eris was — well practically the both of them were. The way they stood next to each other was practically a painting made by the Gods and you were a mere mortal gazing up at their etherealness. You didn’t even care that Eris had voiced you weren’t a good girl — your mind had fogged up too quickly at the sight of your beautiful lovers, that you spaced out, staring up at them with wide-doll-like eyes that both your lovers couldn’t help but chuckle on how innocent you looked.

“My morose?” Eris whispered your beloved nickname. That snapped your attention back up at him, your head tilting. It took a moment for your mind to catch up the fog slowly dissipating.

You blinked twice before you pouted, “I have been a good girl, Eris…” you whined softly, a hand unwrapping from Azriel’s shoulder to place on Eris’s muscular upper arms, well-manicured nails gently scraping the sheer fabric, “My head had too many voices, they wouldn’t shut up… I tried to distract myself with your book and well —-”

Looking over your shoulder and focused on the book on the ground, teeth biting into your lower lip before you looked back up at your two lovers through your lashes, “…I didn’t mean to throw it to the ground, Eris… I needed a distraction…”

“And you didn’t bother looking for me or Azriel to help distract you, my morose?” Eris questioned, his voice stern yet soft, understanding why you had done that.

“I didn’t even know she was here, mia cara…” Azriel informed his husband, his hand still playing with the straps of your lace.

Eris furrowed his brows as he looked down at you — it was very unlike you to be quiet with your entry. He knew something was up — and from what he could guess, it was due to being overstimulated with your powers.

You pouted again, eyes averting their gaze as your hands slipped from their respected position on both men to play with the lapels of their outfits, “…I didn’t want to bother either of you. And my mind was just… preoccupied by the stupid voices. I didn’t want either of you to get mad too because I was so frustrated…”

You heard Eris sigh and his free hand that was not occupied with your waist, which was now joining his husband’s on your back with undoing your laces, gently grasped your chin to force you to look back up at them.

“We would never get mad at you for seeking us out to help calm your mind, my darling…” he whispered, his lips hovering over yours, “You know that we like helping you, making you feel calm and making those voices stop… What we don’t like is you trying to solve your problem by yourself… Do you understand?”

You nodded and tilted your head up to gently capture your lover’s lips — it was your way of apologizing to both of them.

Eris chuckled into the kiss, the hand on your chin moved to cup the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. All the while, Azriel had finished untying the laces and tugging the corset off of you, leaving your top half bare. You shivered as the cold air of the house prickled your skin, and it didn’t help that both of your lover’s hands immediately cupped your breast, their cold fingers teasing flesh, leaving goosebumps along their wake.

A long whine escaped your lips as your head tilted back from the kiss, mouth a gape as the men decided to lean in and press kisses on either side of your neck, their lips pressed against your pulse point.

“Since you need a distraction, our sweet temptation, we can offer our full attention…” Eris teased.

Azriel chuckled against your skin, teeth going in to bite the junction of your neck and shoulders, while Eris’s hand shifted from the back of your neck to slide to your front and down the length of your body to slip underneath that damned tennis skirt.

And when fingers pressed against your covered core it left you mewling and absolute putty in their hands.

Oh, how Azriel and Eris loved distracting you, leaving your mind empty and wanting — much like the good girl you begged them you were.

“You know you didn't have to pick me up…” you commented, though you couldn't help but be giddy that both of your lovers opted to pick you up from your little hang-out with your friends.

Azriel and Eris were leaning against the black Hearse — Azriel puffing out a cloud of smoke, a lit cigar between his fingers; Eris held a parasol, shielding himself from the sun. The two men were very stoic but immediately softened at the sight of you practically skipping towards them.

Eris cooed and opened his arms, and you hopped into them, arms wrapping around his waist while his free hand tangled into your locks, lips brushing at the crown of your head.

The two of you were lost in hushed whispers — mostly Eris asking how your little hang out and if you had fun — while Azriel just watched with a fond smile on his features. Two of his favorite and most beloved people — right there.

Cobalt hues shifted from the two of you towards the group of friends that you hung out with today. Azriel knew — oh how he knew — that your so-called friends weren’t too fond of you.

Even now he could hear them whispering how strange you were for being part of a throuple. Eyes wandering your form that was practically engulfed by Eris’s large form. And when those judgmental eyes caught with his own, Azriel glared at them and watched them scamper off in fear — all except one.

A boy whose eyes were not on him — but on you. One full of lust and want, a look that Azriel didn't like. He watched those lecherous gazes run up and down your form, the boy’s tongue sticking out to lick his lower lip.

How absolutely disgusting.

Azriel grunted softly, displeased with the development of the day. He wasn’t too fond of lingering gazes your way — his precious angel, being ogled at from afar, especially in such a lewd way. At the grunt from his husband, Eris’s amber hues looked up in a questioning gaze. Azriel didn’t need to glance at his husband, didn’t need to communicate verbally, his gaze said everything Eris needed to know.

Eris’s lips did not move from the crown of your head, his movement inconspicuous to you who was babbling on how your day went. When amber eyes glanced at where his husband was looking at with a cold gaze, Eris felt his chest roar with fire.

Eris gently pulled away, lifting your chin so he could press a kiss on your lips, feeling your hands slide up his chest and wrap around his neck. You were so lost in the kiss that you did not realize that what your lover was doing was a distraction.

Azriel sent his shadows forth, watching them skim across the concrete toward the boy, who feebly tried to run away from them. Before a yell could escape his lips, the shadows consumed him, making him disappear into thin air.

Only Azriel and Eris knew where the shadows would have brought him.

Eris hummed into the kiss, pleased with what his husband did before pulling away from the kiss, amber hues looking over your spaced-out look. How adorable were you. “Time to go home, my morose… The pups are in the back waiting for you…” he said with a smirk.

He watched you return to Earth, hearing how the hounds were in the back seat, and he let you scramble out of his hold and hop into the back seats, where the two large black hounds greeted you with face licks, you squeal in delight as you closed the door behind you.

“Will you be joining us later, mon cher?” Eris mumbled, knowing exactly where his husband would be later that evening.

Azriel let out a deep chuckle, leaning over to kiss him briefly, “Keep our girl preoccupied… I’ll be there as soon as possible… Oh, and make sure you make her moan loud, I would love to hear how well you take her from the cellar…”

Eris smirked, opened the passenger seat, and slipped in, allowing Azriel to close the door. Ensuring his husband was safely inside, Azriel made his way to the driver seat and drove home — the unwanted guest in the depths of the cellar was waiting for Azriel.

“Doesn't she sound exquisite?” Azriel muttered, head tilted back towards the ceiling, listening to the loud moans and whines that came from the floors above — the sounds practically echoing around them. A pleased sigh escaped his lips before those brows furrowed and looked down at the bloody mess of the room — body parts slewn all over the floor, blood seeping into the concrete wall.

Cobalt hues looked his way and the large bulky man stepped from the shadows, “You know what to do with the body, Cassian…” the male muttered, rolling up his blood-stained sleeves, shoulders rolling back and a sigh escaping his lips.

The large man gave a graceful bow of his head, watching the head of the family turn his heels and head up the winding stairs back up to the main floor.

Cassian was the long-time family butler, large and menacing, he fit well within the weird and strange macabre family. He was used to the bloodthirsty and morbid ways of this family, nothing phased him.

Especially when it came to Azriel and Eris's sweet angel.

Cassian quickly realized that his masters would do practically anything for the girl that caught their eye.

Especially murder.

This wasn't the first time Azriel or Eris had opted to dismember a member of society for (Y/N)… there were far too many people to count at this point for the butler.

And no one would suspect his masters — they were to quick and clean, and his job? Was making sure that evidence was erased, especially after situations like this.

With bleach and cold water in each large hand, he started to clean the cellar, packing each body part into a separate bag — where he'd feed it to the carnivorous plants that Eris loved taking care of.

They do enjoy it when they are fed humans.

👑 General Tag List: @prythianpages . @strangelygreat . @honeybeeboobaa . @pit-and-the-pen

#acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fic #azriel x reader #eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #acotar fanfic #azriel x eris #eris acotar #azris #azris fanfiction #( .one shot : three is a crowd )

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vixeneptune · 1 year ago

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🎀 Princess treatment

🎀 I'm such an elegant pretty Princess who gets everything she wants for free

🎀 I'm always treated with so much care, love and respect. People go out of their way to please me and make me happy

🎀 I exude grace and high value, my beautiful aura inspires others to treat me like I have pretty privilege and like I'm so important and special

🎀 I always get VIP treatment wherever I go, I'm used to it by now

🎀 people are very attentive to me, they're so generous they spoil me and shower me with so much love, attention, affection and gifts

🎀 I love how everyone is so kind and sweet to me 🥺 its obvious that I'm their fav person and they truly love me

🎀 my feminine energy attract masculine men who provide for me abundantly and treat me like a princess

🎀 I literally never have to pay for anything, men always offer to pay for me and buy me things no matter how expensive. I'm worth every dime

🎀 I always attract men who are secure, masculine, rich, generous and treat me like a goddess queen. They love me unconditionally

🎀 people are so sweet to me I always get so many compliments about my beauty, personality and aura. Everyone thinks im the prettiest girl they've ever seen. They tell me how gorgeous, classy and lovable I am 🥰 I'm always surrounded with love and genuine people who treat me the best

🎀 being in my life is a privilege, I add value to others just by existing and everyone gives back to me 10x folds

🎀 I never have to worry about anything bc im always taken care of and supported. People love helping me with everything, I have all the support I need and more and I'm so grateful

🎀 a pretty princess like me doesn't even have to try or work for anything, I don't stress about anything , everything naturally comes to me bc I'm so attractive and magnetic

🎀 I love taking care of myself , I always look fresh clean and I smell so sweet and addictive. I literally look perfect from head and toe and everyone tells me that

🎀 I'm so lucky I get princess treatment everywhere I go it's unavoidable and I love it. I get princess treatment even from strangers , they carry my bags for me, they open doors for me, they give me things for free, they give me flowers and compliments and offer me things. It's so sweet

🎀 I'm open to receiving princess treatment bc thats what I deserve. My energy is feminine , inviting and open to receive. I attract the best kind of treatment, the best kinds of people and the best experiences. I'm so high quality that I keep on getting the best

🎀 people are always on their best behavior when they're around me bc I'm elite. They do everything to satisfy my needs and make sure I'm happy and comfortable and I don't even have to ask , they keep on showering me with love nonstop without expecting anything in return , my smile, my approval and appreciation is enough :)

🎀 my feminine presence is so classy and elegant it attracts both men and women. People would do anything just to be around me , to be my friend or my lover that's the biggest win. I'm highly pursued and wanted by everyone.

🎀 everywhere I go I hear people whispering about how pretty and charming I am. Everywhere I go I get more than 10 people who are in love with me and competing for my love & attention. I receive love letters, flowers, and gifts just for existing

🎀 "anything for you princess" , "i don't want you to worry about anything , let me handle it" , "I bought you your favourite things just because" , "how are you so pretty? I can't take my eyes off of you" , "I'd do anything just to see you smile" , "don't even have to carry your wallet ,I take care of everything" , "get ready I'm taking you on a trip to your desired country", "you're the kinda girl every man would die to be with" , "your femininity is intoxicating", "I love your energy I can't help but treat you like the royalty that you are", "you literally look like the prettiest princess", "you're so elegant and ethereal, I'm mesmerised by you" are things I hear often

youtube

Princess treatment subliminal

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trulyumai · 5 months ago

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touching upon ash

—pairing: Pre fallen! Messmer / Wife! Reader

Synopsis: Messmer was never good at dealing with jealousy. So how will he deal with such a situation at hand, led by his brother no less?

—Warnings: Show of anger, jealousy, protectiveness.

A/N: guess who's back, back again

Messmer was furious.

Anger bit at the seams of his being, fueling the fire that sprawled across his fingers until it met with his forearm and made home on his skin.

Seeing his wife there, gracing and upsetting the presence with that… filth.

Today, he caved into his little wife; brought her to the outskirts of town and to the city of the west. To the enclave of shops and people that littered the flower lands. She had begged him for weeks on end, saying how she missed the pretty mounds of plants, that she was out of plenty necessities for the excuse of an outing.

Now he regrets permitting such an occasion. To see her mingle so freely with that man. He could set fire to the lands now, spit at the burning corpses below his feet and save her the trouble of talking to anyone again.

