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ladylooch · 1 day ago
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His Best Win Yet - [Nico x Lexi]
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Summary: After date five, Nico and Lexi finally take their relationship to the next level.
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On a Wednesday night, Nico’s heart hammers in his chest as he watches Lexi fiddle with the keys to get into her apartment. Inside his ears, blood roars so loud that he isn’t hearing a word she is saying. All he can do is stare at her hands, wondering if she’s making the universal sign for “come inside and fuck me.” 
It’s been five dates. The four before tonight, Nico went home and ended each night fisting himself to thoughts of Lexi riding him. Five dates is a perfectly respectable number. Reasonable. They’re both consenting adults. Hell, most of the girls he has slept with before this, they didn’t even do one date together.
But none of those girls are Lexi. His perfume queen. None of them made him feel like it was his first time all over again: nervous, excited, desperate to get this right for her.
“Neeks?” Lexi snaps him out of his thoughts with a gentle hand wrapping around his wrist. Red explodes into his cheeks as he focuses on her amused green eyes. “I asked if you wanted to come in? Watch a movie?” She offers innocently. Or was it with insinuation? Fuck, why hadn’t he been listening to her before. He would know if he had heard her the first time. Probably. 
“Yeah, if you don’t mind? I know it’s late.” He turns his wrist over, seeing the 11:00pm time. Wow, time flies by with her. He could do 100 more hours of this night together and never once get bored. They had a fun date walking around their neighborhood, stopping in every place that looked interesting whether it was a shop, a bar, or a restaurant. They tried new foods they’ve never heard of and bought crystals even though neither of them understand what they are for. Lexi liked the colors and Nico liked whatever made her eyes light up like that.
“I don’t work tomorrow.” She reminds him.
“Sorry, you told me that.” He sighs, closing his eyes at sounding like such an ass. “I was listening. Just… not a few minutes ago.” 
“You better come in… so a medical professional can make sure you’re okay.” She jokes, putting her key in the lock and then pushing the door open. Nico peers in. He’s seen her place from the entry way, but hasn’t spent time inside with her before now. 
“Don’t check my pulse.” Nico smiles at her knowing smirk.
“Do you want something to drink? I have beer.” She offers as she tosses her keys onto a shelf by the door.
“Sure.” Nico nods, then shrugs his jacket off. He holds it in his hands as Lexi walks into the kitchen. She pops the fridge open, then pulls out two chilled bottles of Budweiser. “You can put that anywhere.” She motions to his jacket as she pops the two bottle caps off. Nico lays it neatly on the chair, out of the way from the couch he assumes they will share together.
“Nice place.” Nico says as he motions to her apartment.
It’s so homey and lived in, cluttered but not overly messy. It’s nothing like his place. He keeps things neatly tucked away and has minimal keepsakes here in Jersey. All his prized possessions are in his house in Switzerland. Here, he lives with the bare necessities and the stuff his apartment came with since he rents it fully furnished. Alternatively here, plants are stuffed into every square of Lexi’s window sills. Some are in full bloom, others are thorny looking cactuses and succulents. There are a few cuttings that look like the start of some longer, vine-like plants that stretch towards the window for sun access.
“Thanks. It’s the first time I’ve lived alone and I am struggling with getting a theme together. It’s a mosh-posh of all the things I’ve had in different stages of life and what I’ve picked up through traveling for work.” Lexi takes a long sip of her beer. “Definitely not as big as your place.”
“Is it a competition?” He asks, tilting his head with a smile.
“No, but if you’re claustrophobic, I understand.” Nico laughs. 
“My mom would love this. She always filled our place growing up with tons of plants. There were some years we lived in a place where she couldn’t have gardens, but she believed in no plant left behind. So Emma and I had plants fill up our rooms too.” 
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“It wasn’t.” Nico shrugs. “This reminds me of that. Like home.” 
“Well, I have plenty, so if you want to adopt one or five, I would be happy to contribute to making your place more of a home.” Nico nods, knowing he will take her up on that. Not only to have a greener, more lively space, but to have some of her amongst his things.
“You’ll come visit them?” He asks following a sip of beer.
“I’ll have to. Visitations are part of the adoption contract.”
“Contract??” Nico raises his eyebrows at her. “This sounds serious.”
“You don’t want to know what happens if you kill them, Hischier.”
“Understood. I’ll make arrangements for when I head home to Switzerland.” 
“I’m sure you and I could work out a care plan. Co-parent these plants together like civilized adults.” She saunters over to her blue couch, settling into the far corner of it.
Nico doesn’t think so. It’s a few months out, but he wants Lexi to come home with him for the off-season, whenever that begins. Sometimes, he feels like he is moving too fast with his feelings for her, but then another part of him senses she is who he’s been waiting all his life to know. Finding a balance between that feeling and the newness is what has him fumbling around her half the time. 
How can he love someone so completely in a few dates? When did he fall for her? Was it one moment or over the last several months of whatever this was before their first date? Is this even normal? Those answers are what Nico continues to search for each time he sees her.
“Planning on joining me?” Lexi asks, tapping the couch cushion beside her.
“In a minute. Wanna look around here.” Nico gestures to the massive gallery wall she has. It’s filled with pictures of people and various art prints. Each one has it’s own, colorful frame so every color is represented in some way. Nico sips his beer as he studies the pieces. There are cheeky prints like “Does the process know we are trusting it?” in bubble letters and “I am the cherry on top” with a disco ball looking cherry hanging down. But the pieces Nico is most curious of are the ones with Lexi in them.
There’s pictures with who he assumes are her parents. His eyebrows pull together, noticing there aren’t any of the three of them together; only Lexi with them as individuals, except for one picture of her as a kid. She’s sitting on the front porch between them, frilly socks folded over at her ankles with her feet stuffed into pink, jelly sandals. Her hair is pulled into a turquoise scrunchy, fluffing out in a whale spout with her elbows resting on her skinned knees, covered with two bright yellow bandaids. 
“You were a blend of both your parents as a kid.” Nico observes.
“Yeah. You know, rumor has it that’s the last picture of my parents together.”
“I thought they split up when you graduated school?” Lexi is clearly young in the picture on the wall.
“Yeah, should have been before.” She rolls her eyes, swallowing down her beer. “My dad moved out before everything was official. They just signed everything after graduation so my dad didn’t have to pay child support.”
“That’s fucked up.” Nico frowns back at her.
“They were.” She nods, looking resolved and detached from it. “My mom would rather have sawed her arm off than take a hand out from my dad.” 
Nico turns back to the wall, still frowning. He can’t imagine his parents not together. He looks back at hers in the picture, seeing genuine happiness there. It’s sad.
“I’m sorry.” Nico says, without looking at her. Lexi is quiet for a moment.
“It was a long time ago.” She finally says. 
“Yeah. But I’m still sorry for her.” He points to the picture of her high school graduation beside her college one, each with only one parent in it. 
“What do you want to watch?” Lexi asks, changing the subject. 
“Whatever you want to.”
“Nico ‘can never be decisive’ Hischier.”
“I’m decisive when it matters.” Nico insists, pointedly dragging his gaze to her. Lexi hides her smile by putting her beer bottle to her lips. He watches her lick a drop of beer off her top lip. His cock twitches curiously and Nico pulls his gaze back to the wall of pictures. 
There is a picture of Lexi with a group of girls on a snowy mountain somewhere that catches Nico’s attention next.
“She skis.”
“She does.” Lexi confirms, navigating to one of her apps on TV. “My dad taught me. We would do a week-long trip to Colorado or Montana growing up. It was fun.” 
“I’ll have to get you into the Alps.”
“Are you ever there during ski season?”
“Well during COVID…” Nico trails off. “But good point. Although if I sent you over there, my mom would take you.” 
“Your family seems so picture perfect.” Lexi says quietly. “Filled with love the way it should be.”
“Yeah, I don’t know where I would be without them. This can all be…” He gestures about his career and fame. “A lot. They keep me grounded. Focused too. It’s nice to go home and be Nico to them. Not NHL captain Nico.”
“I can see that.” Lexi murmurs.
Nico turns away from the gallery wall. He can inspect it more later, but right now he wants to be close to her. The magnetic pull of her vibrates through his veins as she watches him cross the room.
Like his family, Lexi brings out the man he wants to be all the time too. He doesn’t have to plaster on an act or a smile. He can be exactly who he wants to be and turn off the other parts of him he has to present to the public. After being drafted first overall, he wasn’t sure if he would find anyone that made him feel such a way. He’s had his fare share of run-ins with girls who want him to be his public persona only. But it’s an act Nico can’t keep up with all the time anymore. He needs the rest and recharge in his home life, so he needs a partner he feels comfortable with.
Most importantly, Lexi let’s Nico pick who he is going to be with her as though she likes all the versions of him he can come up with. He feels safe enough to be the one he truly wants to be in her presence. This colorful, normal, hard working, beautiful inside and out woman is his ticket to everything he has ever desired. He doesn’t need years more of nights like tonight to figure that out.
The movie Lexi selects is a new Netflix Rom-Com that has them both laughing. The entire movie, Lexi lays curled up into his side, warming Nico from the inside out. She kept turning to kiss his chest, or his neck, or his arm as they shift around the couch every few minutes to stay comfortable. His fingers trail along her right side, wherever they can reach. They dance up to her neck and all the way down to slightly above her knee. The urge to dip into other places tempts Nico, but he doesn’t dare, even as her fingers tease along his thigh in a way that has him hoping she can’t see the half erection popping up in his jeans.
Yeah, he wants to have sex with her, but she isn’t giving him clear enough signals for him to not feel like a creep. She seems very interested in this movie so whatever Netflix and chill Nico thought was coming for them has disappeared. Although to be fair, this movie is pretty good. He can’t stop laughing at the one-liners and pop culture references that he proudly understands.
When the credits begin to roll, Lexi chuckles, rubbing his thigh. Her fingers stroke along his inner thigh, close enough to touch him but discreet enough that Nico is still questioning if she is hinting at wanting more than this. She turns slightly inwards, pressing her breasts into his chest as she looks up at him with sweet but lusty green eyes.
“Hi.” She says. 
“Hi.” He repeats, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. It slips back into place again, puffier than before, drawing Lexi’s attention. 
“I love your lips.” She sighs, bringing her hand up to cup his cheek.
Her thumb strums his bottom lip. Nico aches, deeply, to kiss her and give in to the urge to lay her back. Their lips connect, sending lighting bolts through his body. One of his hands cups her neck, needing the anchor to the Earth or he might float away. In response, Lexi presses her body into him more. The fingers of hers on his thigh brush the bulge of his zipper as she uses his leg for leverage to kiss him harder. Her other hand slides from his cheek into his hair, tangling in the brown locks. Nico’s hand on her lower back dips slightly lower, tips barely disappearing into the waistband of her jeans. Lexi reaches back, placing it further down on her ass so he has a handful of her. Nico pulls away questioning in his brown eyes.
He needs to be sure this is what she wants.
He can’t fuck this up.
“I just realized I haven’t shown you my bedroom yet…” She bites her lip. Nico stares at her, feeling time slow around them. Yes, his inner voice hisses, pride swelling in his chest.
“What’s in there?” He wonders cheekily, fingering a chunk of her hair that hangs between their faces.
“Nothing now. But maybe in five minutes it could be you and me with a lot less clothes.”
“I don’t… have anything…. on me….” He trails off, worried that maybe he is killing the mood. But he respects her too much to be unprepared and presumptuous. She bites her lip, eyebrows sliding together in disappointment. “I didn’t want to expect this.” He fills in, eyes going honest and a tad sheepish. He is still just a man.
“God that makes me want to fuck you more, Neeks.” Lexi groans, then looks towards the kitchen, away from his intense gaze. Her directness has Nico’s cock standing to it’s full height, ready to perform. “Do you upstairs?” Lexi asks as Nico nods eagerly. “Maybe you could show me your bedroom instead?” She re-asks, trailing finger tips down the center of his chest. Her eyes fall down to the zipper on his jeans. Her lips part open in a quiet gasp and when she looks back at Nico, saliva begins to soak his tongue. 
Nico grins, then holds his hand out for her to take.
Thank God he cleaned his place up before he left.
The entire journey to his unit, Nico hopes Lexi can’t tell how much he is shaking with need. It’s feral and consuming. His brain keeps chanting, running a mile a minute with everything he has imagined doing to her. Where should he start first? Eat her out? Ask her to suck him off? No he’ll come in two seconds. He should ask her. No, fuck, that’s not cool. He should just take charge and be direct. Kiss her, take his time undressing her, and go slow so he can remember everything about this. Do everything he can to ensure it won’t be a one time thing.
But when they get into his apartment and Lexi cups his cock through his jeans, there is no fucking way they are going slow. Nico isn’t going to last. His hips buck up into her hand as he holds onto each of her cheeks, walking her backwards to his couch. 
No, not the couch, not enough room.
He changes directions quickly, causing Lexi to tumble to the side at the swing in direction.
“Shit, I’m sorry. So sorry.” Nico breathes out, catching her around the waist. He pulls her ass into his lap and she twirls her hips so their steps falter. He groans now, eyes screwing shut. They could end it all right here in the hallway. She could roll her hips a few more times and he would explode in his pants. 
All thoughts move from how he is going to fuck her to making sure he actually does fuck her. He pulls out math problems, and recites the various, famous mountain peaks in Switzerland as he pushes her towards his room again. He runs through the power play set up they started implementing last game. He thinks about the most awful speeches coaches have given to him about his play. He visualizes a cold ice tub as Lexi squeezes him again.
“Nico, you’re big.” She gasps, eyes wild with anticipation.
God. Fuck. She is killing him with those gorgeous, needy eyes and the way she knows how to grab him, firm enough to spring pleasure across his skin, but not hard enough to be painful. He forces his eyes shut to focus on his breathing like this is an opening face off.
“I’m ready. Let’s get on the bed and go.” She begs him, unbuttoning his jeans as he gets her into his bedroom. She roughly shoves at his pants until they fall at his ankles. Nico hops out of them, pulling her shirt up and over her head immediately after. He needs to see her. Her brown hair fans out in gorgeous waves and he can’t wait to see how they look against his comforter when she’s beneath him. 
Nico wraps an arm around Lexi’s waist, gasping for air, trying to keep himself somewhat together as he kisses over her breasts. His other hand comes up, squeezing her right tit as she lets out a happy groan.
“I love that.” She confirms, scratching her pink nails along his biceps as she grips his shoulders. Nico folds the cup of her bra down, taking her nipple into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around the stiff peak. Lexi moans, loud and sexy, making the tip of Nico’s cock leak. His cheeks tingle at the taste of her, encouraging a slobbery mess to coat her spiked nipple. He releases her with a pop, a thin bubble of spit following him off her tip. His cock pulses again and Nico recognizes he is in big fucking trouble.
“I need you. Now.” Nico says, shifting his hands to her hips so he can push her onto his bed. Lexi eagerly crawls backwards up the bed to make room for Nico after he grabs a condom from his bedside table.
Nico’s hands shake mortifyingly hard as he fumbles with the wrapper. 
“Shit.” He mutters as the foil refuses to tear under his slippery pressure. Lexi watches with tender green eyes. “Sorry…” He mumbles when it doesn’t tear open again. He brings it up to his teeth and it finally gives way. He looks down at her, heart skipping a beat at how fucking sexy she is sprawled out beneath him in his bed. He has been yearning for this for months, honestly since before he even knew the person attached to the perfume that kept lingering in their apartment spaces. But knowing how incredible the girl attached to the scent is now, Nico can barely believe his luck. His chest squeezes and for a moment, breathing is out of the question.
“Can I put it on?” She asks curiously.
“No…” Nico winces regretfully. “I’m… a little too close for that.” He chuckles awkwardly as he rolls the latex down his shaft. His cock bobs with a pulse from that movement as if to prove his point. 
“That’s so hot.” Lexi giggles, reaching for his balls. She cups them in her hand, nails gently teasing the taut skin of his scrotum.
“Oh my- fuck.” Nico grabs her wrist. He carefully pulls her away from him, eyes screwed shut. Matterhorn, Rosa, Eiger, Jungfrau… “I’m serious.”
“I can see that.” Lexi giggles, beaming at him as if his struggle turns her on more.
She falls back to the bed, then drives her fingers over her soaked folds. Nico watches, savoring how good she looks playing with herself in front of him. Her other hand comes to the clasp at the front of her bra. She pops it open and Nico drools as her breasts fall out. They’re perfect- a handful with pretty mauve nipples that beg for more of his mouth. Nico leans down, kissing them, giving her the attention she deserves. He works her up, savoring her sweet praises and desperate whines. Her orgasm is building as her fingers work her clit in consistent, tight circles. Nico pushes her fingers out of the way, not removing his mouth from her nipple.
“You taste better than I imagined.” Nico fills her with a finger, shuddering at how wet she is for him. His cock oozes more into the condom and he knows it’s time. He could come just touching her without a hand on himself. 
Nico fists the base of his shaft as he pulls away from her breast with a final slurp of her skin. Lexi is blissed out and wild beneath him. He has never experiences her this out of control. He loves that she is this way from him. From how badly she needs this too. He rolls his cock over her wet folds, then lines himself up with her entrance. He eases himself into her an inch, then another, until she perfectly swallows all of him. They both exhale, deeply satisfied when he sits to the hilt. He pauses there, leaning over her to kiss her. Lexi kisses him back with a desperate ferocity. 
“You’re wild with my cock in you.” Nico murmurs. “That an okay word to say?” He asks her. Lexi nods enthusiastically. “Feel good?” She nods again just as eagerly.
“I’m ready. Fuck me, Neeks. Please.” She pleads. He doesn’t even have to ask for it. She readily gives it to him as easily as the moans that begin to descend from her lips as he delivers on her request. 
His imagination never had a chance of conjuring up how good Lexi feels surrounding him. Even through the condom, her wet heat washes over his cock, holding it in all the right ways that he needs. Nico’s head falls forward, chin on his chest in slight defeat as his eyes screw shut. He makes an attempt to last longer. But fuck that, he wants to drown in her, die in this ecstasy so he can be reborn as another man. As hers and only hers. He wants every part of him who didn’t know what this was like with her to die off so he can remember himself this way only.
“Oh my god.” Lexi groans. Her arms fall away from him, spreading out into his sheets to grip them in her fingers. The pink of her nails is a compliment to his navy sheets. They’ve never looked better than they do now, crushed and used, soaking up her warmth. “I love your cock, Neeks.” She groans. Her hips press backwards into the mattress, creating a different angle so he strokes her walls perfectly where she needs. “I’m going to come. Oh god, I’ve never come this fast.” She squeaks, eyes sliding shut as wild, breathy gasps fall from her puffy lips. “Please. Yes.”
Nico’s hands tremble as he holds her hips at that angle. He grips her harder to keep them steady, not willing to stop her pleasure because of his fumbling. He drives his thrusts hard and focused, watching every part of her orgasm wash over her body. It starts with her mouth quieting, but falling apart in a silent scream. Her cheeks flush in a pink that cascades down to her chest. Her nipples tighten further as goosebumps dance across the perfect mounds. Internally, her walls tighten then release a flurry of flutters that takes Nico under immediately. His hips buck awkwardly as he fills the condom. A string of Swiss German swear words hit the air between them. Lexi’s hands grip Nico’s wrists next to her head as she grinds herself into him, throughly damn satisfied by the end of their highs.
“Holy shit.” Nico mutters, eyes close, chest gasping.
“Yeah!” Lexi agrees enthusiastically. “Let’s go again!”
“Oh my god, baby, wait a sec.” He chuckles, blinking rapidly. He brings a hand up to his face, rubbing at his stubbled cheeks before he puts his brown eyes on her. He loves her just fucked look almost as much as her getting fucked look. 
“Oh sorry. Do you need to cuddle first?” Lexi immediately starts to giggle which has Nico laughing too. He leans down to kiss her smart mouth, smiling into their kiss when she quietly, gratefully, moans. His tongue teases her, urging their connection to continue for a few extra moments. “You make me feel so good. And I don’t mean only like this.”
“I like that.” Nico murmurs, kissing her lips for a final time, then sitting back up to slide out of her.
He gets off the bed, disposing of the condom in the trash before he grabs a cloth to clean himself up. He grabs a fresh one for Lexi too, putting it on the counter for her as she joins him in the bathroom to use it. Nico slides out of the room, then heads back to his bed. He looks at his discarded underwear, but decides against it, laying in bed naked. Lexi can drive what happens next. If she wants to get dressed, he will too. If she wants to stay naked, all the better.
Nico almost chokes on his tongue when she walks out of the bathroom. She looks relaxed and gorgeous, confidently strutting across his bedroom in a way he wants to see night after night. She climbs into bed next to him, opting to stay naked too. He opens his arm for her to wiggle into his side which she does, followed by a content sigh.
The silence that follows is light, comfortably quiet but filled with soft touches of the other. Nico strokes her hip with his fingers. Lexi combs her nails over his chest. Their breathing evens into sync with each other. When Lexi shivers from the cool night air, Nico pulls the covers up to enclose her shoulders. A sudden yawn stretches his lips apart, interrupting the quiet.
“I can leave if you want me to. So you can go to sleep?” Lexi’s shy whisper comes reaches his ears.
“The last thing I want is for you to leave.” Nico admits freely. “Stay.”
“Okay.” She responds softly, a tinge of relief in her voice.
The two fall into a comfortable quiet, continuing to rub at each other’s skin comfortingly for themselves and each other. 
“Nico, I’m really into you.” Lexi breaks the silence while drawing a heart on his chest. “This feels different than anything I’ve ever had. I like that.”
“I feel the exact same, Sweets.” Nico says, unwilling to fumble this girl by being anything but honest. “I hope you’re not seeing anyone else because I’m not. Don’t want to either.”