He had no idea Godwyn the Golden would visit such a place, so far from the capital. Today of all days.

A basket, wickered and hand made was placed at the hip of her dress. She laughed jovially at something the blonde had pointed at, to which she then nodded her head, enthusiastically responding in her own unaware manner.

Not seeing the twitch of the flames fingers, nor of is now close proximity.

She had to feel the touch of his warm digits, caressing the backside of her covered form to know of the man's presence.

“Husband!” His wife greeted, already getting onto her tippy toes to place a little kiss to the mans cheek. Unconsciously Messmer bent down, ever used to her smaller form as a look of hate spewed from his features, towards the so-called, “Lord.”

“Ah, brother,” Godwyn smiled, citizens around the group had taken notice of the lord's frame, stopping to stare at such a gift of grace, from Queen Marika herself.

“Enjoying the festivities I see.”

Messmer shifted uncomfortably. To see the golden order placed upon his armor with such casualty. It made a hatred boil up, if only he could grab the man by his neck, lift him up pathetically until his skin burned and b-

“We were just sightseeing, my lord. The flowers are beautiful this time of year.” Godwyn’s eyes twinkled with a sense of understanding, the skin crinkled around his mouth as a warm smile broadened.

“Of course, such an appropriate response for someone as… kindhearted as thou.”

Messmers hands cracked with pressure, his knuckles a deep red as the blood flow squeezed with a strength only the flame could emit.

Godwyn ignored such tells, instead, he reached out into the pouch upon his side, taking out a white lily. It was gorgeous, from its delicate pale petals to the leaves that cascaded down the stock. He reached forward and did something Messmer would never be able to shake off.

His hand brushed against her hair delicately, lightly slotting it between her ear and the cascading waves of brushed mane that fell upon his wife's back. It hung there loosely as her fingertips came up to greet the new addition of elegance.

“Thank you, my lord that- was awfully kind of you.”

“Nonsense!” The man responded, cooly placing his hand back at his side. “Someone as enticing as you should always be gifted with any form of beauty. Now,” With a perfect stance the man bowed his head, already raising his gloved hands in dismissal. “I'll hope for a visit soon from the two of you. Take care, mh?” Turning fully around, Godwyn's armor clashed against the colors around. So golden, so pristine. Everything else lay so distasteful compared to such a maximalist sight.

Finally craning her neck up, her head met with Messmers chest. Arms coiled around her body tightly, protectively trying to shield her from any more prying eyes. He tried to calm himself, he really did.

But to see him touch her like that?

Losing it, the knight snapped. Placing a hand upon the back of your neck, he quickly guided you both through the crowd, ignoring the startled cries erupting from his wife's lips. “Mess- what are you-”

Moving at space that was deemed too slow for his liking, big hands came to nest there way under her thighs until they lifted her completely. Now she lay in his arms, bridal style as the red haired man moved carelessly. Pushing and shoving anyone out of his way, to return to their rightful spot.

Their home. Where they would have been in the first place.

The basket wobbled in the girl's lap and with the added force, fruits had come loose, spilling from the wickered hold and dropping onto the ground. She tried to get the man's attention, pushed at his broad shoulders in defiance but he paid it no mind.

He kept the fast pace, too clouded with rage to pay his adoring wife any mind.

They arrived home much quicker than she thought was possible. Messmer had plopped her down just in front of the house, by the gardens she had tended to just that morning.

Her hair now messy and undone (paired with the upset expression), held upon her delicate features. It made the man buckle with uneasy guilt.

That was until he saw the lily flopped against the side of her cheek. Like it belonged there.

There was that burning rage again.

Veiny hands quickly snatched at the plant, making his wife flinch back in shock. The lily, now sagging against his palms, was covered almost instantly by his hands.

She reached out, demanded the man return such a gift before a sizzling sounded out. Then, a smoke black and gray fell between the man's fingers as his flame swallowed the flower whole.

She did nothing but watch as he cradled his palm, watched as the ash seeped between his fingers and stained his hands.

Finally feeling free of such hostile emotions, the man could breathe once more. Looking away from his soot covered hand, his wife's lip jutted up in rebuttal. Already he could se a sadness gnawing at her orbs. He felt guilty, not for destroying such a gift, but for allowing such a negative emotion to take hold of his wife.

He was never good at comforting her. With desperate eyes he moved away from her, quickly seizing a plant from its flowerbed and holding it out to her shakily.

Licking his lips he waited- felt the brush of her fingers as they took the little plant from his grasp.

An altus bloom stood firmly in her grasp. Its bright color lit up with a lovely hue and Messmer hoped such an action would replace the lilys existence.

“I…” Not knowing what to say, he just stood there. Form now sagging with a tiredness. The end of his rage and adrenaline left him tired and weak. Weak from staring at the pretty, upset form in front of him. Those pouting lips and pinkened cheeks.

Gods. How did he get so lucky?

She cradled the flower to her chest, dirt had smudged on the cotton and Messmer went to brush it away with light and small drags of his nail.

“It's okay.” She spoke. Voice so small the knight wanted to set himself ablaze.

“Is it?” The man was insecure in his own actions; too afraid his show of dominance had pushed her way.

“It is.” Relief flooded through his system as a smile was given to the man in reassurance. He couldn't help but let himself fall down to her height and drag his nose across her neck. Her sweet scent helped calm him down, it was always an efficient way to stop any troubling thoughts to merge its way across his mind.

That's all that needed to be said, it seemed. For the girl had tugged on his forearm, leading him into their shack to start a well needed home meal.

#fluff #elden ring dlc #fanfiction #messmer x reader #video game x reader #x reader #elden ring #messmer the impaler #messmer elden ring #messmer the impaler x reader #messmer x you #messmer x tarnished #messmer x female reader #messmer the impaler x you #godwyn the golden

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bummys · 16 days ago

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𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 ︵‿୨♡୧‿︵ 𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐮

𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶 𝗱𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗶𝗳 𝗶𝗺𝗮 𝘀𝗲𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻

𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙨; 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘷, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘦, 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘱 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘱𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘴*𝘹, 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕; 𝟷.𝟺𝚔

𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥

event coordinator!reader that puts together a charity auction that includes many celebrities and athletes.

event coordinator!reader that is world renowned for putting together such high profile and elegant events, it helps that you're something akin to a nepo baby.

event coordinator!reader that runs into a well dressed oliver aiku (literally) as you make sure everything is running as it should.

he can't help but to fumble his words as you dab the napkin against the silken, turkish blue fabric, smiling at his apology. your eyes looked to him and he realized how big of a fool he was making of himself, ruining a pretty girl's gown then staring at her with his mouth gaped. your blue dress, decorated with intricate golden flowers and crystals, hugged your frame perfectly as if you had had it tailored specifically to your curves. his eyes drank in the high slit that stopped near your upper thigh, your hands calmly dabbing the remainder of whiskey from your clothing.

"i wasn't watching where i was going," he admitted, his hand rubbing the back of his head, "i'll pay for your dry cleaning."

your red lips hadn't loss their smile as you shook your head, "it'll be a reminder of how great the night was, don't worry about it."

"at least let me buy you a drink," he didn’t want you to slip from his hands, "as a proper apology."

you were tempted, his heterochromatic eyes begged for your time while his words kept him neutral. a lopsided smile played on his lips, knowing that you would be agreeing. typically, your attention lingered on those with status, your last romantic thrill being with an older, more prominent actor. honestly, you weren't too sure of who had been invited and who those people included as their plus ones, so the man before you caused you to draw a blank. his blue suit fit him perfectly, although it didn't seem to match his entire personality, so this obviously wasn't his scene.

"i'm working right now," you chewed at the inside of your bottom lip which drew his eyes to your mouth, "but i guess one drink wouldn't hurt."

that wasn't smart on your part, especially not knowing who you were agreeing to give your time to. he had gotten you secluded, away from the ongoing event and prying eyes even his teammates had been watching him with utter shock. grace wasn't a word normally associated with oliver aiku nor was sophistication a word linked to the girls he took home. you, although, exuded significance. you were the eminence that these event were held for.

so how did someone like him have someone like you wrapped around his fingers (literally)? even your moans were exquisite as he used his palm to rub your clit. his ragged hand was destined to crawl its way through the slit of your dress, just like you were destined to end up in his bed. his free arm leaned against the wall above your head, blocking your body from anyone that would happen to walk in through the deserted corridor. wouldn't want his prized jewel to be seen in a compromise position. his teeth nipped playfully at your neck, his two fingers deep within your cunt scissoring which only dizzied you.

your decorated fingers held onto his blue jacket as your knees threatened to give out beneath you. having a woman like you even touching him was more than enough, his clothed cock grinding against your shivering body. the watch he wore dripped in your wetness, earning his first orgasm from you. sadly for you, couth was something he lacked in tries. his fingers didn't slow down, changing from scissoring to flat out fingerfucking you while the event you planned raged on. his bottom lip brushed against your ear, his breathing strained as he moved his mouth.

"gonna cum for me again, princess?" his voice was deeper, just a groan in your ear as you nodded mindlessly, "please, cum for me."

you sobbed out, cumming once again on his thick fingers. it was sweet, so saccharine to his ears like a rich dessert that he'd eat at his last meal. he couldn’t help but moan with you, pulling his hand out from under your dress and admiring the wetness that coated it. you were a sight, even more alluring that he had gotten to your true and most primal nature. your hand gripped his tie to pull him down into a kiss while your other frantically worked at the leather belt around his waist. his smile returned as his lips moved against yours, his wet hand replacing yours to get his belt off then pants undone.

maybe he was wrong, his bed wasn't even a thought in his mind as freed his drooling cock from his slacks. you didn't hesitate pulling your form fitting dress up and him moving your filmsy panties aside. his firm hand grabbed your bare thigh, hiking it up to be able to have full access to your awaiting cunt. his height made the position difficult, but the lust and need made that issue irrelevant. standing on the tips of your heels, he was able to reach what he yearned for. his voice upstaged yours, moaning as he sank into you. your trembling hand shot to his mouth, dampening the noises he made as he rocked into you.

smeared red lipstick coated his lips as your hand fell to his shoulders in an attempt to steady yourself. if he could think, he'd admit that you had possibly the most opulent pussy he'd ever had the opportunity to feel. your silky walls hugged him, pushing him to cum perplexingly quick. he was an athlete, stamina was his bread and butter, but you were obviously his weakness. you hadn't noticed until your knees knocked against his waist, but your anchoring foot had been also lifted from the ground. your back rubbed against exorbitantly priced artwork as he held you up to dig deeper into you.

you pulled away, your lips red and wet with spit, "cum in me."

his hips snapped against yours, moistened slaps echoed beneath the band's instruments which hid your pitched moans as well. quickly, his lips met yours again though he pressed his tongue into your mouth with little resistance. the kiss had left you pliant, cumming on his cock with a violent shudder. he didn't know who he had to thank for getting to experience this slice of heaven, his manager or his teammates for asking for a drink, but he'd be sending them both an invite to the wedding. maybe he'd even name the kid after them.

he guided you harder onto his cock at your words. he was definitely giving thanks to whoever he needed to. this wasn’t something he got to do as a professional athlete, everyone wanted him for his status or for the money he had. you obviously didn't need him or maybe you were just on birth control, but the freedom to cum inside of you made him want to drop down to his knee then and there.

"yeah? want me to knock you up? a complete stranger?" he growled, his hips meeting yours greedily.

the thought echoed in your mind, shame leaking out through your cunt, "god, yes, please," you begged.

this made you perfect in his eyes, his head falling back to savor the last moments. your orgasm came quicker than his, squeezing him tight enough to keep him from pulling further out. the voice in his head that warned him about doing something so reckless screamed into deaf ears as he pressed himself firmly against yours womb, filling you with his potent seed. his legs weakened, attempting to continue to thrust into the messiness he had just created. the whiteness of his cum oozed out with each feeble jab of his cock.

a mixture of cum drenched his pants, his sweaty forehead resting against yours, "messed up my pants, princess, guess it's your turn to make it up to me."

#oliveraiku #bllk #blue lock #bllk smut #blue lock smut

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tadpolesonalgae · 1 year ago

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Can’t Bring Myself to Hate You - Part 11

Pairing: Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sister!Reader

A/N: I restarted this about four times—re-wrote the last few sentences for about half an hour. Also I was so excited to write Eris again but he wouldn’t fit in this chapter 😔

Warnings: sexual assault, Bas and his bloody knuckles, Azriel

Word Count: 5,830

-Part 10- -Part 12-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Azriel is going to die.

He’s going to die, and it will be at your hand.

Silence echoes through your mind, the world filled with dark blues and dismal greys—the colours of rainclouds and heavy fog over a midnight river. While the air is warm, ice prickles the layer beneath your skin, seemingly caught in your clothes, captured in your flesh. The perpetual cold of the mortal lands perhaps never fully having left the marrow of your bones.

At the table you sit still, trying to silence your mind to focus on the task at hand. You don’t want to be thinking about that right now. Not today.

Brow pulls together, lips twisting down as the bone of your thumb presses to the line between your eyes, pushing away the pressure.

Ease out a breath, shoulders slumping, muscles draining away as the door is closed on the world. Locked cozily within the dark quiet of the open kitchen.

The last time you’d sat here feels like months ago, presents stacked upon the table with a pretty cake to tuck into. Now there’s nothing to offer but a meagre cupcake, a lone candle put sadly into the spongy head you hadn’t even paid for—it had been a sample, someone giving out free little things so none of the food would go to waste.

It isn’t even decorated, aside from the thin waxy stick the House had offered up.

Lower lip curls, scowling with hot eyes at the small cake.

You stare for a long while, vision blurring every so often before it’s cleared away by a disciplinary blink. Loathing carved between your ribs, twisting and slicing, but never ending. A muscle flickers in your jaw, before finally shifting into motion, sitting straighter.

This night isn’t about you, and you’ll be damned if you make it so.

Breathing deeply, the wooden figurine is placed on the table, palm damp and cool without it’s warmth in your hand. The maiden looks on at the small cupcake, disappointed, pretty flowers drooping in elegant fingers. The skirts of are caught frozen in motion, the hem lifting from her ankles, the graceful sweep of hair being pulled gently toward the candle, as if the breeze is luring her in.

Eyes stare at the sight, and you have to sit back in your chair. Observing the scene, how small and meagre it is for something that deserves much more.

When the world blurs this time, you don’t blink it away, letting it fill and swell. Break over the edge of picked-thin lashes.

Slowly, you lean forward, picking up the light box of matches, taking one out, and striking it against the abrasive card. Fire flares before dimming, wisps of smoke curling from the glowing light, putting a pleasant scent into the room as you lower it to the candle, spreading the scant glow. With a single flick of your hand, the flame is put out, sending up a poor last signal with its diminishment, glowing weakly, before finally extinguishing.

Inky blues and grey-blacks dim the already sparse light, encroaching on the small patch of light like wolves circling a small, run-down hut. Waiting for the first sign of dilapidation before pouncing, sharp canines sinking into the soft, fleshy centre.

Your head hangs, forearms braced on to table either side the little show. Fingers curl, pressing into the now-soft skin, callouses from the days of wood-chopping and frostbite softened by a single dip into freezing cold water. Murky and depthless.

Bringing forth irrevocable change.

————

Azriel’s wings stretch out over his chair, the muscles rippling, shoulders working free of the tension before standing from his desk.

For what ever reason, the House has decided he should get his own food for tonight, evening long since passed with the days becoming shorter and shorter. Light waning, the dark sidling closer the deeper into autumn time flows. Like clockwork, shadows skitter off down the hallway, floating along floorboards and dipping beneath rugs, settling at the darkened threshold of her door. No light warms the gap, and habitually they listen out for the soft sighs of breathing, forgetting the enchantment that’s been placed on the room.

They hurry back, curling around his ear, delivering the information seamlessly as he makes his way silently down the dim halls. He can see perfectly fine in the night—there’d be no point to lighting a candle.

Strain remains tight in his shoulders, having finished reading through Cass’ letter as well as the dozens of other reports monitoring various changes and shifts in courts. Other things to deal with, to allocate time and resources to, seamlessly shifting his network of spies to target and attend to the more prominent catches in his web.

He doubts he’ll be able to catch even a wink tonight, a tight pulse in his chest warning him of sleep.

————

The breath exhales softly, staring at the lone flame, flickering dimly in the overbearing darkness, and you can’t help but think of your youngest sister. The wane light in the wintry forrest, battered by icy winds and freezing frosts.

Calming the beat of your heart, you press your palms together, leaning forward so the knuckle of your thumbs slot above the bridge of your nose. Head bowing toward the candle, eyes sliding shut, keeping the pressure at bay.

“Happy birthday, dad,” you whisper.

Already the edges of your mouth tremble, but you try to stay firm, sucking in a shaky breath. Blurred memories of the war begin seeping back in, the damp smell of blood and sickness, mixed with sweat and leather. Slowly lower your hands, palms pressing flat against the table as you look at the flickering light. The miniature wood carving bought in memory of his carpentry.

“I miss you,” you murmur, voice wobbling in the silence. “It’s been difficult since you’ve gone. Difficult for a while now.” Throat rolls, shifting in your seat, spine straightening. “Feyre’s doing well though. As much as I can tell, anyway. She’s had a baby too, did you know? I don’t know if you’re still able to watch us anymore, so sorry if you’re all caught up—I just thought might as well be on the safe side, and I don’t know what else to talk about besides them.”

Tongue darts out to wet your lips, breathing softly, calming the emotion in your chest. “He’s called Nyx, and he looks just like them.” The flame blurs, light dripping out in dots through the room, and you quickly wipe your eyes. “She’s been busy with him—I think she’s been taking him out on walks through Velaris every now and again when he wakes up early, though sometimes the others take on some tasks. I know Mor likes having him around, and even Amren has a soft spot for him already.” The corners of your mouth tug down, head lowering as you stare into the flame. “I think she’s doing well, after all this time. She can stand on her feet.”

Night-kissed memories float up through the fog, of crunching snow and steaming blood, dribbling out of a doe carcass.

“Elain’s good too,” you manage, attention flicking to the wooden maiden. “I think her and Lucien have begun getting along better, or at least not as awkward as they once were. I went with her to visit him a while back—to the old human lands, and—” You fumble, tripping over your words. “Do you know it all worked out?” You ask quietly. “I must’ve told you last year, but just in case I didn’t: we won. The war, I mean.” Vision blurs again, blinking away the dampness.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, dad,” you whisper, lip trembling. “I know it’s morbid, and maybe if I had been there, I would have wished I wasn’t, but Nesta was, and Feyre was there too, and Elain got to… They got to see you again.” The first tear splashes onto the wooden grain, and you hastily wipe it away, fearing it might stain somehow. “I wish I’d gotten to see you again before you went away,” you mumble, swallowing thickly. “I miss you a lot. And they’re all doing well, and getting better, and…”

Take in a deep breath, lungs stuttering, hauling in quivering pulls of air. Dip your head slightly.

“They’re doing well,” you whisper, nodding to yourself. Repeating it in your mind.

“I think you’d be happy with them.”

————

Shadows swirl at his wings, shifting as they dip ahead into the kitchen, skittering back with their message. She’s in there, sat at the table.

Azriel pauses in the hallway, debating the merits of bumping into her at such a late hour. He remembers how poorly his last late-night interaction went, and is frankly disinclined to revisit the memory on any level. The softness of Elain’s skin still registered in some chamber of his mind, laying dusty and untouched for some time, unable to bring himself to quite take it back out just yet.

His stomach grumbles quietly, and he sets a hand on his lower abdomen, rubbing absently as he thinks. Wonders why she’s decided to come out of her room tonight instead of keeping to her space—why tonight of all nights the House is throwing him under the wagon. But he’s a full-grown male, he can handle one short interaction, even if it’s with her. It’ll be a good chance to check on how she’s doing physically in person, too, having been putting off that task for a while, satisfied with the imaginary rendering his shadows bring him every now and then.

Azriel continues down the hall, noting the dim flicker of light from the doorway, warming the blue darkness to a sparse orange, a clear outline of colour in the deep shadow and he wonders what she’s doing. A few quiet steps bring him to the threshold, steadying himself for her longing eyes and the dipped shoulders.

He rounds the frame but halts on the threshold, shadows instinctively slinking across his skin, pressing silently back into the darkness of her peripherals.

She’s crumpled over, sobbing silently, shoulders trembling as deep breaths heave and shudder from her lungs. Her features protectively hidden by the sleeves of her cardigan, pressed tight to her features as quiet, wet cries gasp from her lips, trembling in the dim light of her single candle.

He watches from the edge of the room, observing silently, caught on the force of despair. How it’s shaking her frame, wracking it like a paper lantern in a storm, tossed and battered until it’s soaked and dissolving beneath the downpour. Flame reflects in the golden pool beneath her on the table, rippling with hot droplets as they drip heavily, splashing between the grains, growing steadily larger.

The tips of his fingers tingle, but he resists stepping forward—with everything that’s between the two of them he doubts it would help.

The familiar scent of gardenias floats over to him, stronger than usual, and hazel eyes trace the bare skin of her hands.

They’re horrifically dry, despite the intensity of the scent that always accompanies her nowadays, skin peeling around her nails, cracked and flakey like freshly baked pastry, rough patches of rawness peeking through, sore and worn from the interior of her gloves.

To a less observant pair of eyes, it may have appeared as a case of frostbite, or treatable dryness, but he recognises that formation—the slight warp of burning flesh.

Her palms press to gleaming cheeks, as if the wetness will absorb into her hands, curing the desiccated expanse, soaking up until they’re perfect again, without a flaw or crack to be found. The bones in his hands ache dully, pains blooming beneath his own warped flesh, swollen and melted in parts, scarred and misshapen. Deformed.

She starts mumbling under her breaths, sobs becoming heavier, lungs gasping as air is harshly sucked in, stumbling and stuttering in her shuddering chest. She’s apologising. Over and over, murmured sorries and desperate pleas. Repeating over and over how sorry she is as the water ripples beneath her, lips tugged down, brows knotted in sheer self-loathing. So concentrated it knocks him in his chest.

He should turn away—he can wait a few hours easily, allow her to vacate and recover at her own pace—but he’s kept at the edge, watching silently, wreathed in shadow saved for the flame-lit hazel of his eyes. Observing such a pure display of sorrow and wretchedness, a sense of foreign familiarity ghosting within his chest. Like finding a new path to an exact location—one he hadn’t known existed until then, completing a fraction of the unknown map.

Azriel takes in her curled up form, hunched over the candle, back curved as she sobs into damp wool, familiarising the sight. His expression tightens ever so slightly, brows pulling in, edges of his mouth twisting down, working into the beginnings of a frown.

With one last scan, he turns silently, retuning her the privacy she’s unaware has been disturbed.

————

You ease out a heavy sigh, but your shoulders remain tense.

Half a cupcake remains on the table, the house setting a glass dome over its top.

You peer down at the symbol numbly, eyes sore and swollen. Aching from intense use. That’s all the emotion you can manage for the night—a drought forming in the desiccated innards of your soul. Tears have been bled dry to a state of numbness, skin tingling absently. Breathing mindlessly. Wandering listlessly.

————

You land three light taps to the door, the warm lamp far above you illuminating the small inlet of the entrance, a wooden frame either side to hold the vines as they’ve reached and crawled over the years, the tiny pale flowers putting out a lovely fragrance—like lilies, or sweet peas. Long moments pass, then the door is quietly opening, one dark hand resting casually at the height of it, the other against its frame.

“Hey,” he greets, the edges of his mouth relaxing a little.

“Hi,” you reply, realising how scratchy your voice is, raw from that long hour. Hastily clear your throat, shifting in the entrance. “Would you— I mean, are you busy tonight?” You ask, wringing your fingers slightly, stopping when gold flicks down to mark the action.

Bas releases the door, opening it a little wider, standing straighter and clearing his throat. “Nope,” he says, “something on your mind?” Instantly the lone candle flickers in your head, the sponginess of the small cupcake, and you blink away the prickling pressure. “Yes,” you answer quietly. “I just— I don’t want to talk about it,” you settle on, returning your gaze to his. Anxiety beginning to melt away—you can be something other than fine around him. Lower lip wobbles with the thought, but you hasten to push the welling emotion away. Your eyes would hate you if you started crying again.

A deep breath eases into your lungs, then blown out heavily.

“I had a rough evening,” you say vaguely, “and I’m feeling pretty awful at the moment, so I was wondering if you’d like to go out for a bit.”