“I’m not.” Lexi murmurs. Nico can feel her cheek tighten in a big smile against his pec. “Just waiting for you to ask…” 
“Didn’t want to freak you out by moving too fast.” Nico confesses softly. Lexi presses up, looking into his face.
“Nothing with you would be too fast.” She shakes her head slowly as she says it. Her lips are pulled into a tender, vulnerable smile. 
“Then be mine?”
“Yes.” She says confidently, without a moment of hesitation between his question and her answer. 
Nico collects her back to his chest, his heart beating rapidly but happily in his chest. He has always been more of a relationship person, but it’s been a long time since he met anyone he wanted to commit to this way. Lexi has changed so much for him. 
As his girlfriend drifts to sleep in his arms, satisfied and comfortable, Nico finds contentment in believing he won’t have to navigate single life again.
He isn’t going to let her go. No matter what comes, they’ll face it together.
Because the girl in his arms is end game.
Undeniably his best win yet.
Read more Nico and Lexi here.
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esote-rika · 6 months ago
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More of you to worship | Spencer Reid
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Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader
Category: fluff, mild angst
Summary: Spencer Reid has insecurities about his changing body, and you assure him you love him regardless.
Content: body insecurity, established relationship, one mention of New Year
Word count: 1.5k
A/N: Quick little oneshot to end the year! You can thank @reidgif for this one because this gif rekindled my hyperfixation on his tummy. And then I saw a clip of Aisha (Tara’s actress) saying MGG weighs 11 pounds and has the metabolism of a rabbit on speed (lmfao) anyway, I took that and ran with it and now here we are. As someone who struggles with dysmorphia, I did my very best to be as sensitive with this as possible. Last fix of the year, I hope you enjoy it!
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Spencer had begun to notice it a few weeks ago. At first, he had foolishly thought that there was simply something wrong with the shirt he had worn. Tactile sensitivity had always been something he dealt with, and this was no different. There had been a certain peculiarity in the fit of his shirt that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Days continued, and it became a persistent bother, impeding his movement when he aimed, and inhibiting his general comfort.
It wasn’t until today, sitting in the bed—one he shared with you—that he finally had the time to inspect what was going on. The two of you had just gotten home from Rossi, who had graciously hosted a New Year’s dinner at his mansion. Spencer had admittedly eaten more than his fill, and that’s when he realized—it showed.
At once, the problem appeared. He was gaining weight. His shirts were bothering him because they were growing too tight, digging into places where they had previously been loose. The realization made him pause, as he stared down at himself.
Sitting on the bed, his stomach had gathered into a bulge, straining against the cloth. It was a new sight, not necessarily unwelcomed, but it seemed to send his mind reeling (to be fair, a lot sent his mind reeling nowadays, he was running on fumes, his only reprieve being you.)
He had never been muscular, had never found the need to be muscular. The team was nearly faultless because everyone filled a role, and they executed that well. He was, has always been, the genius, the expert on everything, as Hotch had called him once. Being the genius of the BAU meant that he had value. Relevance. It brought him great deal of pride, being able to contribute and pick up on patterns and little details that the majority of the team might miss.
It made him feel like he mattered. Needed.
So what if he couldn’t tackle a man down? They used to have Derek and Hotch for that, and now that role was being fulfilled by Luke and Matt, both of whom were utter specimens of the male physique.
But his time in prison had proven to him that he couldn’t rely on just his brains. Not when he had three burly inmates looking for trouble, looking for someone easy. It pained him that someone easy meant someone that looked like him. Tall, gangly, defenseless.
He took another breath and frowned as the fabric around his stomach grew tighter, taut at having to contain this belly that had formed over the course of the evening. A food baby, you liked to call it, because your own tummy was bonded to several factors as well—hormones, food, water intake—that made it fluctuate frequently, normally.
Normal. He tried to remind himself that this was normal, gaining weight was normal, but then again, how could someone tell what was normal when their—his—whole life, he had little experience with the word? Growing up a genius and taking care of an ailing mother skewed whatever sense of normalcy he could have developed.
Besides, his normal meant lanky, thin. His body, the way it was framed and built, had always been long and erring on the side of delicate. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried to bulk up, it was that his muscles were lean; that was simply how his anatomy worked. It would take a lot more effort to gain more muscle, effort that he, admittedly, didn’t want to exert. It wasn’t his role.
And now, he looked down at his stomach with a crease on his brow, mind whirring with explanations. Weight fluctuations are normal, and they were okay, and he was nearing forty, anyway, of course his metabolism was beginning to slow down, human adults’ bodily functions tend to do that, it was scientific and —
“Honey?”
He looked up, and there you were, your loveliness framed by the plain doorway. Somehow, you made it seem more magical, less boring, as though your very presence just made everything better. He smiled, holding out a hand for you, forcing the wave of insecurity down his throat, down his chest, trying to bury it deep in the recesses of his body.
You walked closer, and the thoughts punched through his attempts to silence them—you wouldn’t find him attractive anymore.
Something must have shifted on his face, a sliver of that anxiety creating fresh lines between his brows, because you paused. A hand ran across your cheek, and he felt the weight of your concern in the action.
“What’s wrong, Spence?”
He drew you closer, pulled you onto his lap. He couldn’t lie to you, not out of his lack of skill, but due to your incessant ability to somehow sniff out the truth from him, one way or another.
“I think I’m outgrowing my shirts.” he said, softening the words with a chuckle. He was ashamed to admit that it was affecting him more than he anticipated; maybe humor would lessen its significance.
“Aren’t you a little too old to be going through puberty?” you asked, matching the teasing tone of his voice. The difference was glaring though; his voice was awfully strained, and yours was lighter, more at ease.
Still, he laughed, buried his face at the nape of your neck. “They’re getting tight around my stomach.”
At that, you pulled back. He swallowed the whine that threatened to leave his lips; he was already being so pathetic over a little pudge, he was reaching max capacity. With bated breath, he watched as your gaze ran over him, eyes flickering with recognition when they landed on his torso.
“Oh they are,” You replied, hands going up to his shoulders, tugging at the fabric there, “Here too. Huh, I guess we’ll have to go shopping then.”
He looked, patiently waited for more.
“What?” you asked, eyes crinkling oh so prettily at the corners that he couldn’t help but press a kiss over them.
“That’s it?” he murmured, disbelief coloring his voice. He had anticipated more of a reaction, maybe a suggestion of ‘oh maybe you should go to the gym’. But you took it with such stride that he was a little confused.
“Yeah, that’s it.” you laughed, brought a palm down to his stomach, that one place that’s causing him to basically break down, “Should there be more?”
He shrugged.
Perched on his lap, you frowned as you watched emotions flicker through his eyes. “Spence,” You murmured, kissing his temple, “Talk to me.”
“I just don't want you to think I'm unattractive anymore.” The words felt bitter in his tongue; it was a relief to release them, get them out of his system. “I was never - you know - sexy before, and now I'm gaining weight.”
“Spence,” You interrupted him gently. It wasn't something you did often; his rambles were one of the things you loved about him after all, but it pained you to hear him get so insecure about something so insignificant as his weight, especially since his body wasn't even the thing that made him attractive to you in the first place, “Belly pudge or scrawny, I think you're hot.”
His eyes softened, looking so impossibly hopeful that you couldn't stop the urge to lean in and kiss him. “Seriously,” You murmured, “It doesn't matter to me. You're handsome, but you're also so intelligent and passionate and sensitive, and those are so much more important than how you look.”
He sagged with relief, arms tightening around you. “Yeah?” He asked as he buried his face in your hair.
“Yeah, honey. I'm not with you because of your looks,” You replied, then with a little laugh, you added, “Although, they certainly are an added bonus.”
His shoulders shook as he chuckled, and you can feel his lips giving you tiny kisses at the crown of your head.
“Besides,” You continued, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, “The way I see it, there's physically more of you now - more of you to hug, and to love, more of you to worship.”
He was silent, but his grip on you never faltered, breath fanning gently over your hair. “More of me to love.” He whispered, “You're right, that's - that's one way to look at it.”
“Mhmm,” You nodded, “But you really do need to go shopping, can't have you ripping your shirts while you're out on a case. You wouldn't want your team to think you're doing an impromptu strip tease.”
He bursted out laughing, and exhilaration filled your chest. You always took pride in making him laugh, and this was no exception.
“God, I love you.” He said, pulling back and resting his forehead against yours.
“I love you too.” You smiled, then added, “Besides, I think the pudge is cute. You're on your way to a dad bod.”
He laughed again, and if you could hear that sound on loop forever, then you would be in heaven
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DPXDC prompt: Spiritual Siblings
Bruce: My assassin kid can't be that normal!
Damian: Well, I’m completely emotionally stable by Amity Park standards. The problem is with you. Obviously.
~~~~~
Damian had long found peace and home in Amity, so he did not worry that the new family and Gotham might not accept him.
Sure, Al Ghul had lived without any contact with his biological father all these years but he could safely say that he had a happy childhood. First years were hard and he was raised more as a weapon than a human being. Even so, after that a ghost who decided to become his brother appeared and everything changed.
Damian still does not know what Ra's owes Phantom but Danny has a right to take him, without prior notification, to live with Fentons, to visit Aunt Alicia at her farm, and to make Vlad’s weekends much less calm and boring. Danny jokes that he just steals him as a hostage when Al Ghul does not pay taxes for using Lazarus Pits. Whatever the reason, he already has a family that loves him.
However, he still wanted to make an effort to fit in this one too. The model of conduct certainly was his older brother. No, not the oldest, of course. To be honest Dan wasn’t the kind of a man that could charm you from the first minute. But Danny, in Damian’s experience, had a calming effect on people. So he tried to act like him.
And, yeah, for lack of experience, he was more fun!Danny at home and super!Danny on patrol but he also really tried not to get any of his own assassin personality in his new-self and was tired of it. He couldn’t get a 100% match. Fine. Still doesn’t look like anyone in this house really likes him, so whatever.
Damian understood why Bruce didn't like his company. Jazz had long ago explained to him the importance of voluntary consent. His mother did a terrible thing. Al Ghul was not a child and therefore he was ready to admit it. However, he also understood that children were not responsible for the actions of their parents.
As a biosocial being, he wanted to be more than just a painful reminder of what had happened to Bruce. Wayne's ignoring of his existence was rude. But Damian wouldn't force this man to spend time with him just because he was legally obligated to take care of his well-being. He wasn't going to prove anything to Batman, and he definitely didn't need his attention. The care of his real family is enough.
But Damian really tried to get along with new potential siblings. He even shared Sam's and Danny’s special jokes with some of adopted kids 'cause he didn’t want them to feel like he put himself above them. He wasn't good at showing emotions but he was as open as the assassin could afford to be to strangers.
But they all obviously expected something from him. And it reminded him of the League in an unpleasant way. It was easier with Fentons. Almost everyone in Amity Park was saying what they thought, and Damian didn’t have to waste time decoding potential conspiracies.
Damian missed movie marathon nights with Sam, Tucker, and Danny. And he hoped Dani had time to bother Vlad in his absence.
It was so weird here. When Danny and Valerie were fighting, they would gather at the dinner table anyway. When Damian wanted to have combat training with Drake here, he was forced to stay in his room. A very strange punishment. And undeserved one too.
Al Ghul felt quite calm and fine sitting at his easel and painting the people he left behind. An unusual subject for his paintings. But, Ancients, he missed Amity.
He missed Jack's bone breaking hugs, Maddie's Ecto-Contaminated food, arguments of Sam and Tucker, cozy art class with Mr. Baxter and even Vlad's done look. He missed Danny telling him about the stars. He also missed sword practice with Dan's boyfriend Fright Knight and he missed Dan's stories about his other youth. He missed literary evenings with Mr. Lancer, Clockwork and Ghost Writer. He even missed the hours-long Jazz lectures. He missed the dance of death and life. He missed being looked at without expecting anything from him. He missed the crowd. In the league, he was never at one with himself and in Amity he was always surrounded by people who were not afraid of his fate as the heir to the said League. This Manor was full of people, but for the first time in his life he felt lonely. Damian has to admit that he felt left behind. Of course, he understood that people needed time to build relationships, but he could have sworn that even he didn't need that much time to connect with Fentons. Maybe this is one of the tricks of the Clockwork? Then this one is not funny at all.
~~~~~Phone call~~~~ Damian: Mom, I want to go home. Maddie: I'm so sorry to hear that, sweetheart. What happened? Damian: Just…Nobody likes me. Why was I sent here? I'm not weak. And my brothers are quite capable of protecting me from Raas. I don't need Batman for this. Maddie: We'll figure it out, champ. Moms love you, remember? I'll talk to Talia, okay? Your brothers and sisters are already on edge and ready to steal you right during the patrol. Damian: It would be nice, but it would put a bat on their tails. So lock them in thermoses if they bother you too much. Maddie: But that won't stop Jazz. Damian: I missed the part where that's my problem. Maddie: Well, it will be your problem if she comes to your doorstep with your childhood photos and moralizing.
~~~~~~~~
It's his birthday. And he was always excited about it. But now, looking at the pile of gifts, he realizes that these people don't know him at all.
And this is the family of the best detective in the world? Maybe yes, but none of them bothered to really find info about him or ask him about his likes. Damian's a stranger here, and that's obvious.
The lunch container, which he will obviously give to the Boxing Lunch when he's in the right time interval, tennis rackets that Youngblood might like, The Graveyard Book…
Valerie had already read it to him and Dani before it was published. Thanks to Clockwork for his little miracles. The book reminded him of home.
Obviously this one is from Jason. And well, Damian doesn't think it was a pun on his life in Amity, more like Hood's inside joke about death but Dami will definitely leave this thing in the room at the Manor and maybe take it with him to the GZ or Amity Park.
~~~~~~~
When they gather at the festive table, Damian realizes that he has to make some kind of speech. He tries to be as brief as possible in his report.
Damian: Todd, your gift is appreciated. And I found a potential use for items that were given by others, Bruce.
Damian never called Batman his father. With Maddie and Talia, calling both moms wasn't weird, especially when Jazz explained to his biological mom that he wasn't trying to replace her. But with Wayne, it was different. Both women took care of him, they deserved this title. Wayne provided for his needs, but his core heart didn't feel like they were close. Surely there's nothing wrong if they're just Bruce and Damian? Obviously, they both don't enjoy each other's company.
Jason: So, do you like books, little demon? Damian: Sometimes reading is quite relaxing, I should point out. I'm not indifferent to Stephen King and Lovecraft. Jason: Personal recommendations? Damian: Cujo is one of my favorites. Jason: Not a common opinion, huh. Damian: It reminds me of my family. Damian tries to smile like Danny does, but Jason's twitching eye clearly indicates that he screwed it up.
~~~~Dick and Jason synchronously drop their forks as an excuse for a conference under the table.~~~~ Dick*whispers*: How's the situation? Jason*whispers back*: If the boy asks for a dog, don't be fooled. He will be happy to dance on our graves.
~~~~Cass knocks over their heads, urging them to return to their seats.~~~~
Damian: So how good you are at fading and sliding,Todd? Jason: Why did you ask? I can't, of course. Damian: Because you're dead. It seemed to me that this was a completely understandable interest. Jason: Wow, what a jerk. Damian: I wonder why your own incompetence makes me a jerk? Even my sister could do this when she wasn't dead for even a month.
Jason, for some reason, looks awkward, although he has never been embarrassed before by the idea that a girl could be stronger than him.
Jason: Your sister? How old was she when... So it's all about age. Damian rolls his eyes.
Damian: We're the same age. It seems like it was four or five years ago. To be honest, I don't remember. I wasn't around then. I'll ask Danielle the next time I go to the cemetery to visit her. Dick: I'm so sorry, Dami. Where is she buried? We can take you. Damian: There's no need. She has no grave, as there was nothing to bury. Bruce sighs loudly and covers his eyes with his hands. Damian: It's just easier to contact the afterlife in places like this, you now? Duke: We are very sorry, dude. Damian: Don't be. People come and go, and then come back if they haven't finished annoying you. There's no point in regretting the past. Her creation was not the most ethical thing but everything is going as it should. At least that's what Grandpa says. Considering that the old man is older than time, I prefer to believe him. No one plays with fate without his permission unless they want to get hit by the clock. Tim now looks like he's going to throw up and Damian hurries to move his plate closer to him. Jason: Yes, Bruce, this is definitely your son. Damian: Did I say something wrong? Dick smiles faintly at him but still doesn't find anything to say. Damian shrugs and goes back to eating asparagus. People outside of Amity are so weird.
Signal looks at Damian suspiciously as he carefully rearranges the plate of soy sausages away from himself. Did he take him for an idiot? Everyone knows that even vegetarian sausage bite and fight no worse than those with meat when they come back to life. It's not Damian's fault that he doesn't have an ectoblast with him and wants to have extra distance from the opponent.
~~~At the same time, in the walls of Wayne Manor~~~ Dani: The operation codenamed "Get Haunted Idiot" is declared open. Danny and Dan *salute*.
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~~~Several Days Later~~~
Damian: So, this is Dan. Danny says we keep him as a GIW repeller. Dick: And Danny and Dan are.. Jazz: His brothers. I'm Jazz by the way. Elle and I are his sisters. Damian: I feat the criteria to participate in their name cult, so they took me. Dan, Danny, Dani and Dami. Dan *ruffles Damian's hair* : I prefer to call this biting threat Damn, to be honest. Dami: Shut up, DaNtE, they almost wrote Dark in your passport, you idiot. I can't believe I thought I missed you. Danny: Wow. Rude. Your grandpa would be disappointed. Great job, lil one.
~~~Several years later~~~
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javierpena-inatacvest · 1 year ago
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Whatever My Wife Wants
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Summary: On your honeymoon, Javi decides to break out a new accessory you've never seen him wear before. Little does he know, that seeing him wear a chain for the first time is about to drive you wild.
Word Count: 4.5K
Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)
Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also its your honeymoon so who am I to say), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, paise kink, literally the biggest, fattest, ugliest breeding kink (I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not), marriage kink (?) creampie, cum play, kind of exhibitionism (like if you SQUINT), talks of starting a family, Javi LOVES his wife, Javi in a CHAIN, Javi on his honeymoon deserves its own warning, did I mention that Javi LOVES his wife?!
A/N: shoutout to my sweet @honeyedmiller for this request after reblogging this MASTERPIECE from @enstatia. It's supposed to be a painting of Din, but it gave me such big Javi vibes, and I really haven't been the same since picturing the one and only Javier Peña in a chain (bc If i can't unsee it, you shouldn't be allowed to either) 😵‍💫 Also shoutout to Lucien Flores for singlehandedly ruining my life today with that new clip from the Uninvited (but also you can't tell me that this outfit is so Javi on the beach coded PHEW)
Can be read as a standalone or as a part of the Never Too Late Series!
Javi had never been one for jewelry- well, that was until a few days ago when a new golden wedding band had made a home on his hand. Since you had slipped it on his finger, Javi couldn’t get enough of watching it glisten in the warm, tropical sunlight on your honeymoon, a reminder that filled his heart to the brim to know that he was yours forever. 
Javi’s new wedding ring was the only jewelry that he had ever pictured himself wearing, until you had mentioned to him in passing while shopping for new clothes for your honeymoon how good he’d look with a chain to go with any of his outfits he had planned for the trip- considering there was no way Javi was going to have no less than 4 buttons undone on his shirt at any given time while basking in the tropical warmth of your honeymoon paradise. 
Later on that week, he had dug around in his dresser to find a thin, golden chain necklace he had back from his time in college, that hadn’t seen the light of day in too many years to count. But, given your enthusiasm for the idea of him wearing something like it, Javi had decided to pack it with him in his suitcase to surprise when the time felt right. 
Well, after being a few drinks deep at the pool bar from earlier, Javi’s slightly tipsy confidence had him feeling like now was the perfect time to try out his new accessory to see what you thought. Digging through his suitcase, he pulled out out the chain to go with the rest of his outfit for your dinner on the beach, clipping the necklace around his neck as he looked himself over in the mirror, quickly fixing his hair and adjusting his shirt, undoing one more button than probably necessary to show off his new look. 
And while he could admit that he didn’t look half bad with it on, and figured you’d like the new surprise addition to his wardrobe, there’d be no way in hell he could have ever prepared himself for the viscerally awestruck reaction you’d have to the thin, gold chain dangling around his neck.  
“I can practically feel you burning a hole through my chest, Hermosa.” Javi chuckled, raising an eyebrow at you as he took another bite of his food, giving you a playful smirk at the way you had been ogling at him ever since you had noticed the thin gold chain resting across his tanned skin as you began your walk through the hotel to head to dinner. 
“Oh shut up, it’s not my fault you’re so hot. You’re making it very hard not to look, in my defense.” You sighed, trying to get yourself to focus on your food instead of staring at Javi for the rest of dinner, despite the fact that the only meal you had your eyes on was sitting across the table from you. “There’s already something about you being my husband that makes you somehow even hotter than you already were, and now with this?” You picked up your fork, gesturing to the chain dangling between the parted fabric of Javi’s shirt, “I think you may be trying to legitimately kill me.” 
“Figured you’d like it. Didn’t think you’d like it this much.” Javi smirked, biting down on his lip before taking another bite of food, his cheeks growing flushed and warm as he looked at you admiring him, wondering how in the hell he had gotten so goddamn lucky. “Thanks, Mrs. Peña.” He laughed, taking another bite of his food, shooting you a quick wink. 
Mrs. Peña. 
God, if that alone wasn’t enough to send you over the edge already, your new last name, combined with the incredibly attractive man you had gotten it from that you now got to call your husband? On top of that stupidly hot chain he had decided to throw on with his outfit? There was definitely something else you were hungry for other than the half cleared plate below you. 
It was then that you couldn’t have been happier you had been seated at a table on the edge of the beachside boardwalk, tucked behind a few stray palm trees, secluded enough out of view that you had no problem reaching under the table to rest your hand on Javi’s knee, toying with the hem of his shorts before letting your fingers creep further and further up his thigh. 
“Are you almost done with your food?” You asked, your voice sweet and sultry as your hand brushing against Javi’s crotch immediately caught his attention, making his eyes go wide as he sat up straight, setting down his knife and fork to look down in his lap. “Because if you are, I can think of something else I want for dessert when we go back to our room. Something I want really bad. You wanna feel how badly I want it?” 
Javi swallowed hard as your fingers wrapped more firmly around his bulge, gently massaging his dick in your grasp, before grabbing his hand and guiding it to brush along the slit of your sundress and closer to your core, aching and dripping with arousal. Letting his fingers creep up the inside of your thighs and ghost over your folds, his eyes went even wider, jaw practically dropping open to feel that you were not only absolutely soaked, but also not wearing any underwear at all. Using every ounce of composure he had to keep from falling apart right then and there at the dinner table, letting out a deep sigh as he cursed under his breath. 
“Jesus fucking Christ. Fuck, baby… Yeah, I can be done right now.” He groaned, nodding at your proposition before wrapping his hand around the meat of your thigh as he took a long inhale, staring you down with darkening eyes and a devilish grin across the table. 
Never had you been more thankful that the resort you had picked to stay at was all inclusive, because if either of you had to wait a minute longer for a server to get your bill so you could get back up to your room, the probability of impending implosion would have been practically inevitable. 
Firmly intertwining your fingers with his as  you grabbed his hand, you were nearly dragging Javi through the hotel to the nearest bay of elevators, pleasantly shocked to find no one else waiting with you to travel up to their room, leaving the two of you alone to catch the next elevator back up to your floor. 
Without a word, the second the elevator doors had closed, the two of you were on top of each other, a messy dance of tongue and teeth crashing together, Javi’s hands palming the meat of your ass over your dress while yours roamed over his chest, tracing the freckles of his tanned skin up to the golden chain dangling in the open buttons of his shirt, stopping to wrap the necklace around your finger, tugging Javi closer to you. 
“Fuck, you look so good with this on, baby.” You moaned, your words hot against Javi’s skin as you nipped at his neck, chain still tangled in your grasp. “I can’t wait to fu-”
Barely aware of the fact that you had reached your floor, the ding of the elevator was enough to catch your attention and cut you off from completing the rest of your thought before the doors slid open, revealing a group of couples waiting for their ride down to the lobby. Frantically trying to play off the fact that if the elevator ride had gone any longer, you two definitely would have been seconds away from fucking in it, you gulped, giving Javi a nudge to his ribs to bring him back to reality, the two of you quickly trying to slide past the other guests without making a scene. 
As the door closed behind you, you and Javi couldn’t help but giggle at the fact that you couldn’t seem to take an elevator trip alone without almost being caught making out like a pair of horny teenagers (which, to be fair, a pair of horny teenagers probably would have had more self control than the two of you being newlyweds on your honeymoon). 
With your room only being a few doors down from the elevator, Javi began fumbling in the pocket of his shorts for his room key, working around the full hard on he already had under the fabric from how pent up he was. Quietly cursing under his breath until he found it, as soon as the card was swiping over the lock of the door, Javi was yanking you through into your room, instantly beginning to pull down the zipper to the back of your dress as you fumbled your way back to the bed. 
Your dress fell to the floor in a crumpled pile before Javi was tossing you onto the mattress, shocked to see that you also hadn’t even bothered to put on a bra, revealing your glowing skin and obnoxious tanlines from your time spent out in the sun. 
“Dirty fucking girl, not wearing anything underneath that dress for me. Fuck me, Hermosa. God, you’re so beautiful. So fucking perfect. My perfect wife.” Javi growled, dropping to his knees at the edge of the bed to part your legs, draping them over his shoulders as he admired the wet mess between your thighs, your slick already coating your folds, glistening in the dim light of your hotel room. “My perfect wife and her perfect fucking pussy already so wet for me. 
Dragging his fingers through your folds, collecting your arousal as he ghosted over your throbbing clit, you let out a soft whimper in protest, sitting up on your elbows to look down at Javi, peppering kisses along the soft skin of your thighs. 
“Javi, fuck- Baby, I wanted to go down on you. You look so good, I-I wanna taste you, Jav, p-please.” You moaned, your argument becoming less and less convincing as his kisses traveled to your center, nose brushing against your aching bundle of nerves before looking up at you with a lustful smirk, tightening his grip around your hips to hold you in place. 
Javi shook his head as he laughed quietly to himself, watching you squirm and buck your hips towards his face, so desperately worked up and aching that the mess between your legs was really beginning to contradict your need to get Javi off before yourself. 
“Cariño…” Javi tutted, almost mockingly, digging his fingertips deeper into the meat of your flesh, “You’re not going anywhere ‘till I get a taste. I can’t leave my poor wife all worked up like this, can I?” 
Before you had a chance to respond, the flat of Javi’s tongue was dragging through your heat in a long, broad stroke, firmly pressing against your clit, looking up at you with a satisfied grin as you threw your head back in pleasure, a soft whimper escaping from your parted lips. As the last of his lick slid through your folds, you shuttered at the feeling of the metal of his chain ghosting over your cunt as it dangled from his neck, only to cry out as you could feel the other piece of jewelry he was wearing on his left ring finger sink deep into your entrance. 
“Oh f-fuck-” You whimpered as another finger breached your tight hole, already sucking him in with your warm, wet walls while his digits curled, bumping against the sweet spot inside you that he knew made you crumble. 
“That’s it, baby girl.” He cooed, thrusting his fingers in and out of your cunt before diving back between your legs like a man starved, his tongue dancing in a swirling pattern of flicks and strokes between your folds as he lapped you up. You could feel yourself rolling your hips against his hand, whining at how thick and full he felt inside you, even more so now with the wedding band that had made its permanent home on his finger, taking every chance he could get to watch you cover the glistening gold ring in your arousal as yet another way to prove that you were his. 
Javi could feel your pussy beginning to flutter around his fingers as your bottom half squirmed against the sheets of the bed, the knot in your stomach beginning to tighten, tingling building at the base of your spine. Latching his lips around your clit, he began to suck at your sensitive nub, his hand thrusting faster and deeper into your cunt, feeling you slowly coming undone under his touch. 
“Oh shit- fuck, fuck, Javi, I’m so close baby, oh fuck, fuck, I’m gonnaaahhhhhh-” Just like that, you were falling over the brink of collapse, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave, pleasure flowing through every inch of your veins as you met your high, feeling the smirk of Javi’s smile pressed against your cunt as you soaked his face, his free hand wrapped around your hip, holding you in place for him. 
“Fuck, I swear, I’ll never fucking get over that.” Javi mewled, pulling back enough to sit on his heels, admiring the wet and puffy mess your pussy had become, gently pulling his fingers out of your heat, looking down at the way your arousal coated his fingers, covering his wedding band. “Fucking soaked me, Hermosa. You like feeling my ring when I touch you like that, baby? Knowing I’m all yours forever?” 
With your chest heaving in heavy breaths, you nodded frantically, blissed out look plastered across your face as you stared up at Javi, lust pooling in the dark brown of his eyes as he brought his soaked fingers to your mouth, tugging at your bottom lip as, opening your mouth for you to suck him clean, the warm and tangy taste of you still fresh on his skin. 
“You taste so fucking sweet, baby. Mi esposa sabes muy dulce.” (My wife tastes so sweet) Javi cooed, gently tugging his fingers out of your mouth, standing up to lean over the bed, caging your body under his as his lips crashed against yours in a needy mess of longing and desperation. 
You could feel how painfully hard he was through the fabric of his shorts, his bulge straining against the seams of his zipper as he rubbed against your thigh, laying on top of you with one arm propped up beside your head, the other gently cupping your face, thumb rubbing back and forth along your cheek as he kissed you with the tender intensity that set your insides ablaze with desire, longing, no, needing to feel him buried deep inside you as you screamed his name. 
It really had been your intention to suck Javi off the moment you had gotten back to your room, to drop to your knees and worship the beautifully handsome man you now got to call your husband and turn him into the same type of moaning, whimpering mess that he had just made you, but with the ferocity of each kiss and the instinctual jerk of Javi’s hips, there was nothing you wanted more than to be filled by the sweet sting of his cock pounding into you, over and over.  
“J-Javi, fuck- I need to feel you baby, please. Fuck, I wanna feel you so deep inside me.” You whispered, your teeth tugging at Javi’s earlobe as he peppered your jaw and neck with kisses, feeling the audible groan in his chest at your request, followed by a deep sigh as he tried to compose himself from the mess he was already becoming. 
“Yeah? That’s what you want, sweet girl? Whatever my wife wants, my wife gets.” He rasped, a devilish grin spread between his cheeks as he sat back to pull his shirt over his head, followed by his shorts and boxers, leaving him in nothing but the gold chain still dangling around his neck as he reached down to stroke his cock, red and dripping with precum before leaning back down to line up with your entrance. 
You could feel your breath hitch as his tip brushed through your folds, rubbing gently against your clit as he collected your arousal to coat his length, looking down to watch as his length sunk deep into your cunt, the both of you letting out ragged moans at the sensation. 
Javi paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the sweet sting of his stretch as he filled you, his tip kissing your cervix while his hips met yours. The fullness made your brain go blank, completely at a loss for words as he began to slowly thrust in and out of you, pulling himself out enough to sink his whole length back into your cunt, each thrust making you whimper and moan, desperate for more. 
“F-fuck, give me more, baby, you feel so good.” You whined, your hand wrapping around his bicep, fingertips digging into his flexing muscles. 
“Yeah? You want more, Hermosa?” Javi mewled, smirking to himself at the blissed out mess you were already becoming as the pace of his hips rutting into you began to quicken. 
As each thrust became faster, the gold chain draped around his neck began to bounce against his chest, his body close enough to yours to feel the cool metal brush against your face with each snap of his hips into yours, the sight of his necklace dangling over you as you stared up at the furrowed and focused look painting his face. The image alone of him wearing that chain was enough to make you feel like you were going to cum on the spot, but as you lay caged beneath the weight of his broad body, feeling nothing but his warm skin and chain rub against you, you were nearly convinced it was going to be over for you right then and there. 
Without even thinking, you lifted your head up off the bed just enough to grab the chain between your teeth, tugging him closer to you, the sudden yank making his eyes go wide in surprise as the two of you came nose to nose, foreheads brushing against each other before his lips were on yours again, entangling you in an all consuming kiss without faltering in his pace. 
“Fuck, you look so good.” You moaned, your lips parting just enough from his to whisper your praises into his ear. “You look so hot with this fucking chain, Jesus Christ.” 
Your comment had a low, breathy laugh escaping from his chest, shaking his head to himself almost in disbelief at how enthralled you were with him. 
“Me? Baby girl, you have no idea.” He cooed, slowing his thrusts to sit back on his haunches, readjusting you to bring your knees pressed to your chest, leaning back down, running his hands along your body, up your arms until he had them above your head, pinned down to the bed in his grasp. “You know how many guys I’ve seen staring at you since we’ve been here? How many dirty fucking looks I’ve had to give them? Maybe this ring on your finger isn’t enough, mi amor.” 
“W-what do you, fuck- what do mean?” You whimpered, the new position opening you up in a way that had you feeling every inch of Javi as he sank his cock even deeper into your cunt, splitting you open in the most delicious way possible, your brain barely working enough to let your words escape from your mouth. 
“I mean,” Javi groaned, tightening his grip to hold you in place, his eyes growing darker with desire with another deep, long thrust into your heat, “That maybe, I need to fuck a baby into, Osita. Fuck a baby into my beautiful fucking wife, and let everyone see that you’re mine with our kid growing inside you.” 
Javi’s words sent a shiver down your spine, the thought alone making you whimper- You and Javi both had undeniable cases of baby fever, and now that you were finally married and had agreed that your birth control wasn’t going to be a part of your packing list, the prospect that in 9 months from now, you could have a third member to your family? That was enough to have you close to finishing right then and there. 
 A gulp traveling down your throat before a long exhale, trying to find the words to respond to his proposition, your voice trembling in an anxious excitement. 
“F-fuck- Oh my god, yes. Fuck a baby into me, Javi. Let me, oh shit- let me make you a daddy.” 
“Jesus Fucking Christ…” Javi groaned, gritting his teeth, trying his best to maintain his own composure, taking a long exhale before his gaze met yours again, a fierce kind of determination and promise pooling in the deep chocolate brown of his eyes, leaning his body on top of yours, pushing your knees closer to your chest, opening you up to an even deeper angle as his mouth crashed into yours, beginning to pick up his pace once again as his hips snapped into yours. “That’s what  you want, Hermosa? Fuck, I’ll give it to you, baby. Oh shit- Whatever my wife wants, my wife gets, remember? You want a baby? Fuck- I’ll fuck myself so deep inside you I’ll fuck a baby into you right now.” 
You could feel the all too familiar tingle beginning to build at the base of your spine once again, Javi’s cock pounding perfectly into your g-spot over and over again, the hairs at the base of his length grinding against your throbbing clit, sending you to the brink of collapse with each thrust in and out of your cunt. 
“Yes, oh my god- yes, I w-want it so bad. P-please, baby, fuck.” You whined, starting to stumble over your words as you could feel your pussy beginning to flutter around his cock, the coil in your core tightening to the point of nearly snapping. 
“Fuck- say it again. Tell me- mierda- tell me how badly you want it.” Javi moaned, his thrusts becoming slopier and more desperate as he could feel himself on the verge of chasing his own high, knowing all too well you were almost hitting yours.  
“I want you to fill me up, Javi. Fuck, fuck, fuck- I want it so bad. I want you to knock me up and give me a baby, please, baby, oh my god- please.” You were all but panting at this point, your legs starting to tremble as your cunt clenched tighter and tighter around Javi’s cock, the overwhelming sensation of his fullness, promise of pregnancy, and that damn chain dangling in your face was enough to finally send you over the edge. “Fuck, Javi, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, I’m so close baby, I’m gonna, oh shit- I’m gonna cu-ahhhhhhh.” 
Those were the last words you were able to muster before you were screaming out Javi’s name as you came, euphoria and ecstasy radiating through every inch of your body, your orgasm crashing through you with so much intensity you could have sworn you were seeing stars. 
Watching you fall apart beneath him, soaking his cock in your arousal as you came had Javi only moments behind you, the rhythm of his hips beginning to stutter, the lewd sounds of your skin slapping against each others combined with your wanton moans and whimpers and curses under your breath making him begin to babble incoherently. 
“That’s it, Osita. That’s my good girl. Fucking soak my cock, baby. Cum all over me before I, fuck me- fuck myself so deep in you it’ll fucking take. Holy fuck- Fuck, I’m gonna cum too. Gonna fucking fill you up. Give you all of me. Fuck, I’ll give you everyting, baby, mierda- everything you’ll ever wa-ahhhhhh” 
With one last final thrust, Javi was spilling deep inside you, warm ropes of his spend coating your walls, milking himself of every single last drop before collapsing on top of you, the warmth and weight and of his body sinking on top of your chest as the two you sighed in sync, trying to catch your breath with long, labored huffs. 
As Javi felt himself begin to soften, a groan rumbled low in his chest while he pulled out, feeling the mix of your spend dripping out your hole, coating the inside of your thighs in glistening juices. You let out an involuntary whimper at the loss of fullness inside you, your head falling back on the mattress in blissed out satisfaction, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to bring yourself back to reality after floating away in post-colotial bliss. 
“Holy fuck…” You whispered to yourself, lifting your head back up to see Javi sitting back on his heels, admiring the mess of the two of you pooling between your legs. 
“So fucking pretty, Hermosa.” He mewled, peppering kisses down the soft skin of your thighs, making his way back towards your core. Before you could even realize what was happening, Javi’s head was back between your legs, one broad stroke of his tongue collecting the tangy, salty mixture leaking out of your cunt and lapping it back into your entrance quickly replacing his mouth with his fingers to push the mixture of your spend even further into you. 
Looking up at you, slick covering his mustache and smug grin spread between his cheeks, Javi curled his fingers just enough to make you yelp as he pressed against your g-spot, considering how worked up and overstimulated you already were. 
“Gotta make sure I keep you full of me, baby. Can’t let anything go to waste.” Javi smirked, gently pulling out his fingers, resting his hands on your thighs, drawing soft circles on your skin with his thumbs. 
You tried to sit back up, propping yourself on your elbows before Javi’s body was caging over you once again, slowly lowering himself down until your back was flat against the bed, cradling your jaw as guided you down with soft, slow kisses, feeling his chain brush against your chin he pulled away from your lips. 
“You’re not going anywhere, Momma. My wife wants a baby? Then I’m doing everything I can to give her one. Whatever she wants.” Javi smirked, pressing a tender kiss onto your forehead as his hand caressed your face, brushing your skin just gently enough to tickle you, a little giggle escaping from your lips as your eyes met his sweet puppy dog ones. 
“You’re ridiculous, you menace.” You laughed, playfully nudging Javi as he rolled over next to you on the side of the bed, wrapping his arm around you, tugging you to lay against his bare chest, your hand draping over his stomach before crawling up his chest, wrapping his gold chain around your fingers. “Hmmmm whatever your wife wants, huh?” You smirked, looking up at him with a mischievous grin. 
“Whatever she wants, Hermosa.”
“Your wife wants you to never take this damn thing off again.” 
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goldenroutledge · 5 months ago
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i must be dreaming
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pairing: lando norris x fem!reader
word count: 1.2k
prompt: ❛ you’re lucky that you’re cute. ❜
a/n: for my wonderful moot @yearneir, thank you so much for the request! i had so much fun writing this <3
masterlist || be my valentine blurb event 💌
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“Knock, knock!” Two knocks sound through the door of Lando’s hotel room, followed by the familiar cheerfulness of Alma, the hotel’s concierge. “Delivery for Mr. Norris!”
Lando’s muscles ache with a soreness that weighs him down into the softness of the duvet, having sprawled out face first onto the bed the second he got back from another long day of testing. The winter months are always the shortest, often flying by more quickly than the season does.
His mind is tired as well, struggling a bit extra to get back into the swing of things after months away from being in the car. He doesn’t recall ordering any room service but if he did, he’s more out of it than he previously thought.
With a sigh of reluctance, he drags his feet towards the door of the stylish hotel suite. His vision is blurry as he rubs the sleep from his eyes and instinctively checks the time on his phone that reads 8:03pm. Definitely way too early to sleep for the night, but a power nap has never hurt him before.
Sure enough, Alma is waiting on the other side of the door with a bright smile and a silver platter in hand. “Good evening, Mr. Norris. I was instructed to bring this to your room along with this letter.”
He takes a deep breath, as if the surprise delivery will make more sense when he gets some more oxygen flowing to his brain. “Oh, thank you. Who’s it from?”
Alma smiles coyly but won’t reveal too much. “I can’t say, but your answer is in the envelope. Can I get you anything else while I’m here, sir?”
“Just Lando is fine.” He politely corrects. “I’m okay, thank you though.”
“Have a nice evening.” Alma disappears down the hallway, leaving Lando to his letter and mysterious silver platter. He’s seen enough movies to know that there’s usually someone’s head under these. His first name is written neatly on the envelope and what catches his eye is the red heart stamped into the wax seal.
He remembers the date, February 14th, and blushes at the thought of you. The both of you had been corresponding on the phone like usual, of course confirming that you had received the bouquet of flowers, chocolates, and a few pieces from your favorite designer that Lando made sure to have delivered to your home, with a promise that he’d be able to properly wine and dine you in a week’s time. He carefully lifts the seal, a childlike grin spreading across his face at the sight of your neat handwriting.
-
My dearest Lando,
It pains me to be apart from you, but the distance will let our hearts grow fonder. I hope you enjoy the present I’ve prepared for you.
Yours truly,
Y/n.
P.S. Call me when you get this. XOXO.
-
His hopes are high for whatever’s underneath the silver dome, perhaps some comfort food like a classic Roast dinner that reminds him of home, just like his Mum makes.
Lando lifts the silver to find not a warm meal, but cold and slimy rolls of sushi making the shape of a heart, dipping cups of wasabi and soy sauce resting in the center.
“What the hell?!” He yelps, visibly startled by the sight. “She knows I hate this stuff.” He’s scrolling to the favorite contacts in his call log, instinctively clicking your name.
When you answer on the second ring smiling like the Cheshire Cat, Lando knows he’s been set up.
“Is this your way of breaking up with me? Sending a plate of fish to my hotel room on Valentine’s Day?” Your laugh pierces through the phone, and he’s still dumbfounded as to how you managed to pull a prank on him all the way from Monaco. “What did I ever do to you?”
“Nothing, I just wanted you to know that I’m soy into you. Happy Valentine’s Day, babe!”
“Aw, very clever. I hope you know that I’m gonna get you back for this. What fruit was it that you are mildly allergic to again? Starfruit, was it? I’m sending 50 starfruit arrangements to our house as we speak.”
“With all the risks you take at work, I’m amazed that sushi of all things has become your greatest fear. How is that?”
Lando scoffs, “I am not scared of sushi.”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself? Sorry love, the proof is out there. But I wanted you to know that I love you anyway.”
“I love you too.” He grumbles, but there’s no bite behind his words. Lando finally takes a better look at you, but doesn’t recognize the wall in the background. He doesn’t recognize the wall behind you from your house, that is. He looks around his suite, now puzzled as to how your background matches the exact color of the hotel walls. Interesting. “Wait, where are you? You’re not at home are you?”
“I’m in a place that people temporarily call home?” You offer with a mysterious edge to your words and he subtly catches on. You can see the gears turning for him, the realization visible on his face when he moves toward the door once again.