He watches silently from the warm inside of his home, the smell of rosemary and thyme cozily wrapping around you, almost enough to make you wish for a night in, but you’d rather not feel for a little bit. “You do that a lot, y’know?” He says at last, stepping back to allow you inside. You follow quietly, looking up at him with a furrowed brow, keeping to the wall. “Do what?” You ask, wondering if he’d like you to take your shoes off since it looks like you might be coming further in.

“Phrase questions weirdly,” he laughs faintly, the deep sound breathing a small spark back into your blood. “Like that one, ‘I was wondering if you’d like to out for a bit.’ I was wondering if you’d like to go out for a bit?” He repeats, raising the inflection at the end. “You know you can ask me stuff, yeah?”

You feel the faint tug of a smile on your lips, amusement crossing your features. “I know,” you reply, “maybe I just didn’t feel like saying it as a question.” Bas rolls his golden eyes, mouth copying yours, forming a slight smile, before shaking his head and turning. “Let me grab something. Anywhere you want to go?” He calls from over a broad shoulder, reaching for a warmer piece to put over his indoor clothes.

Shake your head, keeping to the edge of the room, wary of the clean floor. “I just want to be outside tonight,” you say quietly. “I don’t…the inside just…” You purse your lips in a grimace, and he nods. “I get you.”

Another well of emotion builds in your chest, but again you push it away.

Tongue licks out over your lips, shifting on your feet, making an effort to brighten your demeanour. “What’s going on with you at the moment? There was that thing you wanted to talk about last time…?” When you’d had a small crying session in his arms. Whenever the memory inserts itself into your head, you’re torn between embarrassment and jealousy. Embarrassment at breaking down over such a small thing after having kept it together for so long, jealousy over how easily that comes to other people. That small, sad part of yourself wanting more, but as usual, she’s gently pushed aside.

Bas sucks in a slow breath, guiding you to the door. “Yeah, about that…” The two of you step outside into the crisp night air, and you wrap your scarf closer, huddling beneath the warmth. Even after all this time, the warmth in the chillier months is something you can’t help but find your stress in.

“So…” you encourage when he goes quiet, linking his arm with yours. “What did you want to say?” But he shakes his head. “To be honest, I don’t want to talk about it right now,” he answers with forced lightness. Brow dips—is it something to do with his dad?

“You okay?” You ask softly, stepping a little closer as you make the walk down his small front garden, the gate creaking open before he shuts it behind you. “Fine,” he replies, then relents. “A bit tense.”

You try to come to a stop, but he gives a gentle tug on your arm, telling you to continue on. He doesn’t want to talk about it.

With a heavy swallow, you direct your attention forward, hand pressing into the warm muscle of his arm, firmly linked together. “You’ll tell me when it’s been enough, right?” You ask quietly, forcing yourself not to peer at him through your peripherals. He has an uncanny sense for when people are watching him.

He’s quiet, continuing on with the walk, but you don’t make the mistake of trying to rush him. Sometimes he just takes a bit.

“Sure,” he says at last, and this time you do look at him, a slight glint of amusement in your eyes to soften the stern set of your mouth. “Sebastian,” you warn, and he cringes at your side. “Fine, yeah, I’ll say something,” he relents, waving his free hand, not quite meeting your eye. You manage a quiet laugh, before you both settle back into silence, quietly paying attention to the swish of the breeze, skirting around the subjects at hand.

The question’s on the tip of your tongue, eyes watching him from the side, but then he gives and almost undetectable squeeze to your arm. So light you’d think you might have imagined it. Had the two of you been human, you would have dismissed it. But fae bodies have an entire new level of awareness to them, impossibly sensitive on depthless levels. Utterly overwhelming at first. Still getting a handle on some of the more intense senses.

As it is, you take it as his answer. The promise he won’t voice.

So you continue on into the night, neither of you quite fully present in the moment to be doing something like this. But bad decisions happen, and mistakes are made. Without them, life would be boring, and dull. You’d never progress.

————

Skin buzzes pleasantly, a wide smile on your lips as you lean into Bas’ side, greedily taking in his warmth, mourning already forgotten and pushed to the side.

You stumble along, his arm wrapped securely around your waist as laughter rings between you, fuel for the rest of the night, replenishing the emptied wells of emotion like he’s pouring molten gold straight into your blood.

He’d been tense at first—nothing outright, or obvious in any sense of the word, but those small tells were there. Patterns one can only pick up on after spending pure, concentrated months with someone. And his behaviour had been erratic. The tension in his jaw when a female had bumped into him, spinning clumsily on her feet to apologise. The pause before he’d forgiven her, and continued on with his night. Then he’d refused to even take a sip of your drink, politely but firmly refusing your attempts to get him to loosen up.

You’d tried plying him with all sorts of methods, from joking and humour, to offering up some of your own little pieces, to asking directly what was going on inside his head that night. He’d diverted the first two, and snapped at you to mind your own business at the last one, which—to be fair—he was entitled to do. You know you wouldn’t appreciate one of your sisters trying to worm their way back into your life if you wanted your peace.

Eventually, you’d gotten up, telling him you’d pop outside for some fresh air—the night sky is always beautiful here—but he hadn’t wanted to come with you, simply sipping quietly on the non-alcoholic drink before him. Was it something to do with whatever he’d wanted to speak with you about?

While you’re out on the balcony, you explore the possibilities of what he might want to say. Though, you decide to stop once you notice the thoughts steadily becoming worse and worse, pausing the process before you cause yourself a public meltdown—you can theorise once you get back to the House.

But with thought of the House comes thoughts of that dangerous piece of parchment on your desk. The open challenge left for you, daring you to bring out some imagined claws. Outrageous and bold and brazen. You can’t even begin to imagine what those sorts of characteristics would imply to your personality. Do you even possess the capacity to become anything other than the flimsy spec you are? To make something out of the damage, to make it worth an amount, so it’s anything but weight, and trauma, and baggage.

Running gloved fingers over your face, you raise from the balcony, turning and heading back in. You don’t know why you didn’t try and turn back sooner when he obviously wasn’t in the right state to be coming out, certainly not surrounded by alcohol.

(I wanted to, so I did.)

(I disregarded him because I am more important.)

When you re-enter the fairly crowded room, you edge your way along the walls until you can spot him, a glass of water in his hand containing a slice of lemon and what looks like a leaf of mint. He’s speaking with a female, his expression softer than usual, and you wonder if you should perhaps complete another lap of the room if he’s managing to relax. But then another male sidles up, his arm wrapping around her waist, and she’s promptly whisked away onto the floor. Golden eyes follow the two, watching as they disappear into the night.

“Hey,” you greet, pretending to be a little more fatigued than you truthfully are. Bas inclines his head in reply, taking a deep drink of the liquid, draining the glass before returning it to the wooden surface of the bar. “Ready?” He asks, standing promptly. A smile softens your features as you nod—wondering how long he’s been wanting to leave but sticking it out. He nods again, the warm piece he’d grabbed before setting out into the night getting put over his free arm as his hand grazes the space between your shoulder blades.

You both cross over the threshold of the establishment, and the cold air smacks you right in the face, draining the warmth in an instant. Bas chuckles lowly, tossing you the outer layer, immune to the cold.

You peer at him hesitantly, but he just rolls his eyes. “You’re cold, and I’m offering you a solution,” he says pointedly. “So take it, yeah?” You give in, sliding your arms into the too-large sleeves, wrapping it around your bodice, relieved to keep out the raw bite of oncoming winter. “Thanks,” you murmur, allowing hesitant comfort to settle over your skin as his arm pulls you out in into the street.

The two of you walk mostly in silence, content to mull over your own issues in peace, the frenetic pulse of others’ lives colliding off one another.

A scream pierces out of nowhere, so shrill that you startle, Bas flinching at your side, heart pounding in your chest. Laughter echoes in response.

Both of you peer toward the sound, but all you find is a female getting to her wobbly feet, surrounded by mirth filled faces offering her various hands up, pulling her back to standing, arms linking close with one another.

You exhale heavily, but beside you Bas is tense, muscle coiled tight beneath the warm heat of his skin. Lightly, you pull on his arm, encouraging him to start moving again because it’s cold outside, and he’s given you his only good piece of protection against the piercing autumn chill. He moves along stiffly, tension tightening across his muscles, hands tucked tight in the deep pockets of his trousers.

Silently, you peer at him from the corner of your eye, noting the rigid posture, the downward tip of his brows, the tension in his jaw, as if biting down.

“Hey,” you say softly, laying your hand on his shoulder, bringing him out from whatever space he’d dropped into. Golden eyes flick to you, more distant than usual, and you realise just how lucky it was that male scooped up the female when he did—he’s clearly needing to be alone right now, in the peace and solitude of his own home.

You put a smile across your features, “scary, huh?”

A beat passes and he’s silent, just watching you.

Then muscle slopes, tension rushing from his body all at once, a heavy sigh deflating from his chest, breath billowing out into the biting cold air. He nods, a smile beginning to form on his lips.

A hand drops to your ass, squeezing with interest before smacking the plump flesh hard.

Your entire body goes rigid, legs shaking as you spin around, clutching tight to Bas’ arm to keep upright, shock disturbing your stomach as your eyes lock with pale green.

“Nice ass,” the male compliments lowly, a slight grin on his lips as he prowls forward, arms wrapping around your waist, large hands settling lightly over your rear, cupping with interest. Instantly you raise your arms to your body, itches breaking out across your skin, pulse kicking up to the beat of a war drum as disgust slithers beneath your flesh. “What—? Get off—”

“Get the hell off her.”

Bas turns on a dime, the tension breaking across his features as his lip pulls back from gleaming white teeth, golden eyes glittering with rage as he shoves one hand into the male’s chest, sending him stumbling back a few paces, storm clouds thundering in his expression.

Hands tremble at your front, managing a few hastened steps away, putting shaky stumbles between you and the male, breath shuddering in and out of your lungs as you stare with wide eyes. Bas takes a step forward, bringing his hands up out of his pockets to remove the rings adorning his deft fingers, golden bands sliding up over his knuckles. “looking for trouble?” He growls, eyes trained on the opposing male with deepening anger.

The male raises his open palms, a faint smile on his sober features, pale green eyes gleaming beneath the hot faelights. “Calm down man. I didn’t know she was yours,” he drawls smoothly, “no harm done.”

“No harm done?” Bas hisses, baring his teeth, an icy gleam in his normally perfectly golden gaze. “Keep your fucking hands to yourself,” he growls lowly, keeping you behind him.

The smile fades from the male’s face, shifting into a slight scowl. “Calm the fuck down,” he snaps irritably, “it was a fucking compliment.” Bas snarls, discipline slipping as he stalks forward, fist snatching up the collar of the male’s shirt, a faint tearing sound ripping through the crisp night air. Pale green eyes widen, before deepening with anger. “What the fuck is your problem? It was a fucking—”

“You fucking try and put your hands on her again,” he mutters softly, the threat reverberating deep in his chest, staring down the opposition. “Fucking try, and see what happens.”

The male’s brows dip, lip curling back as he bares his teeth, shoving the flats of his palms into Bas’ chest, roughly pushing him off. “You tore my shirt,” he mutters, staring down at the ripped fabric. Pale green clashes with raging gold, darkening to viridian. The male looks down his nose, folding his arms over his chest. “You better fucking pay for that, prick.”

“For what? The improvement?” Bas barks, hands tightening into fists at his sides, aching for a brawl, that familiar itch practically scrawled across his features. Obvious to no one but you. Silvery moonlight catches his knuckles, something sharp and glassy catching your eye.

The male’s features twist with anger, then they’re slamming into one another, light gleaming; darkness swirling.

They’re using magic.

Your pulse kicks up, hands trembling as you stare helplessly, unable to formulate any thoughts. Before you power crackles in the air, tension buzzing like static before lightening strikes, and you need to intervene. But it’s as though you’ve been vanished from the world, physical form obliterated so you’re simply a wisp of conscious being tossed brutally in stormy seas. Just your skin tingling disgustingly in the shape of large palm prints. Like he’s scorched your body, so everyone can see the patch where—

The male pins Bas to the floor, his large body thudding heavily against the stone of the cobbles, one hand splaying across his shoulder, fist pulled back tight as a bowstring, shooting down, landing blow after blow to the centre of his face, blood spraying across a vicious smile. Gold practically glows in the hot light, enjoying it, letting the rage and fury build until it’s ready to combust, to be released on the male atop him. He’s savouring it, and you can do nothing but watch as he slides back into that state of self-destruction. Right before your eyes.