“Wait a second… Are you HERE?! At my hotel?” His incredulous tone translates from the speaker on your phone to reverberating in your ears, behind his hotel room door that you’re standing in front of.
The door swings open and you’re reunited with those sparkling cerulean eyes you know so well. He takes a pause, glancing back and forth between his screen and you, now within arms reach. Wasting time would be a foolish thing to do. Without a care he drops his phone in exchange for cradling your face in his hands before smashing his lips onto yours. You don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his frame, relishing in how warm he feels against you.
“Fuck, I missed you.” He breathes out, as if his life depends on saying it.
“Surprise! I missed you too, clearly. I’ve been wanting to try my sushi prank for a while now and this gave me the perfect opportunity. Had to get you riled up with something you hate so you’d be extra happy to see me.”
“Not necessary.” Lando murmurs against you, peppering kisses to your lips. “I don’t need anything extra, you know that. It did serve as a nice surprise, though. Definitely better than the sushi.”
You giggle as he shudders at the thought. “Forgive me?”
“You’re forgiven,” Lando sighs, unable to resist your pleading eyes and the warm notes of amber in your perfume that captivate him, “but I hope you know that if anyone else did this to me, and I mean anyone else on this planet, I would not speak a word to them for the rest of my life. However, for you, I can make an exception. You’re lucky that you’re cute.”
You kiss him sweetly, holding hints of satisfaction behind your smile at how well your plan has been executed. “Don’t worry, I plan to make it up to you. It is Valentine’s Day, after all.”
“Just when I thought tonight couldn’t get any better, how did I get so lucky?”
You pinch his cheek teasingly. “You do look exhausted still, are you sure you’re not dreaming of me?”
Lando catches your wrist and presses a kiss to the skin, content with knowing that he’ll dream of you tonight and wake up beside you tomorrow. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
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💌: thanks for reading, comments & reblogs are always appreciated!
psst… my requests are open :) be my valentine blurb event 💌
taglist: @marjorieswrld (add yourself here!)
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tbaluver · 11 months ago
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When You're On Your Period- The Love And DeepSpace Men
parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre: fluff, comfort a/n: posting my drafts atm bc i just have writers block sorrys /ᐠ - ˕ -マ
any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!
⋆。‧��ʚ♡ɞ˚‧。⋆
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Xavier:
He's not particularly educated in the realm of menstruation. So when he saw you clutching your sides in agony, he was so worried about you and ran to your side. He thought you were sick or injured. You try to explain to him that you're just on your period and he eagerly listens to you as you explain it to him.
It's his mission to try and make everything easy for you and makes a special effort to bring you things that might make you feel a little better.
"Can you buy me pads with/out wings?" And he would be really confused at first. He would think you want pads and wings. He would stand in the aisle for a while figuring out which ones you needed. So he'll come back home with a BUNCH of menstrual products with wings from your favorite restaurant.
But also the type to buy you your favorite snacks and drinks before you even ask. Sometimes he'll come home with a small plushie for some support.
Lowkey worried if you're going to be alright but he knows you're strong and will remind himself that you know how to handle yourself.
He would gently massage any areas that were aching. Lots of your time is spent in his arms or resting your head on his chest and he explains that the health website says its "beneficial" to do so and you're not complaining. He's so comfy.
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Zayne:
In the beginning of your relationship, he was kind of inexperienced in this department. He knew some knowledge about the menstrual cycle but not too much so he made sure to educate himself so he knows how to take better care of you.
He runs down to the pharmacy to get you some pain medication and any menstrual products you need without any ounce of embarrassment. He doesn't find a reason to feel ashamed or embarrassed about getting you things for your period. Makes sure you have enough supplies to last you the whole week.
Prepares you some yummy warm foods that are nutritious for you and all cooked to your liking. He would also make sure to run down to your favorite bakery to pick you up some baked goods.
If you suffer from cramps, then he would find the best pill for you or make you effective tea. He'll also offer any massages you want on your body and let's just say this man is good with his hands that you don't want his hands off of you.
The type to not tell you that you stained the bed. He'll prepare you a soothing bath while he washes the sheets. When you come back the bed is nice and warm.
He'll start marking it down on his calendar so he can be prepared more in the future
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Rafayel:
He would kind of forget periods are a thing but once you remind him, he'll try his best to take care of you. He has good intentions looking out for you and getting whatever you need. You would text him if he can get something for you and he's already on his way to you with whatever you requested.
He'll pay attention to your specific needs and preferences. He'll make sure you're getting your rest, staying hydrated, and eating well.
Would joke around and call this "Shark week." Would pray to any gods to bring mercy on him if he were to ever to be sassy to you on your period.
He'll be worried about you but he knows that you're strong. That doesn't mean he'll leave you alone during this time, unless you want him too. He'll be there to try and ease everything as much as he could.
If you were to have any bad cramps, he would give your lower abdomen a small massage while talking too it. "Hey don't be so mean to my cutie....." or sometimes he'll tell you some stories about Lemuria or maybe hum you a song in Lemurian to get your mind off it. Your head would be resting on his chest, his hands massaging gently into your aching sides.
It's easy to fall asleep in his arms because he can be so warm from his evol
He'll offer to make you a bath and gather your favorite bath bombs and your oils that might ease your discomfort. He would have the perfect temperature for you and would help undress you and help you into the bathtub. Would also feed you some yummy fruits like a princess while you were in the bath
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Sylus:
Sylus treats you like royalty the entire time you're on your period. He's extra patient and understanding. You don't have to feel embarrassed at all with him and he will never be disgusted by you being on your period.
If you ever stained the bed, he would clean it up for you. He would reassure you that everything is okay and that bleeding is normal. He'll help run a bath for you while he cleans the sheets. He would never use these situations against you or even embarrass you about it.
He's always there to give you a massage knowing how bad cramps can be. Tell him where it hurts and he'll immediately massage the area with his hands. If massages weren't helping, then he'll warm up a heating pad for you and would find the best painkillers to make it go away.
The first time you were on your period, he bought way to many products for you so you were stocked up. Eventually in the future he knows the exact brand and everything you could possibly need.
When you wake up, he already has a meal prepared for you. Sometimes it'll be made from a private chef or he made it on his own. He'll gladly carry you to the kitchen so he can feed it to you or if you want, you can eat in bed.
Would give you random and frequent kisses. He knows that during this time you can go through a lot of emotions so he'll make sure to give you kisses to remind you that he loves and cares about you.
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mountainsandmayhem · 5 months ago
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BDSMaid - Epilogue
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AN: You can blame Mexico and Onyx Storm for my delay on this one. But for those who are curious, here is our sweet little epilogue for Joel and Freckles. Thank you so much to everyone who read, commented, shared, and encouraged me while writing this story. I love you, and so does Joel and Freckles. XO
Series Masterlist | My Masterlist
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Five Years Later
“You wanna come,” he practically taunts, “Don’t you, sweet girl?” 
Every muscle in your body is weak, causing the leather cuffs of the St. Andrews Cross to rub at your wrists and ankles. He’s been teasing you for hours, stopping every time you’re about to shatter. 
This night has been a long while in the making. After five years with your firm you were finally given the lead on a big case; a case that your boss handed to you and said this was your chance to earn your partnership. You spent upwards of eighty to ninety hours a week preparing and Joel could not have been more perfect during that time. He’d often show up with food or coffee for you and your team of junior lawyers, interns, and paralegals. He never complained when you’d bring work home; however, every time you said something negative about yourself, Joel would mark it on the fridge. Over the three and a half weeks of prep work thirty ticks ended up on the small piece of paper that was hung with a Berkeley magnet. You didn’t have time to ask Joel what they meant, and truthfully, you didn’t really care; you trusted that whatever he planned to do with those ticks was for your own good. 
During the trial, another twelve ticks were added. When the verdict was announced and you had won your case, Joel was there in the courtroom, smiling warmly at you when you glanced back at him. When you got home that evening, after a celebratory round or two of cocktails, Joel made you kneel in front of him as he explained that each tick, all forty two of them, symbolized a denied orgasm, a punishment meant to remind you not to talk bad about things that Joel owns. Especially brilliant lawyers who win their first big case and secure themselves as partner.  
As he strapped you to the padded X shaped piece of furniture tonight, he said, ‘if you’re the sweet girl I know you to be, then you won’t whine when I stop. Instead, you’ll say “Thank you, Mister Miller” and I’ll count that as two. Forty two orgasms being denied is not going to be easy, so do yourself a favour and don’t whine; you don’t want to know what happens if you do.’
The only response to his teasing that you can muster now is a whimper and a nod. He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Use your words, honey.”
Your voice is almost silent. “Yes, Mister Miller.”
He walks behind you, trailing the small vibrator along your skin. “Such a good girl for me tonight. Saying yes to everything. Remind me, how many orgasms have I denied you so far?”
Your pussy throbs with the deep timber of his voice, this is truly torture and your safeword is on the tip of your tongue. “Twenty one,” you mumble.
“Poor, sweet girl,” He says from behind you, leaning in closely to whisper in your ear. “Did you learn your lesson?”
“Yes, Mister Miller.” You swallow the dry lump in your throat.
“Should I let you pick how you want to come?”
He completes his circle around you and the crossing, stepping in close to you. He uses the little vibrator to gently tease your nipples. You can barely form a thought and just let a small ‘yes’ mixed with moans leave your lips as your sweat covered back arches off the padded back of the cross. The heat of Joel’s body this close makes you feel like you’re on fire. 
“Want to come on my fingers?” He asks, then easily slips three of them inside of you. Your gaze shoots to his as a strangled cry fills the room. 
“Yesyes - fuuuuck, please.” You feel your pussy tightening around his digits.
“What about my cock? You love being stuffed full of my thick cock while I strum your clit. Don’t you? My perfect little slut.” He teases you further by pumping his fingers forward once, revelling in the feel of you clenching tighter around him. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond as he continues.
“No, I know,” his fingers slip out from your pussy and you gasp, unable to protest in your weakened state. Not that you would protest; you know better than to do that, and he told you not to whine tonight. You are a good girl, you know that what your dom says is best. Plus, you need to come so badly that you think you might actually die if you don’t, and Joel is just sadistic enough to keep you like this for days. 
He gets onto his knees, his warm breath hitting your cunt as he speaks. “What if I put my lips around this swollen little clit? Huh? Suck her into my mouth and drink up every ounce of your cum?”
He uses his thumbs to pull the lips of your pussy further apart. He’s so close that your breath catches in your throat at the promise of relief. He blows cool air along your soaked pussy; you clench your molars together and focus on your breathing. You don’t come until he tells you. 
“Would you like that, my sweet girl?”
The restraints cut at your wrists when you try to push your hips to his mouth. “Yes. Yes. Please, Mister Miller.”
He stands abruptly, hand wrapping around the hair at the nape of your neck before he tugs to bring your gaze up to his. The pull of your hair relaxes the muscles of your neck and upper back and you melt into the padded cross.
His eyes darken as he asks, “You really would say yes to anything, wouldn’t you?” 
“Y-yes. I just need to come. Please.” He releases your hair, stepping back and crossing his arms. The veins on his forearms pop, the sleeves of his rolled black dress shirt tightening under his biceps. Since officially retiring, he’s had a strict exercise regime. He was sexy when you met him almost ten years ago, but like a fine wine, he gets better with each passing year.
The gravel in his voice returns, “But you’d say yes even if I told you we were done for the night and it was time to get dressed. Right?” 
Your eyes clench close, head falling back as the panic of not getting to come tonight races through your mind. You take a calming breath before whispering, “Yes, Mister Miller.” 
“Eyes on me, sweet girl.” You peel your eyes open and tilt your chin down to look at him. His hands are now buried in his pockets, and there’s a shift in how he’s looking at you, a slight softness to his dark eyes. 
“And what if I asked you to marry me?” His voice is shy and raspy.
He slowly pulls a ring out of his pocket and holds it up for you. A thin, gold band with a single, albeit very large, solitaire diamond on it sends sparkles all around the room. Tears line your lash line, mirroring his. He clears his throat softly.
“Here’s what we’re going to do, sweet girl. Listen carefully for me,” he pockets the ring and steps closely, wiping the happy tear that rolls down your cheek. The rough whorls on his thumb send goosebumps cascading down your body. “First, I’m going to make you come. Then, I’m going to untie you, get you all cleaned up, and get some sugar into you.”
You nod, leaning into his touch as cups your face. His eyes dart towards the bed as he says, “After that, we are getting to that bed so I can kiss you until neither of us can breathe.”
“And then,” he smiles sweetly, a tear rolling from the corner of his deep brown and honey flecked eye to his greying beard. “And then I’m going to ask you to marry me.”
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philosians · 5 months ago
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little things | sylus.
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✧. Sylus making your favorite drink and breakfast before he heads to bed, because you’re waking up and getting ready to head to work. Whether it be coffee or tea or matcha, he’ll make it. He does this regardless of how tired he is, especially after a business deal (or one gone wrong), because that routine he craves is also a reminder that you’re in his life and he gets to do domestic things like this when he comes home.
✧. Sylus who dries your hair after you shower because you’re too tired to. If you’re tired from work, he’ll take the towel and dry it before grabbing the hairdryer. Sometimes it’s a longer process than others, sometimes it’s not. What’s consistent with it though is that every time you end up falling asleep on him while he’s doing it.
✧. Sylus, who usually asks for his chef to do things, gradually transitions to using his kitchen himself because he finds enjoyment in cooking. More importantly—cooking with you. He finds himself indulging in cooking and baking, too. He finds himself filling with a bit of pride whenever you sink your teeth into one of the cupcakes he’s made and watches your eyes roll back in bliss from the sweet treat. And he can’t help but laugh under his breath at the icing all over your face once after you shoved the whole cupcake in your mouth when you thought he wasn’t looking.
✧. Sylus who ends up carrying your groceries into your apartment every LI does this prove me wrong with one hand and not breaking a sweat whenever he comes over and catches you post-shop. It pisses you off because it takes you at least two trips and a victory-dessert afterward. He shrugs it off like it’s nothing, but when he sees you scoff about it, he can’t help his amusement.
“Sorry, kitten. I’ll try a little harder next time.”
“Don’t. That’ll make me more mad.”
He raises his brows, chuckling. “If you say so.”
✧. Sylus is the one that takes you shopping for the first time with his card because you told him you had no idea where to even start with his black card aside from your favorite food stores. His eyes soften as you hide your embarrassment from him. But when he gently grabs your chin and tells you he’d be more than happy to help you make a dent in his bank account, he finds his own heart filling at the sight of your excitement.
✧. When you’re sick, Sylus drops all his business deals for the next week, potentially two depending on how your immune system works against your sickness. He’s in your apartment at the kitchen making food and making sure you’re taking medicine. He’s helping you through the worst of it with a warm cloth on your forehead; using his muscle to gently lift you up on the bed enough to help you eat some soups and drink hot liquid to soothe your throat and incessant coughing so your eyes aren’t watering from the soreness.
Sylus, who frowns in the other room every time he hears your deep and sickly coughs that you find embarrassing waking you from your needed sleep, ends up mentally praying to whatever deity that’s watching over you to make you better faster. Because he hates it when you’re sick; he can do nothing but watch as you teeter between health and illness, and he hates it.
When you’re better, he sees your teasing smile as you joke about how much he cares about you and him taking care of you over the last several days.
But it’s you who’s caught off-guard by him as he places a chaste kiss atop your head and says in the softest voice you’ve heard.
“Now why wouldn’t I take care of my most prized treasure?”
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a/n: dusting off my ol’ writing chops hehe! I might do some with the other boys as well. feel free to send in ideas to my inbox! all LIs are welcome!
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girlkisser13 · 5 months ago
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being married to ryomen sukuna would include
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• your wedding was far from traditional. it was more like a ritual, a claiming, an unbreakable vow that binds you to him forever.
• your wedding rings are ancient, inscribed with curses that tie your souls together. no magic, no force in the universe, can ever sever the bond.
• he is possessive of the title. he loves calling you "my wife" or "my husband"— always with that cocky smirk, like he owns you.
• sukuna is a king, and your home reflects that. luxury, power, and absolute security— all tailored to your comfort, whether he admits it or not.
• your home is massive, grand, and completely impenetrable. he ensures no one can step foot near it unless he allows them to.
• he spoils you WITHOUT hesitation. whatever you want, it’s yours—but don’t expect to ask. he already knows and will have it waiting for you before you can even think about it.
• everything in your home is built for your pleasure. soft cushions, rich silks, the most exquisite food and drink— he makes sure you live like royalty.
• he demands your presence near him at all times. if you’re in another room for too long, he’ll simply come find you and drag you back. "where do you think you’re going, love?"
• he watches you constantly. not because he doesn’t trust you, but because he enjoys seeing you move through his space— your space.
• he rarely lets you do anything mundane. if you even attempt to do household chores, he will look at you like you’re insane. "why are you wasting your time with that? if you want something done, tell me."
• despite his arrogance, he listens to you. if you tell him you like something a certain way, it stays that way, no questions asked.
• sukuna does not show love softly. every touch, every look, every moment of affection is a declaration of ownership, a reminder that you are his.
• his touch is always firm, always possessive. he does not simply hold your hand— he grips it, intertwines your fingers with his, staking his claim on you.
• kisses with him are slow, deep, and consuming. he doesn’t kiss you just to kiss— he does it to make sure you never forget who you belong to.
• he LOVES to leave marks. bite marks, love marks, scratches— he enjoys seeing proof of himself on your skin.
• you are never out of his reach. even when sitting across a room, he will extend an arm, grab your wrist, pull you close until you’re right where he wants you.
• he plays with your hair absentmindedly. when he’s deep in thought, his fingers will find their way to your scalp, brushing through your hair as if grounding himself in your presence.
• if you ever pull away, he does not allow it. he will simply grab you and pull you back, smirking. "trying to escape, darling? how adorable."
• sukuna is beyond protective. he does not tolerate threats, disrespect, or even the mere idea of you being in danger.
• if anyone so much as breathes wrong in your direction, they are dead before they realize their mistake.
• he does not allow you to fight your own battles. not because he thinks you are weak, but because no one is worthy enough to challenge what is his.
• he is always aware of where you are. no matter the distance, he will always know if you are safe or in danger.
• if you ever get hurt, even slightly, he is furious. his rage isn’t loud— it’s quiet, cold, a slow-burning fire that destroys everything in its path.
• he doesn’t just protect you from physical threats— he protects your honor, your name, your status. anyone who dares speak ill of you will regret it.
• if you cry, he becomes still. he doesn’t know how to handle it at first, but then he pulls you against his chest, stroking your back, murmuring in a voice only you get to hear.
• arguing with sukuna is like going to war. he does not back down. ever.
• if you ignore him, he does not let it slide. he will grab your chin, tilt your head up, and demand you look at him. "you don’t get to shut me out."
• his temper is unpredictable. some days, he will laugh at your defiance. other days, he will have you pinned against a wall, reminding you exactly who is in charge.
• he doesn’t say "sorry"— but he makes up for it. he’ll pull you into his arms, press a kiss to your forehead, and mutter, "don’t be stupid. i’m not going anywhere."
• if you cry in an argument, his entire demeanor shifts. he will wrap you in his embrace, stroking your hair, muttering threats against whatever upset you.
• he doesn’t need to say "i love you"— he proves it. every act of protection, every glance, every possessive touch is a declaration of utter devotion.
• he thinks about eternity with you. not just years, but lifetimes.
• he does not believe in "till death do us part." if you die, he will bring you back. he will tear through existence itself to have you by his side again.
• even after centuries, he still treats you like the most important thing in existence. his love never fades— if anything, it only grows stronger. <33
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leighsartworks216 · 6 months ago
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What's the Whole World
Sylus x gn!Reader
Wrote this when I was overstimulated and extra emotional from my period iykyk
Title from "What's the Whole World" by Warmer
Warnings: hurt/comfort, established relationship, cuddling, crying, swearing
Word Count: 1,395
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Your apartment building's hot water isn't working, so you take a freezing cold shower. Your bike doesn't start, so you have to take the bus. You forgot to eat breakfast, so you go to the vending machine, except the snack gets stuck against the glass. You don't get to eat lunch because you get sent on back to back missions. You have to stay late to finish the paperwork for said missions. The food you buy at a late night stall is too expensive and almost too overcooked to eat.
But through all of that, through every little thing the world does to spite you today, one thought kept you sane: Sylus. You don't have work for the next couple days and Sylus moved things around on his schedule to spend all of that time with you. Being able to spend time with him is the one thing holding you together right now.
Imagine your disappointment when you get to his base in the N109 zone, excited to see him after the ungodly public transport you had to take, only to be told by Luke and Kieran that he isn't there. Not only that, they're not sure when he'll be back, after he zipped off to meet up with someone for whatever business venture he's planning on branching off to next. They offer you a ride back to your place, but the thought of going back home, to your freezing water and cramped walls, only makes you feel worse.
So you do the next best thing: you curl up in Sylus's bed, hugging a Grumpy Crow plushie, and try really hard not to cry.
You feel hollow. A void in your chest, opening its maw wide to swallow your hope, optimism and joy, regurgitating loneliness and disappointment in its place. It shouldn't be that big of a deal. Things happen, stuff comes up. Especially when you're the leader of a giant illegal faction, and owner of god knows how many businesses. Just... why didn't he tell you about it?
Tears sting your eyes. You don't want to cry. Not here, not in Sylus's bed. Could anything be more pathetic? You should have just gone home. At least there you could drown yourself in a mountain of ice cream without having to worry about being seen making the trip to and from the kitchen.
The longer you suppress your emotions, the more your brain reminds you of the shit day you've just had.