A wet crunch sounds, cartilage shattering, blood coating sharp, gleaming teeth that are bared in a feral grin.

“The fuck are you smiling at?” The male laughs, pulling Bas up by the collar, arm wound back, preparing to strike hard now the bone has caved. “You fucking brain dead?” He shouts, ears wincing from the volume, green eyes lit with bloody glee, liquid dripping from his knuckles.

Nausea roils in your stomach, recognising the path Bas has settled on. The numb violence in his gaze having your throat closing up. Before you can help it, your feet are moving on their own, pushing through the shadows as you run over to the two, arms wrapping tight around the male’s elbow, locking it in place as you lean to counter-weight his strength. “Bas…” you manage, voice cracking, muscles turning weak with adrenaline, legs like custard as they tremble.

Pale green eyes snap to yours, his head whipping round, only to grow wide, features illuminated with a blinding glow. Skin burns, from your fingertips to your stomach to your heels—you’re burning. The male flinches beneath your hold, and you hardly have enough time to catch yourself before he’s jerked his arm out of your grip, the point of his elbow hitting the dip of your collar bones, just shy of your throat. Heart stumbles in your chest before a force shoves at your spine, pushing you back into the male as the knuckles of his hand smack across your cheek, sending you tumbling to the ground. Copper bursts on your tongue as you flip over, scrambling to get up but trembling so violently you might be sick.

The male raises his curled fist again, preparing to strike, but Bas has gotten his dose of violence, bloodlust glittering in blazing gold eyes as lips pull apart into a wet, bloody smile. You catch the gleam of ice coating his knuckles, cold moonlight glinting across frozen, jagged edges before he flips the male over, fist connecting with his jaw, a bloody tooth being spat out onto the cobbles. Then the furore begins, fist pulling back over and over as he keeps the male choked to the ground, sawtoothed ice smashing against skin and bone with every wet crunch.

You try to call out, but your lips are too numb to move, skin stinging with piercing pain. Dark red splatters on the cobbles, flecked through with tiny shards of ice as the crunching continues, getting wetter and softer with every hit. Like the heavy thump of raw meat upon a carving table.

Trembling, you move to get to your feet, fingertips itching with adrenaline, shaking with indecision. Bas is going to regret this, you know it. He’ll come out of that haze drowning in self-loathing for giving into the impulse after so long of numbing it. You can’t let him continue—stop him before he does serious damage to himself.

He’s been there for you, and you need to be there for him.

Breath eases into your lungs, skin itching deeper, the burning again raising as your fingertips tingle, trying to reach out for your power. The sting of the green light begins to manifest, aching in your stomach, head pounding, rising to the surface—

You’re hauled upright, turned around and directed away from the beat down, magic extinguished the second his scent wraps around you in a night-kissed breeze.

Azriel doesn’t say a thing, simply curves his wing round at your back, guiding you off into the night.

You don’t have the capacity for dread or fear at what he’ll say once you’re far enough away.

All you can think about is the quiet warmth of him at your side, steady and assured.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @vanderlinde @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01

cbmthy taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @sakurafrost3-blog @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101 @kennedy-brooke @esposadomd @horneybeach1 @jeannineee @harrystylesfan2686 @tothestarsandwhateverend @abysshaven @starlight-hope @stupidwingboy @nastynesta @luvmoo @furiousbooklover @kuraikei @kemillyfreitas @chasing-autumns-chill @marvelpotter @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @nightcourt-daydreaming @vanderlinde @fall-myriad @historygeekqueen @erin-m-harmon

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel shadowsinger #cbmthy #multi part fic

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lilimaginebean · 5 months ago

Text

jjk men in bridgerton universe (fem!reader)

characters: geto, gojo, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna

Dearest gentle reader, the enchanting season of balls and soirees has once graced us with its presence, and with it comes the ever-present hunt for the most elegible and desirable bachelors. This year, the competition is fiercer than ever, as six distinguished gentlemen have captured the hearts of many a lady and become the talk of the town. Their charm and refinement have set the social scene ablaze, leaving many a heart affluter. Join me as we delve into the charms and virtues of these gallant suitors.Yours sincerely, Lady Whistledown

suguru geto was raised alongside the prince gojo satoru. he inherited his title (duke) from his father, a humble doctor who earned his nobility by saving the king's life. suguru arrived in London at the request of satoru, who sought his loyal friend's support in the quest for a suitable bride

he wasn't in search of a wife; his primary purpose for being there was to assist his best friend prince!satoru

he met you in the first ball of the season, where he witnessed one of your suitors behaving disrespectfully; so he rescued you from him

after that memorable everning, where you spent hours engrossed in conversation, duke!suguru began to reconsider his stance on marriage

he courted you with thoughtful yet extravagant gifts—limited edition books with author's notes, flowers not commonly found in London, and equisite dresses crafted from the finest materials

long, leisurely promenades during mornings and enjoyable dances at the balls during nights

on evenings without balls, you would share your dreams, secrets, and intimate thoughts under the soft glow of the moonlight

he gathered the courage to propose, and upon receiving your "yes", he sought for family's blessing for your hand in marriage

private but enchanting wedding, attended by your family, his mother, and prince!satoru

as a token of his love, duke!suguru gave you the ring that had been worn by his grandma and mama during their marriages.

he purchased a charming house next to the castle, so both of you could live there happily

you had three kids, two boys and one girl

“It has always been you and i cannot do nothing but offer you all what i possess, including myself”

satoru gojo who considered suguru to be both his brother and trusted advisor, often seeks his counseld and important matters. he is widely recognized for his charismatic and charming Casanova-like personality, having lots of affairs. As the heir of the United Kingdom he embarked on a journey to London with the singular goal of finding a suitable wife.

his aim was to marry the diamond of the season, yet sadly, she showed no interest in him at all

fate itervened when he encountered you in the royal gardens, where you were gazing at the stars and engaged in an animated conversation with your suitor. finding your enthusiasm amusing, he felt drawn to your charm

he asked suguru to gather information about you. it turned out you belonged to one of London's wealthiest families

recognizing your humility and profund influence your family had in the kingdom and in other kingdoms, satoru made the bold decision to seek your father's permission for your hand in marriage

despite the fact you did not know him at all, you found yourself abroad a trip bound for your new home

extravagant and luxurious wedding, featuring an abudance of guests that lasted an entire week. unfortunately, the celebration became awkward, as you had yet to truly interact with prince!satoru

satoru chose to end his love affairs the moment he married you

at first, interactions were solely focused on the purpose of ensuring a royal heir for the Gojo family through pregnancy

as time went on, he felt guilty for leaving you alone in the castle all day. he began inviting you to join him in his tasks, discovering your passion for astronomy and realizing you were more than just a pretty face from a wealthy family

within just a month, you had transformed into a pair of lovebirds who could scarcely bear to be apart

satoru is delighted in bringing you thoughtful gifts from his travels, each one intricately connected to your passion for astronomy

you had five kids, three boys and two girls

“maybe the stars were the reason why we met, but i am going to be the reason for you to stay”

kento nanami whose family is highly respected throughout London. He is a viscount who enjoyed a long standing connection with the royal family, being even close friend to prince!satoru and duke!suguru. As a result, he is often seen at all significant events. At the age of twenty-eight, prompted by his father's wishes, viscount!nanami decided it was time to find a wife.

had a notebook with the names of ladies he thought he might have a chance with

he was taken aback when he discovered that one of his childhood friends—yourself—had emerged as a debutante. he almost had a heart attack when he knew you were the diamond of the season

with the intention of reconnecting rather than courting, nanami approached you for a brief conversation

you confided in him about exhausting pressure of having numerous suitors vying for your attention.

in a moment of genuine kindness nanami offered to court you, suggesting that it would provide you with an opportunity to realx from the encounters of the other suitors

what began as three leisurely promenades a week quickly transformed into a daily ritual

every suitor you had gradually withdrew, as your connection with viscount!nanami deepened

the undeniable chemistry and bond between you were simply too intense to ignore even for both of you. with the season drawing to a close, he formally asked for your hand in marriage

the wedding was a momentous occasion, capturing the attention of London. even prince!satoru attended this grand event with his wife, who was carrying the heir of the kingdom

you had four kids, three boys and one girl

“darling, you have nothing to envy to diamonds. you worth more than all diamonds in the world”

choso is a baron hailed from a modest family but well-respect family withing their country. as the eldest son of nine, he carried the responsibility of taking care of his family. In pursuit of expanding the family business baron!choso traveled to London to sought new partners.

one of his potential business associate informed him about the prestigious opening ball, and with little else on his agenda, he decided to attended

his sweet, gently and polite demeanor quickly capitvated everyone he met. in the span of a single night, choso trasformed into one of the most sought-after suitors in the room

one morning, while strolling through the park and trying to evade the eager mamas and their daughters, he inadvertently collided with you, causing you to tumble to the pavement

concerned for your well-being, he chose to remain by your side for the rest of the day. his frequent visits during your recovery turned into cherised moments, and love began to blossom

he admitted his main goal was to increase the company's earnings enough that his family would no longer worry about financial issues

you shared your desire to travel the globe, having had fragile health and being rarely allowed outside by your parents

eventually, he mustered the courage to ask for your hand in marriage, promising to fulfill your dream of traveling the world together

wedding was a modest affair, attended only by close family members

in the first three years of your marriage, you and baron!choso traveled around the globe; allowing him to expand his business internationally while you explored the amazing world you had always longed to see

by the fifth year, choso purchased a charming house in the wealthiest street in London; where you both settled down to start a family

you had seven kids, four boys and three girls

“you will make me the most fortunate man if you let me make your dreams come true”

toji fushigiro is the most esteemed warrior in the United Kingdom's army. He escaped his abusive family by enlisting, quickly gaining notoriety for his reckless and individualistic battle style. He ascended to colonel in just a year. After sustaining injuries in combat, toji arrived in London.

he crossed paths with you in the red light district. emerging for a cabaret, he spotted you as you passed by, searching for him. knowing his past as a hitman, you approached to him with a mission, help you find your sister. he accepted the mission

your sister and you were bastards, leading your father to deny both of you, and your mother sold you. fortunately, you were taken in by a kind farmer

now an adult you had decided to spend your savings to travel to London in hopes of reuniting with your sister

toji and you moved together into a humble apartment, to make the search easier

as your shared late-night drinks, a unique friendship began to blossoms, with both of you opening up about your pasts

eventually, you and him discovered that your sister had managed to escape with a painter two years prior. on the same night of this relevation, he received a call to defend the kingdom

for the first time, toji felt genuine empathy for your plight, as you were left with no money and without your sister. in a moment of compassion, he proposed marriage, knowing that this would elevate your status and provide you with a modest home on the outskirts of town

his benevolent gesture made you fall in love with him

after two years of war, he returned home with two children, a boy and a girl. you embraced them as your own

your kindness and nuturing spirit towards both the children and him made him realize what a remarkable partner you were.

you fell in love first but he fell harder

you had three kids, two girls and one boy

“i won’t be able to thank your sister enough, if it wasn’t for her, i wouldn’t have the chance to met you and call you mine”

sukuna rules the Ottoman Empire with a reputation of his cold-hearted yet rational approach to governance. Despite his stern demeanor, he commands respect from other kingdoms and empires. Determined to secure a worthy wife to bear him respected heirs, he travels to London on a quest for a suitable partner.

you first encountered him as he was stepping out of the first ball, visibly defeated by his failure to find anyone worth of his stature. just then, you were defending a debutante from an inappropiate suitor

sukuna intervened before the man could lay a hand on you

grateful for his chivalry, you thanked him but insisted you could have handled the situation on your own

he found your attitude cocky and thought you would need a punishment to know who you were talking to

after investigating you, he discovered that you found the process of courting and being a debutante frustrating and pointless. your deep annoyance with the system often made you feel ill whenever a gentlemen attempted to court you

he decided to punish you by courting you. you recognized his playfull intentions and decided to match his wit by accepting his expensive gifts while demanding even greater offerings in return

dynamic of enemies to lovers

sukuna soon realized you were everything he sought in a partner, a powefull lady excelling in various disciplines. music? you mastered five instruments effortlesly. art? your hiperrealism paintings left onlookers in awe. manners? everyone envy your poise, grafecul expressions and sharp wit

you began to see him in a new light. he was a wealthy man who wasn't uncomfortable with your honest opinions or strong personality

he demanded you to marry him, you demanded him to ask it in a nicer way

greatest wedding of the century, a lavish celebration where he proudly displayed his new bride to every kingdom and empire

you had one kid, a boy

“do you know what’s better than a king and his empire? a king with his powerful queen”

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagines #geto x reader #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #choso x reader #toji x reader #sukuna x reader

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taoriyu · 6 months ago

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Let's stay like that [Mizu x Reader]

============= Rating: E Pairing: Mizu x F!Reader Warnings: explicit 100% nsfw content under the cut; also mb awkward nsfw content idk Description: you and Mizu were going to train but things were escalated quickly bc you are a cute when angry short sweet bun.

To be honest I hesitated about this fic and rewrote it couple of times. It feels like something isn't there yet. But anyway who cares right? Let's go.

=============

Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting a dappled mosaic of light and shadow upon the forest floor. A heavy, concentrated scent of pines weighed down the air, as if the trees themselves were closing in on the surroundings. In the distance, you heard the soothing sounds of a nearby stream. Mizu's athletic form seemed to merge with the shifting shadows as she faced you, her piercing blue eyes locked onto yours. With practiced grace, she swept her hair into a samurai bun, standing tall, preparing for the duel.

You both exchanged bows, as your father had taught you. This was how a new type of conversation should begin, he had said. One that spoke through actions and unspoken thoughts instead of words. Assuming a stance, you held your wakizashi slightly raised, its tip directed toward your opponent, poised for defense. You studied Mizu, attempting to discern her intentions. If I charge recklessly, she'll cut me down, you thought. I must wait for her move. But instead of attacking you right away, she moved to the side, pulling you both in circling motion.

Mizu's voice was a low, resonant hum that echoed through the clearing as she teased, "Do you need me to kneel down to make it a fair fight?" You couldn't help but frown, though a smirk threatened to form at the corners of your lips. This mixture of annoyance and laugh was exactly what Mizu aimed for. She’s pretty when she’s angry, Mizu thought, settling into her fighting stance.

In the serene isolation of the forest glade, Mizu and you squared off, the anticipation crackling in the air. Mizu, her katana gleaming in the dappled sunlight, moved with fluid precision, her every step a testament to years of disciplined training. You faced her with a wakizashi, its shorter blade a contrast to Mizu’s blade, demanding swifter, more agile movements. The duel commenced with a swift and silent motion; Mizu's katana arced gracefully through the air, the swing a blend of power and elegance. You dodged and parried an immediate second strike, the clash of steel ringing loudly in the quiet peace of the forest.

With a smirk playing on your lips, you parried Mizu’s teasing with a quip. "I may be vertically challenged," you began, your voice light yet edged with determination. Two swift slashes from Mizu’s katana whistled past, narrowly missing their mark. "But I can still kick your ass," you continued, diving under her extended arm with graceful agility. In a single fluid movement, you struck her side with the hilt of your wakizashi, feeling the satisfying impact reverberate through the metal.

You dodge out of the katana's deadly reach, swiftly getting back on your feet with a smirk. "See? That could have been the end for you," you tease, watching Mizu rubbing her side. The words lingering between you as you both readjusted your postures.

Mizu's wry smile showed she understood your point. "Maybe so, but my height granted me another skill" she begun as she placed her sword on the ground. “Swiftness“. In one powerful jump, she closed the gap between you and grabbed your waist, causing both of you to fall to the ground in a flurry of laughter. As you tumbled across the grass, playfully trying to gain control over each other, Mizu's genuine laughter mixed with yours in the warm summer air.

The two of you erupted into laughter, a harmonious symphony of heavy breaths and pure joy. Mizu watching from above with pride as she held both of your wrists in one hand. Your cheeks flushed with a familiar warmth, spreading like the sun rising across your entire body, as if your heart was being gently caressed. The sweet scent of Mizu's skin fills your nostrils, a mix of sea salt and sunshine that envelopes you in a sense of comfort and desire.

So close, you thought, forgetting how to breath, seeing all at once: her striking eyes more roundish then yours of ocean colour that your loved the most on sunny days, a gentle movement of her stranded hair caressing by breeze, a bird that took a flight from tree behind her, her lips, their shape with touch of recent laughter, her slightly raised eyebrows that added a touch of glitter to her shifting gaze that made your heart to flip, her lips again and yet it felt like you have never seen a thing that could move your heart more.

You took a breath and felt like Mizu shifted and press against your lower body, making an audible involuntary breath. The movement, unintended as it may have been, drew a hot sensation tugging low beneath your belly and a sweet low moan along with it.

And that was it. She leaned in closer, her lips parted slightly, drawing in a sharp breath before pressing against your own. Her mouth moved slowly, expertly, as she brushed her lips against your bottom lip and then sucked it in gently. Her thumb caressed your cheek, her eyes closed in pleasure. Suddenly you felt Mizu tense up and she swiftly broke away. You saw her heavy breathing, mouth agape, a sudden fear and regret inside your eyes. A flicker of uncertainty flashed in her eyes, opening a new shade that it seems was never there before for you: vulnerablety. A shadow of fear darkened their depths, reflecting the turmoil of her heart. They darted nervously, as if searching for reassurance.

She had already let go of your wrists and was about to leave, but you held onto her kosode tightly, knowing that if you let her go it would be a grave error. With a gentle touch, you caressed her face and brought your foreheads together. "Please," you whispered hoarsely, not wanting to let go of her. Her eyebrows lifted slightly, in disbelief. You leaned in closer to her, not quite kissing yet but gently brushing your lips against hers. "Stay," you whispered, your words mingling with her breath as you pulled her into another kiss. You felt the tension leaving her muscles with a deep breath.

With her hand on your cheek, she gently brought her tongue into your mouth for two measured strokes before pulling away to enter once again. And leave again. And again. You felt how this agonizingly slow kiss filled your mouth with moan and made your body ache. To touch, to rub, to lick, to kiss, to suck, to bite, to hold.

She reached for the waistband of your hakama, untangling and loosening it with skilled fingers. "Hang on," she whispered, moving you into a seated position with her behind you. Her fingers traced along the waistband, gliding down to your folds and softly caressing your most sensitive spot. A shiver coursed through your body as you let out a deep sigh.

Her finger traced along your folds, gently parting them and gathering your wetness. A satisfied chuckle escaped her lips as she playfully nibbled on your ear, before giving you a loving lick. Her fingers danced over your sweet, sensitive bud in rapid, gentle movements, sending delightful shivers throughout your body.

“You like that?“ she whispered into your ear, her warm breath causing you to let out a louder gasp as you grasped for her neck with eager hands, trying to find more leverage.

Her fingers danced in circles over your clit, igniting a fire that spread through your body with each touch. Your anticipation grew with each passing second as she pressed harder into each circle, sending through you sparks of arousal. You could feel yourself surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure, unable to resist as she pushed you further and further into the depths of desire. Your legs opened wider in response to the intense sensations, as if you were falling into a bottomless pit of precious madness under her touch.

Your moans got quicker and louder with every stroke. “Fuck you sound so sweet” she growled into your ear as she picked up the pace, making you squirm and press against her skilled fingertips, unable to contain yourself any longer. She bit her lip moaning. Her fingers made a long stroke down and pressed against your entrance twice. She drives you wild, anticipating all sensations that you craved.

Your muscles tighten and quiver with anticipation as she sled inside her fingers, pressed them inside your walls just right there where exactly you wanted her. Your hands clutching at her neck and hip as you try to control the intense sensation coursing through you with every thrust. Each breath feels like fire in your lungs, and your moans escalate into near screams as desire consumes you. Until finally, with eyes shut tight, you reach your peak with loud cries of pleasure.

She eased her movements, each one creating a ripple of sensation that traveled through your body in continuous waves. Your muscles gradually relaxed as she held you close, kissing top of your head.

As your heart rate slowed down, you took a deep breath and confessed, "I believe I am in love with you, Mizu." Her smile widened and she seemed pleased to elicit these confession from you. Without hesitation, she replied with certainty, "I know I am in love with you," pressing a tender kiss on your neck.

“Why did you stop back there, while we were kissing?” you asked, fixing and adjusting your clothes.

"I've been in a similar situation before. Things seemed fine, or so I thought but then he rejected me and called me a monster. I thought…", she paused, “I was afraid that I was making the same mistake again.“

You took her hand, kissed the back of her palm and softly said, "You're not a monster, Mizu. You're brave and maybe angry, but with me you’re kind, and anyone who can't see that doesn't deserve you." Drawing closer, you fully embraced Mizu's hug. "Do you want me to..." Your voice trailed off as your shyness took over before you could finish your thought.

"Not right now," Mizu chuckled, amused by your sudden bashfulness. "Let's just stay like that until Ringo finds us," she whispered, resting her chin on top of your head. "Being short does actually has its advantages. You fit perfectly," she smiled, feeling content and comforted embracing you.

#blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #bes #blue eye samurai mizu #blue eye samurai netflix #mizu #mizu x reader #blue eye samurai fanfic #mizu fanfic #mizu smut

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baekhyunsbestie · 3 months ago

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♡⸝⸝ sparks and vows (bbh series!) ⊹。°˖➴

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧♡₊˚ s&v playlist・₊✧♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧🥂

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 pairing: soloist!baekhyun x reader aka [✶] 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 content: 18+/MDNI. strangers to lovers, wedding!au, angst, fluff, exos and o/c's, pussy whipped baek, ex-playboy baek, ceo nepo baby reader, smut (tbh probs every chapter), language, scenes with alcohol +/or smoking throughout story, pretty tame tho tbh!!! ଘ(ᵕ˵ ૩ᵕ)━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ takes place right after the gala, slight exhibitionism? smoking, ex-fiance and his creature appearance, baekhyun’s a panty sniffer/thief 😭, this chapter is p much porn w a plot 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 wc: 5,600-ish? 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 a/n: dvsn has been on a heavy rotation whilst writing this chapter 🙂‍↕️🫣 but this specific song is so s&v bbh coded. also, i made a spotify playlist for this series :) link is above hehehehehehehehe <3 enjoy the filthy smut babes!! this chapter was supposed to be like double the wc but i think im just going to do shorter chapters and make the story have a few more chapters than intended hehe

s&v | mlist | ch.1 | ch.2 | ★ ch.3 try/effortless ★ | next

the after-party for the gala unfolded in a breathtakingly opulent space downtown, one of many jewels among the venues and clubs owned by hana’s family. this year, [✶] decided to actually make an appearance—a rare move. maybe it was the high she got from the gala’s overwhelming success—or maybe it was because she couldn’t stop thinking about baekhyun, his tantalizing performance replaying in her mind.

his voice had been like velvet, smooth and rich as it wrapped around each lyric. every note seemed designed to captivate, but it was more than just his voice—it was the way he performed. the way his body moved with such effortless precision, fluid and sensual, as if he knew exactly how to command the room’s attention. but it was the moments when his gaze would land on her, when he’d purposefully sing certain lyrics while locking eyes, that made her stomach flutter.

his entire performance had left her buzzing, her heart pounding, and she couldn’t shake the sensation. now, as she navigated the after-party, all she could think about was finding him again—if only to tell him how completely he had captivated her, how his voice had stirred something deep inside her that she couldn’t quite explain.

the room glowed with soft, golden light, casting an enchanting shimmer over the crowd. the air was thick with the intoxicating blend of perfume, champagne, and the heady rhythm of music that pulsed through the night.

[✶] moved through the throng of revelers with graceful determination, her presence commanding admiring glances as she weaved across the dance floor. the room shimmered with luxury as guests—from the elite wealthy to influential figures and high-profile celebrities—mingled in elegant conversation. the hum of admiration brushed against [✶]’s skin like a gentle breeze, each compliment light yet resonant, making her feel as if she were wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and affirmation.

her dress—an elegant, flowing red piece that swirled with each step—seemed to ripple like liquid silver under the ambient lights. paparazzi flashes sparkled like distant stars, capturing moments of glamour that would be immortalized in magazines and social media feeds. she left behind a trail of congratulatory whispers and heartfelt compliments, each one a reflection of the night’s success and her undeniable charm.

as she approached the bar, the pulsating beat of the music grew more insistent, a vibrant counterpoint to the murmurs of appreciation that surrounded her. the bar itself was a sleek, modern marvel, its surface gleaming under the spotlights like a polished gem. behind it, an array of exotic cocktails and fine spirits awaited, their colors gleaming enticingly in the ambient light.