The cold water meant taking an extremely quick 10 second shower. The bus ride was so cramped you were pressed up against so many other commuters. The only thing you've eaten today wasn't worth the price, leaving a hole in your stomach yet to be satisfied. Your whole body aches, from your arms and shoulders to your back and legs. You're tired, you're upset, and all you were asking for to compensate for all of that bullshit is a hug. Just one hug! A hug this plushie certainly wasn't providing.
You curl around the crow plushie, squeezing it with the remaining strength you have in your arms. You press your face into its soft head, the ruffle around its neck tickling you. You take a deep breath. And you cry. The worst kind of crying: deep heaving gasps for air, ragged sobs that grate at your throat, fat tears that have no end and soak deep into the fabric of the plushie and Sylus's pillow; body shaking, soul crushing, pathetic. You want the bed to open up and swallow you whole. You want Dr. Zayne to go in and remove your heart to spare you the pain. You just want this horrible feeling to go away, by any means possible.
God knows how long you cry for. It feels like hours. Your eyes burn, raw from all the moisture. Your cheeks are sore from the horrible grimace your face pulls with your sobs. The crow is completely soaked where your face is.
The bed shifts, slowly. Hesitantly. You choke up again, because you already know who it is.
A hand touches your arm. You automatically flinch out of its grasp. A bitter part of you wants to make him feel just as bad as you do. Wants to lie here crying while he's forced to watch. But, god, that one touch alone is like the sun after weeks of rain. It's like a splash of bright yellow against the dark, saturated hues that compose your sorry state. And when he doesn't touch you again, it's consumed once more by the darkness.
"What happened?" he asks. His voice is so soft, tinged with protectiveness. If someone hurt you, he'd take care of it. He'd do anything to take this heartache from you. All you would need to do is say the word. What, then, are you supposed to say if he's the one that hurt you?
Another sob wracks your body. You curl in impossibly tighter, as though you could shrink yourself down to the size of a pea to hide from his intense gaze on your back. Your throat hurts from crying so hard.
"Can I touch you?" he asks next, when you don't respond.
Your body and mind want two different things. Your mind wants to hold strong to your newfound loneliness, but your body yearns to crawl to him, to collapse in his arms, to finally, finally get that hug you were waiting for.
It's your body that wins out, in the end, but you refuse to give in completely to its desires. So instead of seeking him out, you just nod and wait for him to come to you.
He does, almost right away. He touches your arm again. When you don't pull away, he closes the space left between you. His chest presses against your back, legs tucked right up to yours. His arms wrap around your body, securely keeping you against him. He presses his face to the back of your neck. Like this, he feels every tremor and shiver of every gasp and sob. Like this, you feel encapsulated in his warmth and comfort. It's almost overwhelming. It almost suffocates you with how amazing it feels to finally be held by him.
He kisses the fine hairs on your neck in a delicate peck, silently telling you how badly he wants to help. "Will you tell me what happened, sweetie?"
You dig your fingers into the Grumpy Crow's plush body. They tremble with emotion. "You weren't h-here," you whimper out. Your voice is awful. "'N y-you didn't say a-anything about it."
"I didn't...?" One of his arms slips away. He digs his phone out of his pocket and taps quickly at the screen, before dropping it to the bed behind him with a sigh. His arm returns to its rightful place around you, squeezing you slightly tighter. "It didn't go through, kitten. I'm sorry."
That text was meant to get to you hours ago. Unfortunately, he must have lost service before it could go through. So for hours, you were left in the dark, literally and metaphorically, with no idea where he was or what he was doing.
He kisses your neck again. "How can I make it up to you? Name anything - it's yours."
Anything? There's only one thing you want. And now that you know his radio silence wasn't intentional, your mind loses the reins holding your body back.
You push the crow plushie away. It rolls sadly across the bed, dark fabric stained darker with tears and fluff rearranged so he's squished into an odd shape. Sylus lets go when you squirm in his hold. You turn around and immediately cling onto him. You hide your face in his neck and he cradles the back of your head to keep you there. His cologne floods your senses, accompanied by his body wash, warming you in a way the lingering scent on his pillow and bedsheets never could.
"Just want you." You grip the back of his shirt in your fists, squeezing him as tightly as you can, just like you'd done to the plushie. Except he's solid, and he squeezes you back just the same. "Please don't go."
"I'm not going anywhere," he promises. "We'll stay here for as long as you want."
"Forever."
"Okay, sweetie." He kisses your head. "We'll stay here forever."
---
Tag List:
@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko 
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buckyschair · 3 months ago
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✸ WHAT HE DOESN'T KNOW ✸
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ILLICIT AFFAIRS ✸ PART TWO 
Pairing: Azriel x fem!reader
Summary: After reconnecting with your old flame Azriel, you can’t get him out of your mind. Now, it’s your husband’s birthday, but who’s gonna give you a gift? After all, what he doesn't know won't kill him... AKA closet quickie with Azriel at your husband’s birthday party
Content Warnings: contains smut 18+ MINORS DNI, cheating (WITH, not ON Azriel), alcohol, female reader, shitty husband (not physically abusive), casual shadow bondage, PIV sex (no protection bc they are faeries and this is fiction, but put on your mental magic condom if you must), gross liberties taken with whatever’s going on with the Hewn City, swearing, no use of Y/N
Author's Notes / Housekeeping:  1. This is a part two to my previous fic Illicit Affairs, I would highly suggest you read that first so that the context makes sense, but not strictly necessary 2. Reader’s husband is a guy I made up, named Lustere. He works under Mor’s dad so he’s a minor political figure in the Court of Nightmares (he’s introduced more in this part, but saying it here for clarity) 3. This fic is not based on Eurovision’s plot at all I promise haha but HEAVILY inspired by that one line from Scotty Doesn’t Know: I did her on his birthday ;)
Enjoy!!
Word Count: 6.8k
Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Read on AO3
Despite the world shifting force of your collision with Azriel, not much changed afterwards. 
The days slipped by, transient and thin as ever. 
Although admittedly, after your late night rendezvous, your games died down. You still lit a fire on occasion out of habit, but the fantasies had lost their power to distract you. 
Without the ability to make your thoughts a refuge, your thoughts began to bite back, and they played dirty. They consumed you. 
It was not the gentle kiss of fantasy but the harsh swallow of reality that haunted your days and your nights, your psyche irrevocably tied to the painful present. You were shocked to find it so mind numbing. 
Nothing in your life was your own. How have you put up with it all these years? As a female in a court of males and fuckery, nothing was yours. Every piece of food that passed your lips, every sip of wine, every fancy dress, bought with your husband’s credit. 
So what could be yours? 
Even as your heart despaired, some small part of you whispered, and your soul curled involuntarily around a persistent, subtle flicker. Your eyes had begun to catch shadows everywhere. Wherever they lurked, you wondered, were they his?
You hoped the answer was yes. 
Regardless, their presence soothed you. They were a reminder. 
Azriel. 
What you had with him, however gossamer thin, was yours. No one else’s. 
One night had been enough; the secret fueled you. 
The parties were easier to organize, the house more orderly than ever. When the dullness threatened to deaden every nerve, your memory was quick to recall the thrill. It kept you back from that brink. 
However, it was a pity that the fresh fuel was poured into such futile efforts, the most interesting of which was planning boring events for your and your husband’s social world. You were certain your eyes would soon dry out from a lack of entertainment. 
One of these events was a celebration. 
Your husband’s day of birth. 
When Lustere had first entered your life, now centuries ago, you had honestly been relieved. He had represented a chance at a new life, maybe even at love. Mostly, he had promised an escape from your father’s home. In that, at least, he had proved useful. Not so much for the rest. 
If you heard the voice of hope now, you would hardly recognize her. Her gentle song had died centuries ago, along with a part of your soul. 
As his day approached, you thought you ought to feel something, some joy, some excitement, perhaps some pride in the male he had become. All you could muster was a temporary damper for the decades of resentment. 
Luckily for you, you were in charge of the whole event, including the guest list. 
“Who do you want me to invite?” you asked him casually after dinner one night, well in advance of the event. 
Lustere sighed condescendingly, the sound score of your life. “Aren’t you supposed to be handling this? I’m so very busy these days.”
Your eyes crossed from your stacks of papers to where he was pouring his third drink of the evening. Busy indeed. 
“Of course, dear. I’ve got it covered, I just want to make sure I don’t leave anyone out.” Your tone was as sweet as the smile plastered to your face. 
“Don’t leave anyone out!” he urged you with your own words, as if it were a new thought for you to try out. “Invite everyone important.”
You bit back a bubbling retort, your sweet smile tasting sour. “I’ll see to it.”
“Good, good,” he mumbled dismissively. 
“It will be a lovely event; and, more importantly, no one who matters will be snubbed.” As you spoke the words, Lustere turned to you slightly– almost even looking at you. 
His face was set in a scheme, so he looked pained. “On second thought, maybe we could uninvite that one guy. You know, the courtier with the annoying wife?”
“We can’t uninvite them, not when they haven’t been invited yet.”
“Maybe their invite could get lost in the mail.” 
Your eye roll was internal, but you wished you could slap it into his mind. He never listened. 
“Consider it done,” you agreed.  
At least he was predictable. 
In his self importance, Lustere had asked you to ‘invite everyone important’. 
How convenient, you smiled to yourself as you penned another name on the provisional guest list. Azriel could easily be considered a most important guest.
One gift for yourself on your husband’s birthday. You’d earned it. 
✸✸✸ 
“What are they doing here?!”
For a second, your heart leapt to your throat. With a cordial smile, you turned away from the guests you’d been chatting to, only to face your husband’s hushed accusation. 
Lustere’s anger was rare, thank the Mother, so when it reared, you never knew what to expect.
“Who?”
You scanned the room; it was full of your husband’s acquaintances, colleagues, and enemies alike. 
“Her! And that shadowsinger!” his words were a flustered whisper. 
It was a different emotion that caused your heart to jump then. You followed his glance to find the male in question, linked arm in arm with the Morrigan. 
You swallowed a smug smile at your husband’s discomfort at her presence. 
Not that you could have known that he found her unsettling… but you’d certainly hoped. He nervously eyed the side of the room where she and the Illyrian made a frightening pair. Oh, that damned Illyrian. 
Your pulse quieted as you drank him in. 
If he would be the death of you, you’d only be grateful. 
Azriel looked devastating. His usual leathers had been exchanged for slightly more formal slacks. His siphons still gleamed, but his powers were reserved in accordance with the casual setting. He still looked intimidating as ever, while the blonde on his arm was just as fearsome in her gorgeous get up. 
“Oh!” you fumbled momentarily; your vision stuck across the room, your mind caught up in a particular tangle of sheets. “I saw you speak with him at that event last month, so I thought it might be a nice gesture to invite them. I didn’t honestly expect them to show up.”
“Well,” he smoothed his panic into a self-satisfied smile. Your palms itched. “It was a good thing I talked to them, then. Clever.” 
You knew the compliment was addressed to himself, not you. 
For an insufferable bastard, you sure suffered. 
“Have you greeted them yet?” his question grated you. 
“Not yet, I hadn't been made aware of their arrival–” 
“–Well, don’t wait too long, dear. You wouldn’t want to be rude, hm?”
With that, Lustere moved away to greet some other guests, but you only dimly registered the movement, his critique. 
Your eyes were focused on the shadowsinger. 
Azriel was here. 
And Mor was with him. 
Among your husband’s upper court colleagues, you’d gotten creative with who could reasonably be considered a part of his circles. If you could invite the Steward, surely the Overseer and her friends were fair game as well. You’d invited the lot of them, on that whim. As you approached them, you cursed yourself for your liberties with the guest list. 
You hadn’t seen Azriel since that fateful evening. The male rarely visited the city, and here he was, twice in as many months. Your gut roiled, you wished you’d had time to prepare. 
But you had prepared, you told yourself. You knew how to play this role, the hostess. It was one you’d mastered over the years.
It was easy to slip into now, thanks to centuries of playing the part.
Azriel and the Morrigan’s diffident eyes piqued with interest as you glided to stand before them with open palms. 
“Greetings to you both!” You presented yourself with a subtle bow, and they in turn introduced themselves. It was the picture of sophistication.
“It’s a pleasure to be officially introduced,” Azriel said, and his voice flowed like honey. 
His words were perfectly cordial, yet they sent a rush through you. 
You didn’t need to remind yourself; you were hyperaware of the fact that this was the first time you were formally meeting him, at least to the public.
Before you could answer him, Mor was sweeping in with artful compliments about the event, finishing with a resounding “-and you look divine.” 
Kindness suddenly made the daunting warrior glow, her face open and shining as her armor fell away to acknowledge your work. It was wonderful. You hoped your husband was watching. 
“Why, thank you. This old thing?”
You twisted to show off your garment, and your heart swelled to match her radiance. 
It was actually an old gown, pulled from the back of your closet. It was the dress you’d worn centuries ago, on your first anniversary with your husband. 
As you’d primped for tonight, he had even complimented it: “I like the new dress,” he had said. “You should wear things like that more often, it's far better than the usual sort you wear.”
You had bitten your tongue, but his words still stung. You should have known better than to have expected him to remember the dress. You weren’t sure why you’d chosen it for tonight. For some reason, it had felt auspicious when you’d seen it twinkling at the back of the wardrobe. 
“Oh, they don’t make them like they used to,” Mor said wistfully, eying the fine material. She was oblivious to how she had soothed the sore subject with her simple compliment. 
“They certainly don’t,” you agreed, and your eyes drifted to the shadowsinger. 
Through your daze, you gave them the welcome spiel, and pointed out some familiar faces that they could chat with.
“We’re honored to have you here, enjoy the evening,” you admonished with a genuine smile. You turned to continue your cycle through the room of guests, already spotting your next mark. 
“Where could we find a drink?”
Azriel’s words froze you in your tracks. Mor was agreeing with him, firing off her order for him to fetch. His eyes were on you. 
“I’ll show you.” 
The words escaped before you could think. 
He nodded and stepped towards you to follow your way. 
You didn’t move. 
He looked stunning up close. 
Several tendrils of dark hair had escaped the hold of his gel. His shadows were relegated to his wings, camping out like bats in a cave. You swallowed thickly, remembering how they had felt on your own flesh, how sensitive his wings had been to the slightest touch. 
During your welcome and introduction facade, his amber eyes had been stoic, an unreadable mask. Now, they flared briefly with confusion as you stayed paused.
It rocked you back into your body, your mind addled but present. 
“Yes, of course– this– this way.” 
Luckily, no one was paying attention to you, next to a presence so commanding as the spymaster’s. No one noticed your momentary lapse– no one except him. 
Azriel fought a smirk as you wove through the room together. 
His rough hand came to hover at your lower back, and you bit your tongue at the soft contact. 
“Here we are.” 
All too soon, you’d arrived at the bar. It was centrally located in the room, which was crowded, but not so crowded as to obscure the main attraction, especially not from eyes as keen as those of the spymaster... 
Azriel was casual as he ordered his and Mor’s drinks. 
“And a whiskey, neat.” 
Your eyes snapped to him, and he had long been looking at you. 
“For the generous hostess,” he murmured. 
You felt your cheeks heat, and you hoped no one would notice your blush. 
“Thank you.” You belatedly remembered your manners as he pressed the glass to you.
“I owed you one.”
Your mouth went dry. 
He was being bold. Anyone could have heard his little comment. 
The imposing Illyrian took a long drink out of the elegant vessel. Your mind flashed back to a different night, when his lips had been on another glass. Your pulse fluttered as you recalled the last time he had drunk from your husband’s collection, and the things he’d done to you after. Foggily, you wondered if this would prove a similar potion. 
He frowned at the dark liquid suddenly, before grunting, “Except technically, I suppose you’re funding this one, too.”
“Guess you owe me another one.” Your words were light, flirtatious, even as your lungs stuttered. 
“I’ll get my best people on it.”
At his wry humor, your laughter was breathless, hardly a wheeze
“Actually,” you winced, “this would be on my husband’s credit. As was the last bottle…”
“Ahh. And where is the male of the hour?”
You gestured broadly, shaking your head and rolling your eyes with impressive coordination as you took a gulp. Damn, the male knew how to order a drink. 
“Around. It’s his party.” 
When you caught his eyes again, it was clear he didn’t give a damn about the male of the hour. 
Heat flared in your chest as he pinned you with his gaze. Azriel’s eyes were heavy lidded as he watched you watch the room. He took another delicate sip of his wine. It was indecent, how perfectly his lips perched on the edge of the glass, how his tongue darted out to swipe at the liquid that stained them. 
“Speaking of which,” you said, and shook yourself out of reverie, “I’ve got to make the rounds. Enjoy the party.” 
He took his time watching you go before returning to lurk by Mor’s side. 
For you, the evening passed in a blur of greetings and introductions, false laughter and sparkling beverages. Desserts were passed around right on cue, just as the toasts were begun. You kicked them off, your toast to Lustere short in contrast to the tall tale it told. Just your style: brief and full of lies. 
Lustere’s grateful smile and kiss at its conclusion was just the same, an empty facade. At best, it was a convincing performance; at worst, it was still the best you could expect from your lifelong consolation prize. 
Once upon a time, if you’d tried, you could almost fool yourself into thinking it was real. But you'd since stopped fooling yourself; the trick had only worked the first few hundred years. 
Reality was the only vow you honored now. 
As Lustere’s friends and associates began to serenade him with vacuous praises, you slipped away from the crowd. It was a moment to check on the staff, see about how things were flowing and if they needed anything. 
Without looking, you felt someone’s eyes on you, as if in a concentrated beam. The intensity felt palpable. It was like a spotlight, even as you wove unnoticed through your own guests. 
Tonight wasn’t about you. You’d made sure it wouldn’t be. 
You grabbed a nearly empty tray of desserts from an attendant, directing them to pick up a full one from a table. You gestured towards the other side of the room with your free hand and a kind word as you moved towards the back rooms. 
“The room’s unbalanced, we need more trays over there– oh, shit.” 
You swore as you crashed into something. Firm hands steadied you reflexively before you could drop the dish. 
Your gut swooped as you turned to see what you’d wandered into. The platter was pressed between you and none other than the shadowsinger himself. If you didn’t know better, you’d say Azriel looked amused. 
“Careful there.”
“Sorry,” you gasped out. He waited a moment longer than necessary to release your arms. Slowly, you peeled away, angling the tray horizontal again. 
With horror, you noted the crushed pastries smashed into his elegant vest. 
“Cauldron boil me.” You were sure everyone could see your blush now. Luckily, the platter hadn’t dropped, so the accident hadn’t drawn much attention.  
“It’s fine–”
“–no, it’s not. Come with me. Quickly.”
You gripped his wrist. A quick glance told you that no one was looking. 
Only Mor had witnessed it, and she just snorted. At your clumsiness, or the droning speech being given at your backs for your ass of a husband, you didn’t know. 
You didn’t care. You had more pressing concerns at the moment, as you led the important guest from the main room to the small prep kitchen at the back of the venue.
“I’m really so sorry about this, sir,” you blustered as you swept into the tight space. Several attendants looked up from where they’d been arranging desserts on trays.
“Hey guys, we need more hands out there,” you addressed them. “The far side of the room is starving.” 
Dutifully, they picked up their trays while you ushered them along. 
“You should look where you’re going,” he commented, tentatively, as they all filed out of the kitchen, leaving you and Azriel alone. You wetted a rag, wringing it out before handing it to him to clean himself up. 
“Clumsy me,” you hummed. His jaw was tense as he swiped at the crumbs on his torso. It was kind of distracting.
“How have you been?” he asked without preamble, now that you were alone. 
You relaxed instantly at his casual tone. “Good.” It was hardly a lie. “Busy,” you amended. That was the full truth. 
“Nice event.” 
“Thanks.”
“He doesn’t deserve it,” Azriel cut abruptly. 
You snorted. 
“No one deserves this much pomp. It makes me sick.” Your eyes widened as you heard yourself. 
You’d been alone with Azriel for less than a minute, and here you were voicing your innermost, honest opinions. You had never shared anything like that with anyone, not even your husband, let alone this practical stranger. Yet the words were true, and you could hardly take them back. 
“Have you ever had a party like this?”
You cocked your head at his question before answering slowly. “Yes. Right now in fact.”
“No, I mean, something like this, but for you.” He said it so casually, focused still on wiping a smear of frosting from his clothes. 
“Oh.” 
Who would plan something like this for you? 
The answer was hollow, but definite. Nobody. 
Some of the society’s husbands did big parties for their anniversaries, their birthdays, whatever excuse they could find to buy liquor by the barrel. 
You’d had a lovely ceremony to officiate your relationship with Lustere, but that was it. How long ago had that been? Through a blur of centuries, you pictured the party. You’d planned it alone, and it had honestly been breathtaking. What a waste. 
“Um, no. Never,” you laughed, too loud. You didn’t need his pity. 
Azriel hummed, undeterred from creating a quiet moment with you. “Me neither. Every year though, my family insists on doing a special dinner. I wish they’d forget it, but since I refuse to do a whole thing like this,” he gestured around and widened his eyes in emphasis, ”I bear it annually.”
His words struck you funny. Your mouth continued ahead of your senses as you urged him, “You should let them.”
“What?”
He looked up at you in confusion, but you didn’t relax your knit brows.
“You should let them throw you a party.” Your conviction was sudden, but swift, and final. “You deserve to be celebrated, you should give them the chance.”
He dismissed your suggestion with a firm shake of his gorgeous head. “I’d hate it.”
“How do you know that?” you pressed. His face twisted in regret as his confession launched from his tongue. 
“‘Cause I hate this.”
“Yeah well, that makes two of us,” you admitted. 
His brows rose at that. If he’d expected you to sink any personal pride into the event, he was sorely mistaken. 
Then his eyes dipped to your toes before lazily arcing back up your figure, and his expression shifted from surprise to something less innocent.
“Surely you didn’t mind the excuse to pull out that damned dress.” 
You jumped on his playful tone. “Careful there, mister, I have a husband.”
Azriel’s laugh was just as irreverent as his next words, “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” 
His eyes crinkled as his lip curled in humor, and you liked the look of it on him. He wore all his faces so handsomely; menace, humor, lust. 
The latter of which was gradually blooming now, as if called into being by your imagination. His gaze still held a speck of humor, though at a lower pitch. There was mischief dancing in those hazel pools, dark and unmistakable as his eyes devoured you. 
The male slowly stroked the damp towel against his abdomen in a deliberate show. The cloth was as dirty as his vest now, covered in sugary smears. You couldn’t help but picture what you knew was under his shirt, the ink that whorled its way down his front, dipping below his waist. 
The silence was charged, the only sounds were the wet rustle of the towel and your own shallow, erratic breaths. 
His vest was as clean as it was going to get with such sloppy motions. Now he was just rubbing the stain in, so you grabbed it and took over, helping him brush away the last of the frosting. 
“This venue has a cloakroom, isn’t that ridiculous?” you feigned casual conversation as your heart raced, your fingers twitching at his stomach. “This whole city is under a mountain, there’s no weather. And no one has bothered with the custom of overcoats in centuries.” 
The words weren’t subtle, the hint bold faced and loaded. 
“You’re unbelievable,” he accused. Azriel shook his head even as a coy grin melted his hard features.
“Who, me?” you said innocently. He grabbed your wrist that was still swiping at his lower stomach. The frosting was long gone. 
“You planned this.” His words were definitive. 
It wasn’t a question, but your chin dipped in confirmation anyways. 
“Why?” he pushed.
“Why do you think?”
The venue had been a choice, as had the single perfumed invitation, as had the short staffing; all manufactured by you. It was all perfectly calculated, down to the timing of the toasts and the spill of the dessert tray. It had all been a part of the plan: your master plan to get him here, alone, in this very moment. 
Azriel swore as comprehension hit him, his mind wrapping around the totality of your little plot. Anxiety built in your gut. 
Was this foolish? Well, of course it was, but it really would be if he didn’t–
“Think you can keep quiet for me?”
The swelling panic in your chest melted instantly at his suggestive words, his voice a wicked rasp that set your skin on edge. Something bubbled in your chest, like an overeager gulp of champagne that wouldn’t settle. 
You arched your brow, “Can you?”
A shit eating grin broke on his face at the challenge, and he growled. 
“Do your worst.”
You matched his expression as something snapped between you. 
He used his free hand to angle you up to meet his lips in a hungry kiss. Every list, plan, plot, and scheme crumbled at the warmth of him, dissolving it all into sweetness. 
Every late night hour spent scheming had been worth it, just for this moment. His hot mouth on yours, your hands tangling in his hair. 
He shifted against you, and you gasped as you felt him hardening at your lower stomach. 
“Fuck, baby. This is all I could think about the second I walked in. You in this outfit… fuck,” he panted as your mouth shifted to taste his jaw. You whined into his skin as he ground against you, demanding some real friction. 
“You need me too? Or do you want to suck me off right here?” he growled. 
Arousal flooded your core at his dominant tone. You pulled back to look him in the eye. His pupils were blown out, his lips swollen. 
“Not here,” you pleaded. 
His look was wicked as he saw your reaction, but he didn’t push you. 
Instead, he allowed you to lead him through a different door, a few steps down a hallway, and into a small room. You sent a silent blessing to whatever architect included a much disused cloakroom in the venue’s design. Well, much disused until now. 
The instant the door closed, his lips were locked on yours. 
“Eager?” he teased hypocritically between rapid kisses as you fumbled blindly for his belt. 
“I’m sort of multitasking,” you panted. 
His brow arched.
“I’m running this show!” you explained hurriedly. “The toasts just started, but they won’t go on forever. Eventually someone might come looking for us, or me at least.” 
His mouth fell open, but you cut him off.
“Don’t look so worried, Azriel, we’re right on schedule.”
The male huffed out a laugh, and shook his head. By the light in his eyes, he was impressed. 
“You’re killing me, baby. You’ve been killing me all night.” His words were a groan. 
He said it like an accusation, so you retorted in kind, “Yes, and I’ve been planning for a month to get twenty damn minutes alone with you because I’ve been totally balanced and not at all because you’ve been killing me just the same.”
That shut him up. 
He sucked in a breath, and his face set with determination. 
“Well, then,” he said. “I guess I’m going to have to show you a good time.”
He wasted no time reattaching his lips to yours, this time with renewed fervor, before he pressed you against the wall. One of his rough hands came to grip your neck, angling your head perfectly for his strong jaw to set to work. Between his hard body and his looming wings, you were caged. His palpable power sent a thrill through you, rattling to your gums and winding right to your center. 
Deftly, he undid his belt in one swift movement with his other hand. You whined as you felt the leather smack briefly across your thighs as it fell to the floor.
You felt his hum through his tongue on your teeth. 
“Another time, maybe we’ll use that.”
“Oh gods,” you whined. 
His grip on your hips was like a vice, and your pulse was a riot under his rough fingers on your throat. 
“Maybe I’ll have Rhys throw a fête here instead of the main hall for my birthday this year,” he murmured darkly against your lips. 
You gasped and his tongue swept in again, muffling your pleas. His taste was as intoxicating as you recalled, the flavor of wine and salt heavy on his thick tongue. 
“Would you like that?” Azriel pressed. “Maybe you’d even let me taste you, hmm?” 
“Anything,” you moaned as his wet mouth replaced his hand along the column of your throat. “I’d plan the damn party just to get you alone for five minutes.”
His teeth scraped bluntly at your jugular as he grinned. 
“I thought party planning was a special privilege, only to be enjoyed by a female’s husband,” he teased. 
“You’re right, that would be downright improper. I’m not that kind of girl.”
His chuckle at your collarbone was sinful, the sound of it echoing down to your core. 
“No, no. I wouldn’t want to taint your honor.”
“No,” you echoed absently as he placed open mouthed kisses along the neckline of your dress. It was a light fabric, but it was suddenly smothering. Your skin burned; you were desperate for more contact. His heavy hands and scalding mouth weren’t enough.
“Please, Az,” you urged. 
His belt was undone, as were the top buttons of his vest, but the two of you were decidedly too decent. It would hardly even make a scandal at this point, to be caught fully clothed. 
“You want it?” he glanced up from your chest, spit straying along his sharp jaw. He growled, “You can have it, baby. I’ll be generous, after all I didn’t bring a gift.”
You only whined as his hands smoothed down your form. 
With a final kiss to the exposed tops of your breasts, the Illyrian knelt to the floor. 
Azriel looked debauched; his carefully groomed hair a mess from your hands, his vest askew, and his eyes blown with lust. His powerful chest was heaving as his hands carefully skimmed up your calves. He pushed the bottom of your dress over your knees, kissing the soft spot inside there. He continued to mouth at your thighs as he hiked your skirt up.
For all your careful planning, you had no remaining nerve to urge him to hurry. His tender handling was addicting, the closest thing to appreciation you’d felt in decades. And to feel it so intensely, so viscerally, so physically? It hardly felt fair to call it a vice. 
What others took for granted, you could only indulge in the dark closets of your own life. If you’d be damned to be blamed, then so be it. 
Because Azriel looked like a statue on his knees for you. His composition was darkness and light, pleasure and pain, right and wrong. In this moment, he was a blissful concoction of it all, and you wanted to drink every last drop. 
 “You look lovely tonight," he praised with a kiss to your inner thigh. The compliment was almost jarringly polite paired with his next move, as he lewdly brought a finger to press over your clothed core. The fire that had burned low in your belly was stoked at the contact, flaring to a throbbing need. 
With swift fingers, he pulled your undergarment down your legs before slyly stuffing them into his pocket. 
“Fuck,” he groaned as he dragged two digit through your soaked folds. “Even prettier than I remembered.”
You choked back a moan as he drew circles over your clit. It was torturous, and as his large wings blocked the rest of the dim room from your vision, you felt the thrill of his overwhelming power, his meticulous skill. 
One of your hands wove into his hair, the grip both imploring and terrorized as he sparked wave after wave of pleasure until he was satisfied with your near broken state. Your other hand skimmed down his chest when he eventually stood before you. 
At the scrape of your nails towards his need, he groaned, “That’s right, baby. You want to take it out for me?”
With shaking hands, you undid his slacks. He hissed as you freed his aching member, his tip angry and swollen already. 
He dragged himself over your glistening folds torturously for a brief moment. You whimpered and he laughed darkly before he lined himself up, teasing you with the barest pressure of his tip. 
You clawed at his shoulders, his hips, trying to urge him to get to it. With one of his hands holding your hip, and the other balanced on the wall beside your head, Azriel was the picture of leisure. 
He had no sense of urgency about these things, you were learning. 
“Gonna let me have my way with you, huh? That’s a good girl.”
Slowly, he pushed himself inside, bottoming out in one brutal stroke. You cried out and he slapped a rough hand over your mouth. Your eyes flashed wildly as he began to fuck you in earnest.
“That’s it. Take my cock like a good girl.” he growled. 
He set a punishing pace, finding his own sense of urgency at last. He filled you so perfectly, the stretch just right. The scrape over your spongy walls was agonizing as he pummeled you. One particular harsh thrust had you crying out again, muffled against his fingers. 
“Gotta be quiet, baby, can’t have anyone finding us like this.”
His expectation was impossible when he abruptly yanked your top down so your breasts spilled out. 
“Happy birthday Lustere, alright,” he groaned sarcastically before sucking one of your breasts into his mouth. 
You dissolved into another whimper at his wicked words and the warmth of his mouth on your tender flesh. 
“You’re bad,” you moaned as the sick sound of your sex filled the tight room. 
If this was bad, maybe the world had it backwards, because why did it feel so good? Why did you feel so complete, falling apart shoved against a wall in a closet at your husband’s party? Especially with a male you should hardly be on a first name basis with, let alone close enough to moan his so unabashedly.
That was all it was, you elected to believe. The secrecy, the illicit nature of the connection. That was the basis of its appeal. 
Not the particular partner, though he was rugged…
And he was charming… 
And his teeth were ghosting your neck in a way that made you want to scream… 
But of course, you could hardly whimper at full volume. It only made you want to yell more. The resulting noise was a breathy strangulation, more vibration than real exhalation. 
“Azriel,” you cried, and you felt him twitch inside you.
His hips snapped faster and the light in his eyes was wild. 
“Are you close, angel? Fuck, we’ve gotta be fast.” He made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob. “It’s so twisted. All I want is to take my time with you. Look at you, doing so well for me.”
His praise was as invigorating as his thrusts, which were growing sloppier with each breath. His stamina wasn’t the issue, it was the waves of pleasure numbing his body that caused him to tremble before you. 
You clenched around him and he swore, gasping as his body stilled. Azriel pressed his forehead to yours as he came, and somehow it was more intimate than you were prepared for, your fingers threading through his damp hair. 
His lashes fluttered shut and his mouth parted, gone wretched with bliss. The feeling of his hot breath and sticky skin on your face made you want to kiss every inch of his flesh. 
Even as he pulsed inside you, he brought his thumb to rub tight circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves. In moments, he had you coming undone as well. He quickly regained enough function to fuck you through it, his thrusts shaking. When you cried his name, he caught it with his mouth, stifling your crude noises as you convulsed around him. 
The sensation had him half hard again, but he pressed a kiss to your throat and held you still as you both came down from your highs. 
“Happy birthday to me,” you muttered into his cheek.
Azriel wheezed at that, an arrogant smirk winning out through his fatigue. “Was that worth it?” 
“Definitely,” you breathed, your fingers brushing his hair back into some semi respectable waves. 
Ignoring your efforts to put the two of you back together, he captured your face in his hands and planted a buzzing kiss on your mouth. He lingered longer than you expected, tasting you and savoring your warmth. 
“Okay, Azriel, time’s up,” you sighed after an indulgently long moment. 
He nodded, but held your face a moment longer before tapping your hips twice and sliding himself out. You both groaned at the absence, bodies still slick and buzzing. 
As he tucked himself away, he looked oddly contemplative for someone who had just had a quickie in a closet while on the job. 
You smoothed down your dress, disregarding your missing underwear. It’s not like anyone would notice, least of all your husband, who hadn’t approached you like that for decades. 
While you did your best to tame your wild hair, Azriel looked like he was far away. You tried to hurry, mistaking his distance for discomfort in the aftershock of the interaction. In moments, you were fully decent, and at least mostly presentable. 
Azriel paused you with a silent gesture as your hand met the door. A shadow slipped back in and around his ear, and he nodded. 
The pair of you slunk back down the hall to the still empty kitchen, and you tried not to think about the slick still mixing on your upper thighs under your dress. 
Before you could push on to reenter the party, the shadowsinger grabbed your arm. His expression was serious when you faced him
“I want to hire you.”
You laughed at his bizarre words. What was he implying? “What, you want me to plan your birthday party? I’m not sure if you can afford me.”
He joined your laughter, and you threw away your whole schedule at the sound. Surely you could allow yourself an extra moment here with him. All that was waiting was worthless, anyways. 
“You know, I'd actually love to see that,” he smiled. The simple gesture made your insides heave, which you attributed to the recent intrusion on your guts. 
You wiped your eyes, attempting to tame your doubtlessly ruined cosmetics as you joked with him. You weren’t sure why, but you needed to hear that laugh again. “It’ll be a hit. We’ll only serve whiskey and there will be no food so everyone gets blasted way too hard– ooh, and the servers will be in their undershorts–”
“–I can't wait,” he cut you off. “But that’s not what I meant.”
“Okay,” you sobered up at his tone. “What then?”
“Well, you obviously have some covert skills…” 
Well, you think, that’s one way to describe centuries of spying on your cheating piece of shit husband, and more recently, coordinating this… whatever this was.
“...And you can arrange a seamless rendezvous,” he continued, now listing your achievements on his roughened fingers.
 You blushed at the innuendo, still lost to his meaning. 
“...And your husband works under the least trustworthy son of a bitch I've ever met,” he finished. 
“So?”
“You're in a unique position,” Azriel explained cryptically. 
Your brows scrunched. You hadn’t had anything but a sip of champagne since the sip of whiskey earlier, yet you were thinking through a thick haze. All you could think of were innuendos about unique positions…  
“A unique position for what?” you asked.
“As an informant, of course. You could be very useful.” The words were casual, but you saw how his amber eyes were set with strange emotion as he extended the offer in a deep tone. 
Azriel’s words echoed in your mind, hollow to anything else. You could be very useful. 
Something surged through you at the word. 
Useful.
You could be useful.
Very useful. 
How long had you grieved of the uselessness of your work, the incessant, all encompassing meaninglessness of your labors? How empty it all was, how vacant each day left you. How fruitless too; all these years, giving yourself over to nothing, and winning nothing in return. 
You swallowed the emotion rising at your throat, and a grin bloomed on your face in its wake. 
“What do you need me to do?” 
✸✸✸ 
“Where have you been?”
For all your scheming, your husband’s voice wiped your mind blank. Voices whirled around you, echoing happy and careless in the large room.
“Lustere, I–”
“–There’s empty platters out here, it looks cheap.” You blinked as he looked around in annoyance. “Aren’t you going to do anything about that?”
Leave it to him to interrupt you. You needn’t have prepared such an elaborate excuse for your absence when you couldn’t even get a word in. 
And sure enough, just as you’d planned and predicted, you hadn’t been missed. 
“Of course, dear.”
He only gave you a curt nod. Before he could turn away completely, you found yourself reaching out with a gentle hand, and something akin to affection slipped into your tone. “Are you enjoying yourself, Lustere?”
There was no tenderness as he looked in shock at your hand on his arm, only confusion. 
“Of course,” he said in a self-evident tone. Your husband looked around the room, cataloguing the faces of his guests. “Everyone important is here.”
Your fingers on his arm went numb. Everyone important had been there.
Only you hadn’t been there. 
You had been three doors away, wrapped up in darkness with another man. 
Despite his ignorance, what Lustere said was true: everyone important to him had been there, everyone who mattered. 
Just not you. 
The tenderness curdled in your chest. Whatever short candle you held for Lustere, died in that moment. And yet, ever the good wife, you dutifully nodded at the side of his head. 
“Good. I'll go fix the attendants.” And see if they haven’t picked up any good gossip from this high profile crowd… 
Something warmed inside your chest as you felt the ghost of your promise to Azriel still fresh on your lips. Your game with him had expanded, in one breath. 
No longer were you nothing to him, to anyone. 
You were to be the spymaster’s eyes and ears on the corrupt inner workings of the Court of Nightmares. 
And you had nothing to lose. 
✸✸✸ 
ENDNOTES
Thank you for reading!! Please comment if you enjoyed it, I actually spend quite a bit of time on these haha so I love to hear from youuu. I also love to chat in my inbox or dms so don’t be shy!! I’d love to hear what you think is gonna happen next.. ;)
I fear I have made this plot far FAR too elaborate than cheating smut would sensibly demand. So! Stay tuned for at least two or three more parts of angst and smut and fluff!! HAHA!! 
Oh and Lustere should fuckin’ watch himself… lest a terrible accident befall him… sooo whose knife should it be team?? >:))
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wooahaes · 2 months ago
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the little things in life
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pairing: non-idol!mingyu x gn!reader
genre: fluff. established relationship. husband!gyu.
warnings: vague references to food. husband!gyu being doting. reader being the kind of person who enjoys simple things.
word count: 1.1k~
daisy's notes: ohhhh doting husband gyu... how i need someone like u in my life....
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“Are you sure this is all you want for your birthday this year?” Mingyu’s voice was quiet. “Just me cooking for you and a massage?” He chuckled a little. “You can get that anytime, you know.”
Mingyu’s hands were like heaven as he hovered above you, kneading away the tension that’d been plaguing your spine for far too long now. His weight was pinning your thighs down against the mattress as he worked, careful with the sensitive knots he had found. If you had asked, he would have paid for you to go to a professional. To have a proper spa day in general, too: whatever you wanted, he would do it for you. Instead, all you told him you wanted were home-cooked meals and a massage since you needed it. He’d pitched other ideas to you in the month leading up to the day: a week-long vacation since the two of you were long overdue for it (you shot it down to save it for your anniversary in a few months), or even a weekend away on the beach or something. You’d shrugged the suggestions off instead.
“I dunno. I’m bad at knowing what I want, I guess.” Your cheek rested against your arm, face turned so that he could hear your voice clearly. “Like… It’s not that I don’t like material things…”
“You just don’t want fancy things.” Mingyu shrugged. “I know you.” 
With a slight stretch, you settled against the mattress again. “Exactly.”
He kept his thoughts to himself: I feel like a bad husband, though. He’d seen the kinds of things his coworkers bought for their partners. Expensive jewelry, or trips to nice restaurants, or tickets abroad that result in more expensive things and memories. It felt… weird knowing that you didn’t ask for anything you could show off to people. Not even a nice bracelet or a watch or something: you were more than content with reminding people that you had a loving husband at home who would cater to your every whim if you ever asked for it. Not that you did: he liked how independent you could be. That you knew that Mingyu was there to catch you if you fell, but that you still stood on your own and handled things by yourself so that he could rest when he needed to. 
That’s what he loved about you, actually. Mingyu loved caring for people, making them laugh or doing anything that showed he was there, listening, and ready to lend a hand. You let him help when you needed him, but you’d told him many times over the years to rest before he burned himself out. And in the times when he did burn himself out, you were there to listen and take care of him while he finally rested to you (always telling you that you could say “I told you so,” even though you never did). His way of caring was loud like him, and bold and obvious. You, on the other hand, were much more subtle in it. He’d realized it back when the two of you were dating, somewhere within that first year. Wonwoo had been feeling a little sick, and you had gone with him to keep him company while he made Wonwoo soup. 
At one point, he’d heard him coughing—the kind of wet, nasty cough that most people would immediately back away from. You’d merely quietly excused yourself, asking where the bathroom was, and a few minutes later he’d heard you talking to Wonwoo. When he peeked into his bedroom, you’d donned a mask and were saying something about how you found medicine for him and thought you’d bring it in so he wouldn’t have to get out of bed. Wonwoo’s gaze had been soft, thanking you for it and making a comment about how he understood why Mingyu liked you so much.
Maybe that had been the moment he realized he was fully, wholeheartedly in love with you: he loved the quiet way you did things for others without being asked, just to make things easier for them. That you were it for him, and he hoped that the same could be said for you.
He kissed the back of your shoulder now, letting his lips linger against your skin before he sat back up. “If there’s anything that you want… You know I’ll go get it for you, right?”
He watched as you shut your eyes, humming to yourself as you thought. “There is one thing… But you don’t have to do it today.” 
“What is it?”
“My favorite sweater has a hole in the sleeve. I tried to sew it, but it just came undone the next time I wore it.” You frowned to yourself. “I’ve been meaning to buy another one from the same place, but I haven’t really had the time.” 
“That’s the store next to my work, right?”
“Yeah.” You paused for a moment as he hit another sensitive spot in your back, teeth gritting together. “Fuck, sorry—”
“Don’t apologize.” He frowned. “Just come to me next time, before it gets this bad. I’ll go by the store tomorrow, just tell me which one you want.”
“Thank you,” you said with another soft hum. “Sorry. It’s not that I can’t go myself, I just—” 
“Don’t apologize!” He said again. “I’m your husband. And I like doing things for you.” Including sewing up the hole in your sleeve for you, but he’ll wait until tomorrow morning to do it. It’d be easier for him to surprise you that way, after all. He’d buy you multiple sweaters when he went, just so you could wear the things that made you comfortable whenever you liked. “Do you know what you want for dinner?”