[✶] approached the bar with fluid elegance, her movements perfectly in sync with the rhythm of the party. the crowd’s warmth pressed in around her, a palpable buzz of energy and celebration that echoed the triumph of the night.

at the bar, bartenders worked with a practiced ease, their hands a blur of artistry as they crafted drinks with finesse. [✶] leaned casually against the counter, her eyes drifting over the room while she waited. the scene before her was a kaleidoscope of color, light, and sound—a dazzling celebration of glamour and excitement.

her gaze skimmed over the crowd, searching for hana or kyungsoo, but they were nowhere in sight. the club was packed, making it nearly impossible to spot familiar faces in the sea of elegant dresses and sharp tuxedos. the hum of conversation, mixed with the soft clinking of glasses, created a symphony of laughter and voices.

her thoughts wandered, hoping to catch a glimpse of baekhyun. she wanted to congratulate him on his mesmirizing performance, her heart fluttering at the thought of seeing him again tonight.

her gaze lingered, momentarily lost in the sea of faces and silhouettes, until a familiar figure appeared through the crowd heading towards her. the unmistakable gait, the confident stride, the sculpted physique—each detail as familiar to her as her own reflection. as he drew closer, a radiant smile illuminated his face, the kind of smile that could light up a room. the kind that once meant everything to her.

no, it can’t be.

not him. not tonight.

she feels her breath catch, her chest tightening as mhery eyes lock onto the figure moving toward her. the stride, the posture—it’s him. daniel. she don’t even need to see his face to know. six months of silence, and of course, he’s here. of fucking course, she runs into him now, when she’s least prepared.

maybe he hasn’t seen mhere. maybe he’ll turn around and leave. if she just looks away, he’ll get the hint, right? god, why does he still walk like that—like he owns the damn room?

or she could leave. just slip away before he reaches her. she doesn’t need to do this tonight. she doesn’t need him dredging up the past, reminding her of everything she;’s been trying to bury. but her feet feel glued to the floor, like her body’s betraying her, forcing her to face him.

does she pretend not to care? should she act like she’s over it—over him?

she can’t do this. not now.

but she know it’s too late. he’s right behind her.

[✶] freezes, caught off guard, just as the barista slides her drink across the counter. the glass glints under the ambient light, its cool surface pressing against her palm, anchoring her to the moment. a part of her hopes—prays—that if she doesn’t acknowledge him, if she just ignores the familiar pull of his presence, maybe he’ll disappear. maybe this encounter will vanish as quickly as it appeared. but that’s not how this works, is it?

“it’s nice to see you finally enjoying yourself,” daniel’s voice cuts through her thoughts, dragging her back to the present. his eyes glint as they flick toward the drink in her hand. “i remember how i had to practically drag you to these events. and even then, you wouldn’t touch a drink without a little nudge.”

his laugh follows, a sound that once carried warmth, now piercing straight through her chest. she hates that it still affects her—the way it teeters between affection and teasing, the way it used to make her feel like he knew her better than anyone. but now, it just feels… hollow. mocking, almost.

memories flood back, uninvited. the exhaustion of hosting event after event, retreating back to their shared penthouse, drained, while he would head out to continue the night. she’d always insisted he go, that he enjoy himself, though she never imagined how far he’d take it. a bitter pang twists in her chest, the sting of those nights he’d spent tangled up with someone else—nights that shattered everything you thought you knew about him.

but she pushes it down, swallowing the resentment as she meet his gaze. there’s tension there, the kind that’s never fully settled—nostalgia twisted with a bitter aftertaste.

“nice to see you, too, daniel.” her voice is calm, each word measured and cool. she lifts the cocktail to her lips, the glass icy against her fingers, a contrast to the firestorm brewing inside her. the deep amber liquid swirls lazily in the glass, catching the light in a way that feels almost too fitting for this moment.

daniel shifts on his feet, the subtle discomfort in his posture betraying him. “look,” he starts, his tone softer now, more careful, “i just wanted to say…we should still be on good terms. our families are moving forward with the merger, after all.”

and there it is. the inevitable lee-kim merger, a union that was supposed to be our story. a high-society fairytale, where two hotel empires become one glittering entity. lavish galas, magazine covers, and seamless wealth—it was all laid out like a goddamn hallmark movie waiting to happen.

except they were never the perfect couple. and they both knew it.

she takes another sip, letting the burn of the alcohol dull the edge of his words, the heavy reminder of the life we were supposed to lead, the one that was never truly theirs.

yet now, the once-gleaming promise between her and daniel has tarnished, marred by the weight of their separation. what was once a vision of a dazzling future together now feels tainted by a bitter undertone. the merger—more than just a business deal—has become a symbol of everything that’s unraveled. the dream of a shared empire has transformed into a backdrop for unresolved emotions and lingering questions that neither of them have dared to address.

daniel’s eyes search hers, hoping, maybe even pleading, to find a spark of the easy camaraderie they used to share. but all she gives him is frosty distance, a cold echo of the fractured past between them.

she can’t bring yourself to speak. instead, she looks down at the polished marble floor, her gaze heavy with uncertainty, unable to meet his. the weight of her insecurity anchors her in place, rendering her speechless. all she can manage is a faint nod, her usual confidence momentarily swallowed by the tension of the moment.

daniel’s mouth hangs open as if he’s about to say something else, but before he can find the words, slender arms wrap around his waist from behind. the touch is soft yet deliberate, and a melodious, feminine voice fills the air. "there you are, i’ve been looking everywhere for you."

you watch as a woman glides into view beside him, her movements smooth, almost rehearsed. she emerges from the shadows and into [✶]’s line of sight, a picture of calculated poise. "oh, [✶]," min’s voice rings out with a tone that drips with false familiarity. her smile, though polite, barely masks the disdain lurking beneath. "you did an incredible job at the gala today. i’ve heard nothing but praise. so sorry we couldn’t make it."

her words feel like a slap coated in sugar. [✶] forces a smile, though irritation simmers beneath the surface. "thanks?" the word comes out sharper than she intended, laced with polite defiance. "though i don’t recall extending an invitation to you."

min’s smug expression falters for a brief moment, twisting into a mask of annoyance. the tension between them is almost palpable, hanging thick in the air. after an agonizing beat of silence, [✶] takes a swift gulp of her drink, the bitter taste burning down her throat as she musters the will to escape. she excuses yourself, needing to get away from the disheartening scene that’s unfolding before her.

the weight of everything presses down on her as she walks away—daniel’s betrayal, min’s false charm, the bitter taste of what could have been.

navigating through the crowd, her breath becomes shallow, chest tightening under the crushing weight of her emotions. questions hammer throughout her mind: how the hell could he bring the woman he cheated on me with here? and why the fuck would he even show up at all?

[✶] pushes through to the nearest exit, the door closing behind her with a sharp, final click. the stairwell before her is a stark contrast to the glitzy chaos of the party—quiet, cool, and empty. leaning against the cold wall, she let out a long, shuddering sigh. the air here is cleaner, fresher, and with each exhale, the suffocating pressure on her chest begins to ease. slowly, a sense of calm washes over her, the nerves settling as she savors the silence.

“feeling claustrophobic?” a familiar voice calls down from the top of the small flight of stairs.

[✶]’s heart lifts at the sound of baekhyun’s voice, relief washing over her. “yeah, something like that. i’m not really a fan of these kinds of events,” she replies, a genuine smile tugging at her lips as she glances up at him. she chose not to burden him with her troubles about daniel and his new companion. “what about you? hiding out up here?”

“same as you,” he says with a casual shrug. “just needed a break from all the noise. honestly, i’m not a fan of these things either, but how could i resist knowing you’d be here?”

baekhyun catches sight of the flush creeping across her cheeks at his comment, and his smile broadens, mischief dancing in his eyes. “have you already been drinking,” he teases, leaning in slightly, “or is that blush because of me?” his playful tone makes it hard to keep a straight face.

she raises an eyebrow, a smirk forming on her lips. “maybe it’s a little bit of both. you do seem to have that effect on me. annoyingly so.” she playfully shrugs, savoring the banter as she holds his gaze.

baekhyun chuckles softly, a twinkle in his eye. “i was thinking of heading up to the rooftop for a quick smoke. wanna' join me? i promise the view will be much more romantic than this cold, empty stairwell.” he tilts his head slightly, inviting her with casual confidence as he reaches his hand out for her.

[✶] laughs, nodding in agreement. “yeah, let’s go.” she slips her hand into his, the warmth of his touch grounding her as he leads her up the stairs.

the rooftop was a bright oasis high above the busy city, surprisingly calm despite the lively party going on downstairs that they had just left. strings of market lights crisscrossed overhead, casting a warm, golden glow that danced across the space. each bulb hung like a tiny star, twinkling softly to create a canopy of light that transformed the night into a magical dreamscape. cocktail tables dressed in crisp white linens were scattered throughout, their gleaming surfaces catching the light and reflecting it back in gentle shimmers. trendy patio furniture, upholstered in plush fabrics of deep navy and rich charcoal, was arranged in cozy clusters, inviting intimate conversations under the starry sky.

her eyes widened as she took in the breathtaking panorama of the city’s skyline. the lights below stretched out like a blanket of stars, each building illuminated and shimmering against the dark canvas of the night. the air was cool and crisp, carrying with it a whisper of the city’s vibrant energy. this view would never tire her.

she turned her gaze towards baekhyun, a warm smile spreading across her face as she took in the view. the soft lighting casting down his features made him look so irresistible. "you were amazing earlier, by the way," she said, her voice soft but full of admiration. she settled onto the chaise beside him, her thighs brushing against his. “now i get why you’re so popular,” [✶] flirted, her eyes sparkling with playful admiration.

he offered a humble smile, the corners of his mouth lifting in a shy, almost boyish manner. a subtle blush crept across his cheeks, a delicate flush of pink that hinted at his embarrassment. he reached into the inner pocket of his coat with practiced ease, extracting a slender cigarette with a flick of his wrist. as he placed it between his lips, the dim light from the street below caught the gleam of the cigarette's white paper.

with a quick, fluid motion, he shielded the flame of his lighter from the gentle breeze with the palm of his hand. the tiny flame flickered briefly, casting a warm, golden glow that illuminated his face in sharp relief against the encroaching darkness. the light danced across his features, highlighting the intensity of his gaze and the subtle lines of concentration on his forehead as he drew the cigarette to life.

baekhyun inhaled deeply, the ember at the tip of the cigarette glowing a fierce orange. he exhaled a plume of smoke, which swirled and dissipated into the night air, mingling with the shadows around them.

"well, i had to give it my all for my girl, didn't i?" he said, his voice blending playful confidence with genuine affection. he settled back on the chaise, leaning in closer as he carefully offered her his cigarette. "you really set the bar high the last time we met. all i did this week was rehearse for it. i was so nervous for tonight that i hardly slept at all."