“I do, actually. I’ll show you the recipe I found. We might have to go to the store, but I don’t mind going with you.” You curved as best as you could, propping yourself up on one elbow. When he shifted back so that you could move a little more freely, you reached up to cup his cheek. “I love you, by the way. Thank you for taking care of me.”
He kissed your thumb, smiling at you. “That’s my job.” Any other time, he’d say a cheesy Thank you for marrying me, a little throwback to one of his earliest drunken rambles a few weeks after you got married. Seungcheol had dragged him home that night, telling you he managed to get one glass of water in him before he brought him there. Instead, he just leaned in to peck your lips. “Happy birthday, my love."
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becertainlust · 1 month ago
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Hello!!!
I looove your Katsuki fics and couldnt help but shoot my shot at requesting this!
Girl reader with a half cat quirk that makes her experience heat and her suppressant meds are nowhere to be found!!!
Turns out Katsuki wanted to help relieve her this time around. He approaches the topic cautiously with great sensitivity at first, but once reader caves in, she's sensetive and needy, and Katsuki wants nothing more than to satisfy her needs!
I would love to read this in your writing!!! :D
HEATED | Bakugo Katsuki
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synopsis: Today was supposed to be your last college party, However mother nature didn't seem to care. Your best friend Katsuki has something he wats to say.
content: smut
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The party was supposed to be loud enough to drown your thoughts. That was the plan.
Music, dancing, the thump of bass-heavy speakers rattling the cheap windows of whatever rented venue they’d picked this time. Maybe a drink or two. Flirting across the room with Bakugo until he finally cracked and walked over like he always did—scowling, tense, trying too hard not to stare.
Instead, you were home. Wrapped in a fleece blanket on your couch. Hoodie zipped to your neck but riding high on your thighs, heat prickling beneath your skin like a second pulse. Your tail twitched beneath you, too restless to stay still, too sensitive to stop moving.
The silence in your apartment felt heavier than usual.
The suppressant pills had run out last week. You meant to get more. You really did.
But life got fast. Assignments stacked. You forgot. And now your body was reminding you in the worst way possible—with insistent warmth pooling low in your belly, your skin hypersensitive, your thoughts crawling toward one person and one person only.
Katsuki.
Of course it was him. It was always him.
You hated how often your heat cycled around thoughts of him. The way he moved. The cut of his pretty eyes. The way he never looked at you directly for too long, like he knew what it might do if he did.
Your phone buzzed with a message from Mina—something about your absence being tragic, your outfit being missed, and how 'Katsuki kept looking at the door'
You didn’t open the message.
Didn’t want to.
You curled further into yourself instead, hoodie bunched at your waist now, the fabric clinging to overheated skin. Your cheeks felt too warm. Your body was too aware. You swore you could still feel the ghost of his stare, even from miles away.
There was a low, aching kind of hunger curling in your belly. It didn’t demand food or sleep or even comfort.
You pressed your thighs together again. Hissed through your teeth. It was no use.
Your phone buzzed again.
Then—knocking.
Three short taps. Familiar. Solid. Too deliberate to be a neighbor.
Your heart stuttered.
You paused. Listened.
A voice followed—low, unsure.
“…You alright in there?”
Katsuki.
You sat up too fast. Nearly lost the blanket. “Shit.”
“…You in there?”
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your heart was already moving faster than your thoughts.
Another knock. Sharper. Frustrated.
“You’re never this quiet.”
You closed your eyes and sank further into the couch, shame prickling under your skin like sweat. You shouldn’t have said yes to the night if your body was going to betray you. Shouldn’t have flirted with him so recklessly if you couldn’t see it through. Shouldn’t have—
The wooden figurine from coffee table falling to the wooden floor in such a dramatic manner.
“—I’m coming in,” he said.
The lock clicked. He’d helped you fix the janky bolt weeks ago. You’d never re-set the passcode.
The door creaked open.
He stepped in like he wasn’t sure he should. Like he half-expected to be yelled at or blasted back outside. But all he found was quiet.
You were curled small on the couch, hoodie sleeves hiding your hands, eyes glassy with heat and embarrassment.
Katsuki stilled.
You saw the moment it hit him—when his eyes narrowed and the air caught in his chest. Not because you looked sick. But because you didn’t.
“You’re not coming down with anything,” he said slowly. “Are you?”
You tried to lie. It caught in your throat.
“…It started early,” you murmured, voice brittle. “Didn’t have my meds.”
He said nothing at first. The air between you tightened, thick with something unspoken but very alive.
His gaze flicked to the blanket tugged over your legs. Your bare thighs beneath it. The subtle twitch of your tail. The way your hoodie didn’t quite hide the fact that you weren’t wearing much underneath.
Then, slowly, his voice softened—lower than usual, careful like he was speaking to a bruise.
“…You want me to go?”
You didn’t. God, you didn’t. You were humiliated, needy, and ashamed of how you kept squeezing your thighs just to feel something. And yet, part of you was also aching to see what would happen if you didn’t pretend anymore. If you let the tension between you go where it had always wanted to.
You looked at him, eyes wide and wet and unsure.
And then—just barely—you tugged the blanket down an inch, letting the hem of your hoodie ride up over your thigh.
“...What if I wanted you to stay?” you whispered.
His eyes darkened. Jaw clenched.
Still, he didn’t move. Not until you reached for him—fingertips curling around the fabric of his shirt, quiet but clear.
“You sure?” he asked, low and rough.
You nodded once. Then again. More desperately.
He sat on the edge of the couch, one palm cupping your knee, the other brushing a sweat-damp curl from your forehead. His touch was careful. Reverent.
“You want help?” he asked, thumb brushing your cheek like you might burn him.
You nodded.
“Say it ,” he whispered, eyes dropping to your lips and you notice it, instinctively you licked it. A thin layer of saliva giving you a gloss effect on your lips.
Your throat bobbed. “I need you, Katsuki.”
He’d be lying if he said it didn’t get to him—the way you said his name like that.
Soft. Fragile. A little breathy, like it slipped past your lips before you even meant to say it.
He’d heard his name plenty of times—screamed across training fields, barked from opponents, snapped in irritation by people who thought they knew him. But coming from you? Like that?
It hit different.
God, it always did.
He tried not to show it, tried to keep his face unreadable, but his breathing stuttered. Just a hitch, small enough to deny if you ever called him on it. But it was there. It always was when it came to you.
You weren’t usually like this.
Usually, you were stubborn and sharp-tongued, doing shit that got under his skin—on purpose, half the time. Rage-baiting. Eye-rolling. Acting like his ego was too big to fit through a door. You’d sass him just to see him twitch.
And the worst part? He liked it. Liked you. All of you.
But this?
Seeing you curled up on your couch, hoodie riding high on your thighs, tail twitching like you couldn’t get comfortable in your own skin… it made something deep in his chest go stupid and warm.
You looked up at him with glassy eyes, flushed cheeks, skin practically humming with heat, and you still had the nerve to look embarrassed.
Still tried to play it cool.
Still tried to act like he wasn’t the one person you’d been thinking about since your suppressants ran out.
And when you finally caved and said his name like that, voice all quiet and unsure, like you were afraid he wouldn’t want you the way you wanted him?
Yeah, he was done for.
Completely fucking done for.
“Yeah?” he said, voice low, almost shy. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmured.
His voice was low—firm, but shaking just a little at the edges, like he was holding something back. Like he had to pace himself, even now, even with you already half melting under his touch.
You expected him to dive in. To act on the tension that had always thrummed beneath every glance you two had ever shared. But instead, he stayed still for one long moment, his hand resting heavy and warm on your thigh, grounding you like an anchor.
“You sure?” he asked again, softer now. “This isn’t just your heat talkin’, right?”
That broke something in you. The way he could still ask—when you were trembling under your skin, pupils wide, your whole body practically begging for him—and yet, still… still he asked.
You reached for the lapels of his suit, fingers twisting into the fabric like it might keep you from unraveling completely. “It is my heat,” you admitted, voice breathy, lips barely forming the words. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”
That was enough.
His mouth met yours in a kiss that started gentle—but didn’t stay that way.
It deepened with every second, hunger bleeding through restraint. His hands moved—up your sides, over your waist, careful but hungry, like he was mapping something he’d spent too long imagining. His lips tasted like heat and need and something you didn’t know how to name yet.
You whimpered into his mouth when his fingers found the bare skin of your thigh, sliding higher beneath the hoodie you hadn’t realized had bunched up further. Your tail flicked nervously at your side—he caught it mid-swish, holding it gently, almost reverently.
“This okay?” he asked again, voice lower now, gravelly. “Sensitive?”
You nodded, dizzy from the feel of him—how his calloused palms were somehow still tender, how he smelled like smoke and spice and Katsuki, how his mouth never stopped moving over yours like he was making up for lost time.
“More than okay,” you breathed, grinding down just enough for friction. “Feels—fuck—it feels better with you.”
He groaned, hands tightening just slightly.
You felt it—how badly he wanted to let go. But he held on. For you.
“You tell me when it’s too much,” he said against your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. “Or not enough. Got it?”
“Got it,” you whispered.
And then he stopped holding back.
He shifted you into his lap, hoodie riding up, skin flushed and hot against him. His hands explored every inch of you he could reach—your hips, your waist, the small of your back. His mouth followed close behind, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.
He murmured things you’d never heard from him before. Pretty. Soft. Perfect. Things he didn’t say when there were people around. But here, in your apartment, while the world outside pulsed with music and lights and the party you were supposed to be at… he gave you everything.
And when your body trembled, when your voice broke with the weight of it all, when you pulled him closer like you’d fall apart otherwise—he held you tighter, like he could piece you back together with touch alone.
His breath was shaky against your neck, equal parts restraint and reverence, and his voice—rough, low, just for you—whispered your name like a secret prayer.
“You don’t have to hold back,” he said, voice caught somewhere between a plea and a promise. And neither did he.
The moment stretched, thick with heat and want and something tender beneath it all. Fingers tangled in his hair, you met him halfway—every kiss, every gasp, every shiver a language only the two of you knew.
His mouth was on you again—lower this time—tracing kisses down the curve of your neck, across your collarbone, until he found that place that made your breath hitch. He lingered there, sucking gently, tongue flicking over flushed skin, leaving a mark you’d feel in the morning and think about for days.
Your hips shifted in his lap, searching, needing, and the friction pulled a groan from deep in his chest. One of his hands slid under your hoodie, fingers grazing your bare stomach, then higher—slowly, like he wanted to memorize every reaction.
When he finally cupped your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple, your gasp was swallowed by his mouth crashing back into yours. Desperate now, tasting of heat and hunger and everything you’d both been holding back for far too long.
“You have no idea…” he murmured against your lips, voice wrecked, “how long I’ve wanted this.”
You rocked against him, feeling the hard length of him through his jeans, and it was his turn to shudder. “Then show me,” you whispered.
That was all it took.
He gripped your hips and lifted you just enough to rid you of what little you had left on, hoodie discarded, bottoms peeled away with impatient fingers. You were bare in his lap now, exposed in every way, but never once did he look away from your eyes.
“God, you’re perfect,” he breathed, hands spreading across your thighs, thumbs tracing slow, dizzying circles against your skin. “I want to take my time… but I don't think I can.”
You didn’t want him to. Not tonight. Not like this.
When he slid his hand between your legs and found you already wet for him, his curse was soft and reverent. “You’re soaked,” he said, almost in disbelief, “for me.”
You nodded, grinding into his hand.
He kissed you again—messy and hungry—as he pushed two fingers inside you, curling just right, while his thumb rubbed slow, steady circles against your clit. Your nails dug into his shoulders, head falling back with a moan that only made him work harder.
And when you started to fall apart, trembling against his hand, he didn’t stop. He watched every second—eyes locked onto your face, lips parted, like the sight of you coming undone was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
His fingers slid through your slick folds with reverence, like he was exploring something sacred. He groaned under his breath at how wet you were—how easily you parted for him. One finger teased your entrance, circling slowly, gathering you on the tip just to feel how much you wanted him.
“Look at you…” he whispered, his lips brushing your jaw as he spoke. “So ready. So soft. So fucking responsive.”
He slipped one finger inside, and your body immediately clenched around him, greedy and hot and pulsing. You arched against him, breath catching in your throat as he started to move it—slow and deep, feeling every inch of you, dragging his fingertip along your walls like he was mapping you out.
“Fuck, you feel…” He couldn’t finish. He didn’t need to.
His free arm stayed locked around your waist, holding you steady as you writhed in his lap. His finger curled just right—testing, pressing against that spot—and when your whole body jolted in response, he chuckled low against your neck.
“There?” he murmured.
You nodded quickly, too breathless for words. So he did it again. And again. Curl, pull, push—finding a rhythm that had your thighs trembling and your fingernails digging into his shoulders for balance.
Then he added a second finger.
You cried out, hips jerking. The stretch, the pressure—it was maddening in the best way. He was slow with it at first, easing in, letting you adjust, but you didn’t want slow. Not now. You needed more. Needed him to lose control the same way you were.
“Please,” you breathed, not caring how desperate it sounded. “Faster…”
He growled in response—deep and guttural—and gave you what you wanted. His fingers pumped harder, faster, deeper, the wet sounds of your arousal mixing with your breathy moans and the soft curses he whispered against your skin.
“God, listen to you,” he muttered, watching your face, watching your body twist and rise to meet every thrust of his hand. “You’re dripping. So fucking tight around my fingers. You love this, don’t you?”
You moaned, head falling against his shoulder, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Not when you looked like this—glowing, undone, eyes fluttering closed as your pleasure built and built, coiling tight in your belly like a live wire.
His thumb pressed to your clit again, this time with intent. Tight circles. A perfect rhythm that matched the pace of his fingers inside you. Your thighs shook around him. Your breath came in short, ragged bursts.
“I’ve got you,” he said, voice low, almost soothing. “Don’t hold back. I wanna feel you come just like this—falling apart on my fingers.”
And you did. The wave slammed into you, white-hot and blinding, your cry raw and unfiltered as your body clenched around him. He kept moving, working you through it, watching you fall apart with reverence in his eyes.
You collapsed against his chest, panting, twitching, overstimulated and aching for more. And he held you close, fingers still inside you, still slow and gentle now.
He slowly pulled his fingers from you, dragging them out inch by inch, savoring the way your body clung to him, reluctant to let go. A slick sound followed, and then a small, needy whine slipped from your lips before you could stop it.
That sound—soft, desperate, utterly wrecked—sent something primal crashing through him. His grip on your waist tightened for a second, and then he nearly stumbled as you shifted in his lap, the weight of you shifting just enough to make him falter.
“Shit—” he caught himself with one hand, but his palm pressed against something unfamiliar beneath the cushion.
He froze.
“What the…” he muttered, glancing down, brow furrowed. His fingers brushed over it again, trying to figure out what he was feeling—smooth, firm, and definitely not part of the couch.
He looked up at you, curious, breathless. “What… is this?”
You flushed, cheeks burning, but there was a mischievous spark in your eyes that made you smile softly. You looked up at him with an almost innocent expression, tilting your head slightly like you were about to explain something simple yet private.
“It’s a rose...vibrator,” you said quietly, your voice a little shy but steady. Then, with a teasing glint, you leaned closer and let your fingers trace slowly down the curve of your thigh.
“Here,” you murmured, your gaze flickering up to meet his as you gently guided his hand, placing the toy right at your clit.
He stared down at the delicate rose-shaped vibrator resting just at the entrance of your slick folds, his fingers still lightly brushing over your thigh. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, searching—soft, curious, and utterly captivated.
“Do you want me to use it on you?” he asked, voice low and rough with something like reverence.
There was a pause—electric, filled with promise—before your breath hitched. Your cheeks flushed deeper, but you nodded, biting your lip shyly.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “I want you to.”
His grin was slow, wicked, and full of heat. “so greedy.”
He moved his hand carefully, lifting the rose toy and pressing it gently against you. The petals—soft and warm—began to pulse, and you shivered at the sensation, your body trembling in his lap.
His gaze never left yours, watching every little reaction, every flicker of your expression as the waves of pleasure rolled through you.
He glanced down at the delicate rose-shaped vibrator nestled against your slick skin, fingers brushing its smooth petals. A slow, wicked smile spread across his lips as he pressed the small button at its base, and the vibrations shifted.
A low hum began—gentle at first—but then he increased the setting, the buzzing growing stronger, deeper, pulsing with an intensity that made your whole body shudder.
You gasped, eyes fluttering shut, a soft quivering starting in your thighs. The sensation was overwhelming—sweet, sharp, electric—and the way the deep vibrations of the rose’s petals teased every sensitive curve left you breathless.
He watched you carefully, voice rough and husky as he murmured, “You feel that? You like it when it’s turned up?”
You could barely form the words, trembling as the waves of pleasure built inside you. A soft, involuntary hum escaped your lips, vibrating along with the toy, your body responding to every surge.
“Yes…” you whispered, warm eyes holding his gaze and voice thick with need. “I want more Kastu…”
His fingers gripped your hips a little tighter, steadying you as the rose pulsed relentlessly, driving you closer and closer to the edge. You quivered in his lap, humming low and needy, lost in the delicious torment.
“Damn, you’re really fucking with my head” he breathed a chuckle against your chest, placing a soft kiss and when he eased a bright bruise was left. “And I’m not letting you forget this.”
The vibrations thrummed on, each wave crashing over you with more power than the last, until your body finally trembled uncontrollably, and you came undone—soft, shattered, humming your release into the quiet of the room.
He kept the rose vibrator pressed firmly against your clit, the high setting sending relentless waves of pleasure pulsing through you. Your moans spilled out—soft, breathy, utterly mesmerized—but to him, they were like a distant melody, barely registering over the storm of desire raging in his own mind.
His grip on your hips was still strong, steadying you, but his focus was so intense on watching your body that he didn’t realize how completely undone you’d already become.
You trembled and hummed around the vibrations, your breath hitching and your body softening beneath him—signs he somehow missed.
It wasn’t until your hands tightened around his shoulders, your muscles slackening in surrender, that he blinked and looked down, eyes wide.
He takes the vibrator from you swiftly, switching it off. You fall into him arms wrapped around his tuxedo's pants leg soaked under your arousal. You mewl grinding onto him littering kisses to his neck. Praises of how you love him going straight his head.
It wasn’t until your hands clenched tightly around his shoulders, your body going limp in surrender, that he blinked and finally looked down—eyes wide with realization.
Without hesitation, he slid the vibrator away from you and switched it off. The sudden absence of the buzzing sent a small gasp from you, but before you could say anything, you melted fully into him.
Your arms wrapped around his neck, your arousal seeping into the fabric of his tuxedo pants, clinging to him like a lifeline. A soft mewl escaped your lips as you ground yourself lightly against him, seeking more friction, more connection.
You littered kisses along his neck—gentle, desperate, worshipful—whispering praise between soft breaths. “I love you… I love you so much,” you murmured, voice trembling but sincere, the words sinking straight into the pulse of his head, making his heart thud in a way that no touch could replicate.
His breath hitched at the feel of your lips trailing across his neck, the way your body pressed so needy and warm against him. Every soft mewl, every whispered “I love you,” wrapped around his heart tighter than any hold he’d ever had.
He tangled his fingers in your hair, pulling you up just enough to capture your mouth in a slow, deep kiss—hungry, but tender. The heat between you didn’t fade; it only grew, a wildfire stoked by every touch, every breath.
His fingers loosened their grip on your hair as your whispered praises caught him off guard. A flicker of something—surprise, maybe even a little bashfulness—flushed across his face, coloring his cheeks in a way you rarely saw.
“Shit,” he muttered, voice rough and quieter than before. “You really mean that?”
Before you could answer, he bent down slightly and lifted you up without any hesitation. Your arms curled around his neck naturally, and he supported you easily with his hands under your thighs.
Carrying you like you weighed nothing, he walked steadily toward your bedroom. When he reached the door, he used the side of his foot to nudge it open just enough, then stepped inside without letting go of you.
Once inside, he closed the door behind him with another gentle push of his foot, the soft click sounding final.
He paused just outside your bedroom door, a soft breath catching in his throat as a sweet, intoxicating scent drifted out to greet him. For a moment, he thought you must’ve been baking—something warm and comforting like cinnamon or vanilla filling the air.
But this was different.
The scent wrapped around him, deeper and more addictive than any baked good he’d ever known. It pulled at him, stirring something raw and urgent inside.
He inhaled again, eyes closing briefly as the fragrance settled over him. “Damn,” he muttered, voice thick. “I thought you were baking or something... but this—this is something else.”
Still holding you firmly in his arms, he pushed the door open with his foot, stepping inside while that sweet scent clung to both of you, wrapping the room in a quiet promise.
He shut the door behind him with another push, his eyes dark and hungry as he looked down at you cheeks warmer than by the second as he stared into your doll like eyes “Why do you smell so good?”
He carried you effortlessly to the edge of the bed, his hands steady and sure as he settled you down. The cool sheets beneath your skin were a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off his body. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, as he peeled off his jacket, the fabric falling away to reveal the hard planes of his chest.
His white buttoned down followed, slipping over his broad shoulders and disappearing somewhere behind him. You couldn’t look away as his muscles flexed with every movement, the tension in the room thickening like a living thing.
Slowly, deliberately, he unbuttoned his pants, sliding them down his hips and stepping out of them, leaving him bare and exposed to you. The sight made your pulse quicken, your body already aching for him.
Without hesitation, you spread your legs wider, welcoming him back in, your fingers sinking deep inside yourself once more, as if what he’d just done wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy the ache he’d stirred.
Your breaths hitched, trembling under the weight of his gaze as you whispered, voice shaky and desperate, “Please… don’t stop. I need more. "
He didn’t waste another second. With a swift, practiced motion, he freed himself completely, shedding the last barrier between you. His thick length pressed firmly against your entrance, teasing the sensitive skin before slowly, deliberately sinking deep inside you.