[✶] let out a soft, melodious giggle, a sound that seemed to weave through the night air like a sweet, captivating melody. her eyes sparkled with amusement, their twinkle betraying her lighthearted teasing. she raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a teasing smirk that was both charming and provocative. “'my girl'?” she echoed him, her tone light but edged with playful mockery as she takes a drag of their shared cigarette before handing it back to him. “geez, baek, you might want to take a girl out to dinner first before you start laying claim.”

baekhyun’s laughter rang out again, a deep, resonant sound that filled the rooftop with a warm, infectious energy. his voice carried a note of playful disbelief, a blend of incredulity and endearing affection. “whaaaat?” he responded, his tone both surprised and amused, the echo of his voice lingering in the night air. “and what about our night together last weekend, huh? i thought i did a damn good job claiming you then—”

his playful words were cut short as [✶] placed a hand over his mouth, her eyes wide with a blend of shock and amusement. “are you crazy?” she half-shouted, her voice tinged with urgency. “what if someone hears you?” her head whipped around, scanning the rooftop with a frantic energy. the only sounds were the distant hum of the city below and the soft rustle of the breeze. empty, just as they had hoped when they slipped away to this secluded spot.

baekhyun’s gaze softened as he looked at her, really looked at her. the moonlight highlighted the gentle curve of her cheek and the sparkle in her eyes, making her seem almost otherworldly, like a dream. he couldn’t stand the space between them anymore. her soft, inviting lips called to him with an irresistible pull, and he felt a deep ache to kiss her. the brush of her delicate hand against his skin sent a jolt of electricity through him, creating a tense atmosphere between them.

with a sudden, decisive movement, baekhyun stubbed out their cigarette, the ember hissing as it met the ground. he gently but firmly moved her hand away from his mouth, his touch lingering as if he wanted to savor the moment. his eyes locking onto hers, filled with longing and unspoken desire.

he reached out, his hands cradling either side of her face with a tenderness that belied the strength of his touch. the world around them seemed to dissolve into a blur of distant sounds and hazy shapes, leaving only the two of them suspended in this intimate moment. his fingers, warm and gentle, rested against her cheeks, tracing the delicate curve of her jaw with a sense of high regard.

the kiss felt soft and gentle, like the first snowfall, full of warmth and longing. he seemed uncertain about whether he should kiss her, but he couldn’t resist the strong attraction that pulled him closer. his tender touch showed his vulnerability, and the warmth of the kiss revealed just how deep his feelings were.

he braced himself for her to pull away, perhaps even to strike him with a forceful reminder that she wasn’t ready. but instead of rejection, he felt the subtle, reassuring pressure of her lips moving in harmony with his. her response was a silent affirmation, a gentle surrender as she leaned into his touch. in that fleeting instant, he sensed her melting into his embrace, and a realization dawned on him: she wanted him too.

when he finally drew back, giving them both a moment to breathe, his hands remained caressing the sides of her face, as though holding onto the lingering warmth of their shared kiss. "fuck it, let them hear," he murmured against her lips, his voice low and filled with a raw, unfiltered desire. "i'm not trying to hide you."

she looked at him with an intensity that spoke of unspoken dreams and deep-seated longing. in that moment, her resolve crystallized, and she knew she couldn’t bear to keep him at a distance any longer. 'fuck it,' she thought to herself, echoing his words as she grasped his face in her hands. with a surge of urgency and an intense need, she closed the distance between them a second time, this time of her doing. pressing her lips to his with a passion that had been building beneath the surface all along.

what began as a tender, innocent kiss quickly ignited into a blazing inferno of passion. their lips, initially gentle, pressed together with growing urgency, as if they were both starved for each other's touch. hands roamed with a passion that defied reason, fingertips exploring every curve and contour of their bodies. their proximity was electric, the heat between them tangible as he pulled her onto his lap.

the fabric of their garments, once a mere formality, now felt like a stifling constraint against the searing intimacy they craved. soft, breathy moans escaped their lips with every caress, every touch that struck a sensitive spot, sending shivers down their spines. each sound was an indication to the mounting desire that drove them further.

baekhyun’s need was undeniable, pressing hard between her thighs as she straddled him, just as he could feel the heat of her damp core grinding down against him. the sudden friction made his breath catch, his chest rising sharply beneath her. a low hum rumbled from him, sending a shiver down her spine as his hands roamed up her legs, the touch electric. his fingers slipped beneath the fabric of her dress, slowly dragging it higher until he could cup her ass fully, giving it a firm squeeze that had her moaning softly into his ear.

his slender fingers dug into her hips, guiding her movements with an unhurried precision, encouraging each roll and grind of her hips against his growing bulge. the wet fabric of her panties soaked through to his slacks, the mix of her arousal spreading with every slow, needy swirl. he knew exactly what he was doing��teasing her, drawing out her desperation, the game as much for his pleasure as it was for hers.

he loved seeing her like this, clinging to his shoulders with trembling hands, breathless and needy, her mind clouded with nothing but him. she whispered his name in broken syllables, the sound like music to his ears, and he reveled in it. every grind, every shift of her body against him brought her closer to the edge, and he knew she was barely holding on.

but baekhyun wasn’t in any hurry. he wanted her to come undone slowly, to make her crave him so completely that she’d be begging for more by the time he finally gave in. and she could feel it—that unspoken promise of what was to come, hanging heavy in the air as he watched her lose herself in the moment, every touch, every grind pushing her closer to her limit.

“baekhyun…” she whines, her voice a soft plea as her hips roll languidly against his, drawing a low, ragged groan from him. his thighs tense beneath her, and the sound is followed by a breathless, teasing laugh as he leans in, grazing his teeth along her jaw. "i know, princess," he murmurs, his voice a dangerous mix of playfulness and promise. "gonna take good care of you."

his dark gaze locks with her, heavy with intent, as his grip tightens on her hips. slowly, but with a clear hunger, he takes control, guiding her body to grind messily against his slacks, each desperate movement sending jolts of pleasure through her. her sensitive, clothed clit brushes over the hardness beneath his pants, and each touch feels like it's designed just for her, like her body was truly made for him.

baekhyun’s lips find her neck, nipping at her skin as her breath hitches, overwhelmed by the intoxicating closeness. "you're gonna make me cum, baek—please!" the words spill out between ragged breaths, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling a sharp hiss from his lips. another desperate swirl of her hips has him groaning deeply, the friction unbearable when she slowly grinds herself down onto his thick, clothed cock.

with a sudden pull, he drags her closer, the carnal need between her both tightening with each passing second. "oh, is that right?" his voice thick with amusement. "don't get too greedy, sweet girl. i’m not done with you yet."

baekhyun’s hands, driven by pure instinct, slide between her thighs. she responds immediately, parting her legs wider to give him full access, a silent plea for more. his fingers brush over her soaked panties, and he lets out a low, satisfied groan, the sensation only stoking the fire burning between them.

he knew how wet she was—he felt it when she was grinding against him, the way her body was shamelessly pressing into him. but now, with his fingers grazing her damp heat through the thin fabric, the reality hits him in a way that has his pulse spiking. she’s drenched, practically dripping with need, and as he slips a finger under the material to touch her bare skin, he realizes just how ready she is for him.

"fuck," he mutters under his breath, voice tight with barely-contained desire. the feel of her slickness against his fingertips is overwhelming, making the moment crackle with intensity. he circles your swollen clit slowly, teasingly, watching her expression twist with pleasure, the way her body reacts to every move he makes.

"you’re so wet for me," he growls, the words rough and needy as his fingers dip lower, collecting more of your arousal. "i could’ve sworn i felt it earlier, but this… this is something else." his lips twitch into a wicked smirk, clearly enjoying how worked up she is beneath his touch.

her hips buck against his hand, seeking more friction, more of him. and baekhyun, ever the tease, obliges—but just enough to drive her wild, not enough to give her what she’s really craving.

"patience," he whispers, his breath hot against her ear. "i'm not finished making you fall apart for me yet."

baekhyun gently laid [✶] down on the chaise, his movements deliberate and tender. he carefully dismounted, kneeling in front of her with an almost reverent gaze. his fingers, deft and sure, began to lift her dress, his touch sending shivers across her skin. he slid her panties aside with practiced ease, the fabric brushing against her skin with a soft whisper.

"baekhyun, w-what are you doing?" she asked, her voice a mix of surprise and growing awareness. “here? right now?”

baekhyun's eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight of her arousal, her sex glistening with an urgent sheen. with a deliberate, almost ceremonious motion, he lifted her legs onto his shoulders, his touch both possessive and tender. "i told you i was going to take care of you," his face dangerously close to her core. the delicious sight before her driving her to the brink of insanity. "try to stay still for me, my girl," he commanded, his voice low and sultry.

baekhyun's heartbeat pounds in his ears as he instructs her to arch her hips, his voice low and commanding. she complies, letting him slide her panties down her legs with a deliberate slowness. he doesn’t even hide the wicked grin as he brings them to his nose, eyes fluttering closed while he inhales deeply before slipping them into his pocket. the sight makes her cheeks flush with heat.

"perv," she teases, biting her lip to hide the smile creeping onto her face.

“better get used to it,” baekhyun smirks, his voice dripping with sin. and before she can respond, he’s between her legs, wasting no time. she barely has a second to process what’s happening, her mind racing with the realization of just how exposed and vulnerable she is—they are. she glances around the rooftop, a quick check to make sure they’re still alone, but the feeling of baekhyun’s hot breath ghosting over her bare skin snaps her back into the moment.

he licks his lips, the hunger in his eyes making her pulse race. without another word, he leans in, delivering a slow, teasing kitten lick along her slit, and it sends an electric shock straight through her. her body reacts instinctively, arching toward him, desperate for more.

her breath quickens, chest heaving with anticipation as his mouth begins its slow, torturous exploration of her body. his lips trail soft kisses along the insides of her thighs, feather-light touches that only heighten her need. when his mouth returns to her soaked heat, it’s with a new intensity. he groans against her, his tongue swirling with a sinful hunger, and the sound vibrates through her core.

the way baekhyun devours her—his lips, his tongue, the hum of satisfaction vibrating from his throat—has her head spinning. every moan of his is muffled against her, swallowed by her body, while his breathless praises spill out like worship between each kiss onto her pussy. “you taste so good, baby. so fucking sweet for me,” he groans, his words sending shivers through her. “i can't believe i went a week, a whole week, without tasting you.”

it’s taking everything in him not to lose control, but there’s more to this moment than just the physical need. this woman before him is his, wholeheartedly and irrevocably. and it’s not like he hasn’t tasted her before—he had been buried between her thighs just this last weekend, rearranging her insides like the fate of the world depended on it—but nothing compared to this.

this moment right here finalizes it for baekhyun. every doubt he ever had about being in a serious relationship with her? gone. out the fucking window. he can’t go another day without tasting this sweet cunt of hers. without being wrapped in her warmth. and the way she’s responding, grinding herself against his delicious mouth as he devours her like a man starved, tells him everything he needs to know.

[✶] feels the same. she’s never been eaten out like this before—with so much passion, so much raw emotion. this isn’t just lust. it’s devotion, and she craves it, needs it. she’s never going to want anything less–she’ll never settle for less.

he swears the nearer she is to her climax, the sweeter she tastes, and the sight of her unraveling beneath him—her face contorted in pleasure—is enough to make him almost cum in his fucking slacks. this? this is heaven. and they both know they need it, this intimacy, every single day.

her hands tangle into his raven hair, tugging him closer, needing him deeper. the way his lips suck on her clit, the way his tongue flicks and swirls, it's maddening. she feels her thighs start to tremble, tightening around his head as the pleasure builds, her body practically singing with each movement of his mouth.

baekhyun’s grip on her hips tightens, anchoring her to him as he works her closer to the edge. the sound of her moans and the wetness of his eager tongue fills the air between them. he doesn’t stop, won’t stop, even as she feels herself tipping over the edge, until finally, the dam breaks and she’s falling, crying out his name as she comes undone beneath him.

even as the aftershocks pulse through her, baekhyun continues, savoring every drop of her release. his lips never leave her skin, not until she’s so sensitive that she gently pushes his head away, gasping for breath. he pulls back, lips glistening with her arousal, a satisfied grin on his face as he looks up at her.

“god you’re fucking perfect,” he murmurs, his voice thick with pride, and she can’t help but smile through the haze of her orgasm. “and all fucking mine.”

[✶] gazes down at baekhyun, her chest still heaving from the high he had just sent her crashing from. his bangs were damp, clinging messily to his forehead, his face slick with a mix of sweat and her release. he looked up at her, eyes hooded with a combination of adoration and raw, unrestrained lust. the sight of him like this, on his knees and completely wrecked by her, sent a rush of heat through her all over again.

without a second thought, she reached out, pulling him up toward her. he stood effortlessly, his body towering over hers as one hand braced against the back of the chaise while the other tenderly cradled her cheek. their lips crashed in a heated, desperate kiss, both of them lost in the moment. the taste of herself on his tongue sent sparks through her, reigniting a fire deep inside. she moaned into his mouth, pulling him closer, needing more of him, of everything.

“take me home then,” [✶] whispered breathlessly, her forehead resting against his, their lips just a breath apart. “take me home and show me how i’m yours.”

baekhyun’s dark eyes flashed, a wicked smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “i thought you’d never ask.”

s&v | mlist | ch.1 | ch.2 | ★ ch.3 try/effortless ★ | next

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