You gasped, the fullness stretching you perfectly, his warmth flooding every inch as he settled in.
He held you steady, his hand gripping your hip tightly while his other rested against your thigh, anchoring you both as he began to move—slow at first, savoring the feeling of being inside you, before gradually picking up pace, driving deeper with each stroke.
His eyes fluttered to a close, the moment he registered just how soaked you were—warm, slippery, and completely ready for him. A low, guttural sound rumbled from deep in his throat, rough and full of hunger.
“Fuck,” he growled, voice thick as he pressed even deeper, letting the heat of your pussy swallow him whole. The wet, slick sounds of your bodies moving together filled the room—the messy slide, the soft gasps, the sharp catch of breath when he hit just the right spot.
He couldn’t hold back any longer. Every sound you made—your moans, your shaky breaths—drove him wild, making his thrusts harder, more demanding, as if trying to claim every part of you with the force of his desire.
Bakugo leaned over you, one hand steady on your thigh as he spread you open again, eyes flicking down with sharp focus. The heat between you made the air feel heavy, thick with tension and want.
He parted you with his fingers, gaze locked on the way you glistened in the low light. “So damn wet…” he muttered under his breath, voice rough, reverent.
Then, without breaking eye contact, he let his head tilt just slightly—allowing a slow string of spit to fall from his lips, landing warm and deliberate on your clit. The sudden slickness made you jolt, a soft whimper escaping before you could stop it.
He smirked at your reaction, thumb sliding through the mess with practiced ease. And then he began—drawing slow, deliberate circles over your swollen bud. Not fast. Not teasing. Just pressure—perfect and steady.
Your back arched as the sensation sank in, every nerve firing at once. His name tumbled from your lips like a plea, but he didn’t stop—watching the way your body responded with a hunger that nearly matched your own.
Bakugo watched every twitch of your body, every flutter of your lashes and the way your breath stuttered when his thumb circled just right. But he wasn’t done—not even close.
“C’mere,” he muttered, voice thick with need.
With gentle but commanding hands, he lifted your hips and adjusted your angle, hooking one of your legs over his forearm. The shift let him press deeper—his next thrust hitting a spot so sensitive it pulled a sharp gasp from your throat.
Your hand flew up to your face instinctively, trying to muffle the sound, to hide the expression you knew was painted all over you—wide eyes, trembling lips, that overwhelmed look you couldn’t help but wear whenever he touched you like this.
But Bakugo noticed. Of course he did.
His grip didn’t waver, his pace deep and deliberate now, each movement drawing a broken whimper from you. “Don’t hide,” he said, his voice closer to a growl as he leaned in. “Wanna see all of it. Every damn bit you try to keep from me.”
You whimpered again, face still buried in your hands, but your body betrayed you—arching into him, clinging, craving every second.
And he gave it to you.
Bakugo leaned into you, his lips finding the curve of your shoulder, then the space just below your collarbone. He left slow, reverent kisses in his wake—each one deeper, more deliberate than the last. His breath was hot against your skin, uneven, like he was barely keeping himself in check.
“You smell so good…” he murmured against you, voice rough and breathless. “Swear, the second I walked in, I thought you’d been baking somethin’. But this…” His nose brushed your neck, and he inhaled deeply, groaning low in his throat. “This is better than anything I’ve ever tasted.”
You trembled beneath him, your face buried in the space between his neck and shoulder, body clinging to him like gravity had given out.
Then his hand curled gently into your hair, anchoring you there—pressed close, skin to skin, breath to breath.
And then he moved.
Not with the careful restraint from before—but with a need that finally spilled over. His hips snapped forward, each thrust purposeful, deep, and intense, hitting a place inside you that made your breath catch with every motion.
You couldn’t speak—only whimper, only hold on—his scent, his voice, the way he said your name like it meant something sacred.
Every movement of his hips had purpose now—intentional, relentless, and aimed straight for that spot inside you that made your vision blur and your hands grasp for anything to hold onto. And the only thing there was him.
Bakugo.
Sweat glistened at his temple, his jaw tight, his body coiled above yours like a live wire. But his eyes—those fierce, red eyes—stayed locked on your face, watching the way your mouth fell open, the way your lashes fluttered, the way your whole body seemed to unravel for him.
Again and again, he drove into you, never losing that rhythm, never letting you come down from it.
And then it happened.
Your thighs tensed around him, your nails dug into his shoulders, and your breath hitched like the air had left the room. The pleasure overwhelmed you, cresting in a wave so sharp and perfect it stole your voice. You came hard, a cry catching in your throat as your body pulsed around him—tight, hot, trembling.
He groaned, a guttural sound from deep in his chest. “Fuck… you’re squeezing me so tight—”
Your climax dragged him under, the way your body clung to him tipping him past the edge. His rhythm faltered—just for a second—then he thrust deep, one last time, burying himself inside you as he spilled everything he had into you. He gasped your name, low and hoarse, forehead falling to your shoulder as he held still, letting the moment crash over him.
His arms wrapped around your back, breath shaky, the heat of you wrapped so tightly around him that he couldn’t tell where he ended and you began.
Neither of you moved at first. Your bodies pressed together, breathing in sync, still flushed and trembling.
You felt him kiss your shoulder—soft, reverent. As if after all that, you were something fragile.
His breath was still ragged, forehead resting against yours, but even after release, Bakugo didn’t stop. His hips moved slowly now, deliberately—drawing out every last bit of sensation as if he couldn’t bear to let go of the heat between you. You could feel the way he trembled against you, how sensitive he was, yet still lost in you—drunk off the way your body held him.
He kissed you then. Deeply. Not rushed or fevered like before, but slow—hungry in a different way. Like he was memorizing your mouth, savoring the taste of your praise still lingering on your lips.
As his movements began to still, his hands cradled your waist, the gentleness in contrast to how fiercely he’d held you before.
“I should pull out,” he murmured, voice hoarse against your skin, laced with hesitation.
But before he could move, you shifted.
Your hand pressed to his chest, guiding him to lie back against the mattress. And in one smooth motion, you rolled your hips forward, slipping above him—his length still buried deep inside you. He gasped softly, the sensation of you moving with him again pulling a choked sound from his throat.
Your thighs settled around his hips, your palms resting on his chest. You were flushed, trembling slightly, but your eyes locked on his—full of him.
“Fuck…” he whispered, voice cracking. Eyes rolling back for swift moment.
His moan deepened, breath hitching as his eyes fluttered shut, lashes brushing his cheek. “ Fuck—wait, I’m still too sensitive,” he quipped, voice rough, low—almost leaning into a whine.
His head tilted back slightly, and you saw it happen again—his eyes rolling back just like before, a flash of raw vulnerability and fierce desire mixing in that moment. His nails pressed into the skin of your hips , anchoring himself as your movements sent waves through him.
“You’re gonna, kill me,” he groaned, lips parting, chest rising and falling in uneven gasps.
Even with his eyes closed, lost in the rush, every sound and shudder told you he was utterly captivated—caught between need and surrender, and not ready to let go.
His breath hitched again as you ground your hips down against him, the heat between you building with every deliberate motion. Your hands found his neck, fingers curling just enough to feel the quick pulse beneath his skin—light, teasing pressure that made his breath stutter. His head tilted back, exposing the tense line of his throat, and you saw the flush deepen on his cheeks as his mouth parted before he bared them.
The way he looked so helpless beneath you, every shudder and moan, told you just how much he was caught in the moment—torn between wanting to give in and holding on tight. Your gaze locked on his, burning and unyielding, as you kept moving, controlling the pace, savoring the way his body trembled beneath your touch.
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novemberheart · 11 months ago
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{overview} John tightens his control. You get a reality check
{warnings} a/b/o dynamics, fem reader, cursing, this is a John-heavy chapter
Chapter 6 <- Chapter 7 -> Chapter 8
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You were thoroughly exhausted by the time you got back home. Johnny watched your sluggish form, half tempted to throw you over his shoulder.
“There you three are.” John greeted as soon as Kyle opened the door. John's eyes widened as Kyle came in with two large shopping bags. “I see you enjoyed your day out.” He raised a brow, his eyes roaming over your sleepy state.
“I had a very good day,” you spoke, beginning to take the bags from Kyle to bring them to your room.
“I got it,” he assured softly. “Dinners in a few,” he reminded. The thought of eating anything else today made your stomach hurt.
“I don't think I can eat anything else. I'd like to just stay here if it's alright with you?” you questioned as he set the bag down by your door. One of your hands came up to rub at your eyes. He smiled knowingly, nodding his head in agreement.
“I’ll bring you back a dessert.” he winked.
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You had begun to curl yourself up in bed when your phone went off.
“Hey, honey.” Kate greeted, almost hesitantly.
“Hi.” you chirped back. You could practically see her shoulders relax. “Guess who had a great day today.” you sang, pulling your covers over your head.
“Please God, be you,” she smirked on the other end.
“Ding. Ding. That would be correct.” you cheered. “Kyle and Johnny took me to the aquarium today, then out to lunch and then shopping.”
“Those are the boys I know.” she sighed- relieved. “Actually better than the boys I know. How'd you swing that?” she questioned.
“I didn't do anything. At first, I thought you said some”-
“I wouldn't do that,” she interjected.
“I know.” you soothed back. “I think maybe they felt bad about yesterday.” you reasoned.
“Well, hopefully, they keep it up. The good part, not the guilt part.”
“Fingers crossed.” you sighed. “Thanks for checking in Kate.”
“Of course, Honey. Oh and by the way you and John are going to have to stop by my office tomorrow. Paperwork and key cards. Nothing fun.” she huffed.
“Alright. See you then. Tell wifey I said ‘hi.’” you smiled, pressing the big red button.
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You awoke especially chipper that morning. Only for that to be squashed the second you realized you were the only one in the house. John had left a note on the fridge.
Morning,
Out for a morning meeting, we’ll pick you back up for breakfast. Have fun with Simon.
-John
Simon?
“Don’t scream.” a voice echoed from behind you causing you to shriek. “Fucking hell,” Simon muttered under his breath.
“What are you doing on the couch?” you gasped, wondering how you missed his imposing frame spread out.
“You need to work on your awareness.” he chided, adjusting so he was sitting up. A pained groan escaped him and you rushed over to help. He held up a hand to stop you. “Don't need babying pup.” he groaned.
“Help isn't babying Simon.” you ignored the flutter in your stomach at his nickname for you. You plopped down on the couch next to him.
“How was your date yesterday?” he questioned, his blank eyes boring into yours.
“I had fun.” you smiled widely, cuddling into the plush cushion.
“Good.” he sighed. He turned back to the TV that was on mute.
“Why are you on the couch?” you repeated. “Shouldn't you be in bed?”
“Beds shite.” he huffed. He flicked the mute button off, deciding it was the end of the conversation.
“Are you happy to be home?” you piqued up.
“Happy to be in a quiet home,” he answered.
“Message received.” you snorted, turning to watch whatever prank show he had on.
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“Honey, I'm home,” Johnny called bounding into view. He was carrying two takeout bags, handing one to Simon who eagerly began digging into it. Johnny pushed Simon's feet aside to make room for himself on the couch.
“How'd you sleep, Bon?” Johnny questioned.
“I slept good,” you replied, a little too focused on the food.
John rested a hand on the back of the couch, his other hand resting on your shoulder.
“Ready?” he hummed, nodding his head towards the door. You blushed as your stomach growled. “I'll take that as a yes,” John smirked. His large hand found a familiar spot on your back. High enough to be respectful, but low enough to send a message to those who passed.
“How was your day out?” John asked. He chose to eat next to you at the table. Considering it was just you and him, he wanted to be within arms reach of you. It was the second time you had been asked the question, but at least they cared.
“It was wonderful.” you declared, turning back to your breakfast.
“Glad to hear,” he spoke softly. John had a very natural and comforting purr to his voice. It was commanding- yet playful. Raspy - yet smooth. The baritone lull in his voice shot from your ears all the way down to your toes. You curled them in your shoes. He was a complicated man. You wondered if he would let you close enough to figure him out.
“Everything alright?” he said slowly. You had been staring at him. You shut your eyes tightly, tilting your head down towards the table.
“Yeah, sorry,” you assured quickly.
“S’alright, Sweetheart. If I've got something on my face please tell me.” he half joked.
“No. I just like the way your voice sounds.” you complimented. You know it didn't have anything to do with the way he looked, but it was an explanation- and the truth.
“That right?” the satisfaction in voice making you preen. “Well I got it from years of yelling and chain-smoking,” he explained, causing your shoulders to relax and a giggle to escape you.
“Well it suits you,” you added. The corners of his lips began to curl before his face fell. You didn't take it personally. You doubted it was professional to show a variety of emotions in the cafeteria.
“Kate has some things for us,” he spoke up after a while.
“Sounds good,” you already knew, but you were worried he would wonder why you didn't say anything.
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As soon as Kate opened the door to her office you nearly flung yourself at her, desperate to catch even the slightest hint of a familiar scent. She huffed and patted you on the back before pushing you away. You snickered and plopped down in one of the cold leather seats. John bit back a smile at your excitement and sat down next to you.
Kate's office was nice. There was almost no effort put into it since it was just a temporary one for when she needed to be in the area.
“How have you two been?” she hummed, opening one of the filing cabinets, and fishing out two hefty manila envelopes.
“Good.”
“Fine.” John and you spoke at the same time.
“Heard Simon was able to go back home.” Kate smiled, plopping down in her desk chair.
“He’s recovering quicker. Thanks to this one.” he praised, nodding his head in your direction. You still doubted your part in the process. You had spent half a day with him and you two weren't yet bonded. But the belly-up omega in your head didn't care.
“Glad to hear, keep me posted please.” she requested. “Honey, this is for you.” she handed you the thicker of the two. “Think of it like a diary. It's going to have daily and weekly questions or surveys. There's a month's worth there. After you complete it the Omega Standards Bureau will send you another one and you'll turn that one into the representative on base.” she explained.
“Okay.” you agreed. “Do all omegas have to do this?” you questioned, taking a peek inside the envelope.
“They pick and choose who they give them to. I think they chose you because you're in a smaller SAS pack. With an equal number of alphas to betas all of which are male. Also, you were picked to be in the pack by an outside member, me.” she explained.
“I’m quite the experiment aren't I.” you chuckled, glancing over at John. His eyes were trained on the envelope and you knew he was just itching to dive in there himself.
“Can I ask what type of questions.” he finally spoke up.
“From what I understand it's going to be based more on how she feels throughout the adjustment period of the pack.” Kate clarified.
“Don't worry, I won't be overly specific,” you swore. You could sense his hesitation, which you assumed could be boiled down to having things about his pack exposed. He offered you a reassuring smile.
“This one is for you John.” she passed over the envelope to him. “Hard copies of her records, medical history, and that sort of thing. Also has the Omega Committee calendar with events and things.”
The Omega Committee. You remember Kyle talking to you about that at the aquarium. It was advertised as a club that rounded up all the omegas to do activities, but in reality, it just looked like a daycare.
“There was something else I wanted to discuss with you.” John cleared his throat. Your brows furrowed your mind automatically jumping to the deep end of the paranoid pool. “How would you feel about getting chipped, honey?” John inquired.
You had heard about that before. It was usually done in large packs so alphas knew which omegas belonged to who.
“You can say no of course and I don't want to scare you but I think it would be safer given our line of work,” John explained carefully. He spent half the night discussing with Simon how to bring this topic up to you.
“What would that entail?” you asked softly.
“It’s a small incision behind your ear- wouldn’t even leave a scar. It'll have mine and Simon’s name, and phone number,” he explained. He debated on whether or not he should tell you he wants one with a tracking ability. “How would you feel about one with tracking?”
“Tracking?” you gasped a bit taken aback. “Is that really necessary?” you were beginning to grow worried. You either had very paranoid alphas or you were in more danger than you imagined.
“Not necessary,” he assured quickly. “But I strongly feel it would be a good idea. Kyle has one. We kept getting separated from him on a mission. It’s also easy to take out, should you ever want to.”
The ending made you wince. While he didn't specify you knew the implications.
“I also think it's a good idea.” Kate agreed. “Not that anything will happen, honey. But even something small like getting separated while shopping, just knowing they already know where you are would make you feel better right?”
You weren't sure if Kate had a point or not. You weren't sure if you were ready for that type of control. Then again you have been controlled your whole life. An omega’s ‘purpose’.
“Can I think about it a bit more?” you reasoned gently. John sighed not so much in anger but in disappointment.
“Course.” He responded.
“There’s one more thing.” Kate spoke, her eyes drifting over towards you. It seemed to be time for you to go swimming again. “Tomorrow’s my last day, before heading back to the states.” Your heart dropped into your stomach. What if something happened? What if you needed to leave? Who would be here to help you? She was leaving you here completely and utterly alone. “John, can we have a moment?” She asked, her eyes beginning to water from the sudden tang in the air.
“Course.” He moved quickly, his own mouth watering (not in a pleasant way) at the sourness burning his senses. At least now he knew you had a strong defense mechanism.
“I know”-
“You’re abandoning me!” You cried out cutting her off. “How could you? You said you would be on base.” You sputtered, your fingers digging into the desk.
“For your first few days, honey.” The nickname just rubbed salt in your wounds. “I’ll still be able to help you if you need it. But I believe this will be better for you.” She half- snapped.
“Better for me? How is leaving me with strangers better?” You gawked. A sudden gust of Jasmine and peppermint hit you in the face, followed by the known smell of angry alpha. It was a difficult scent to describe. It was smokey, not in a soothing way, but in an all-consuming hard to breathe way.
“You are relying on me too much. You aren't giving this your best shot because, in the back of your mind you already believe you are going to leave. Do you know what the truth is, honey? You are lucky to be here. You have been paired with a very well-established pack- who, yes, have had a few reservations about you joining, but have made no effort to get rid of you- and they aren't going to. They are just a bunch of stubborn men who don't always know what they need. You are going from the safety of an omega house to the safety of one of the most vital packs in the world. You don't have to bargain for a place to live while you wait for a hopefully kind alpha to choose you. I love you like you are a part of my pack, honey, but I really need you to see how fortunate you are.” She was pleading with you now. The smoke from the air was gone, as were the bitter lemons. You slumped in your seat, your head resting in your hands.
“I’m sorry Kate.” you apologized softly. “I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. I guess I just didn't realize”- you trailed off. There were a lot of things you hadn't realized. How important this pack truly was. How highly Kate thought of them. How significant your role in this pack would be. Along with even more respect for Kate, a feeling began to arise in your chest. A tangled web of stress, relief, and most importantly a nauseating wave of hope. You had the chance most omegas could only dream about.
Be the backbone of a strong pack.
And you finally felt ready for the challenge.
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Another chapter is done and gone! The next chapter will be posted tomorrow because it's a short one! See you then! 🧡
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heich0e · 2 years ago
Text
suna's parents divorced when he was eight.
he doesn't remember a lot of the finer details as he's gotten older, mostly just that there used to be a lot of yelling, but he does remember the two piles of belongings that stacked up in the empty living room of his childhood home: one consisting of his father's and his own, and the other comprised of his mother's and his little sister's. their entire life, their entire family, packed up into cardboard and then divided down the middle.
the apartment he moved into with his father was always too quiet. it was in aichi, far enough away from where he spent the first decade of his life that he didn't have to be reminded of it every time he left the house, but since his father worked so much it still left him with plenty of time to think. to grieve. though maybe he didn't recognize it as that at the time. he played video games his father bought for him after school. ate convenience store bentos or whatever leftovers were set aside for him in the fridge for dinner. he put himself to bed at night. it wasn't a bad life, though maybe a bit lonely.
he was scouted to play for inarizaki when he was 14.
the lonely apartment turned into a lively dorm. he had new friends (his teammates) to play video games with. his convenience store bentos were replaced with hot meals from the meal hall. the loneliness of the apartment in aichi was a distant memory, but still lingered.
"i'm home."
rintarou drops his training bag in the genkan as he toes off his shoes, calling into the apartment to announce his return.
"welcome home!" you call back from further in the apartment, and the sound makes him smirk a little to himself.
you've been coming over to his place a lot lately, ever since he gave you his spare key. he's not upset about this in the slightest, but it doesn't mean he won't take every possible opportunity to tease you for it. he plans how he's going to make fun of you as he pads into his home towards the sound of your voice. he almost has it all planned out—his delivery on the very tip of his tongue—when he falters to a stop.
"how was your day?" you ask him without looking up from what you're doing.
and suddenly, anything rintarou may have wanted to say—joke or otherwise—is beyond him.
he watches as you set a plate of food down on the already full table just off his little kitchen. the food that covers the surface is still hot enough that steam curls up into the air above it, its preparation perfectly timed to his arrival home. his apartment is warm, and smells good, and there's music playing from your cellphone on the other side of the room that you must have been listening to while you cooked.
his chest feels tight.
you turn to look at him when he doesn't respond to your question.
"rin?" you ask again, a lilt of worry in your tone. "you okay?"
"what's all this?" he manages to ask, nodding towards the table where the meal you prepared is still waiting.
"oh, i've been craving my mom's recipe for the past few days, i just thought i'd make it for dinner," you say, tugging at your fingers nervously. your entire countenance is a bit different now, strained like you're worried you've done something wrong. "hope that's okay?" your words lift at the end like a question.
rintarou's never seen so much food on his table. can't remember the last time he even sat there to eat a meal—let alone a home cooked one. his face feels hot, and his eyes sting, and he just can't bring himself to look at you.
"yeah," he says, and if you notice how his voice is a bit croaky, you're nice enough not to tease him about it. "'course it's okay."
you smile, and you look relieved. "wash your hands then, it's getting cold."
you eat your dinner together and talk about your days. you take a shower while he cleans up the dishes. you fall asleep tangled up together on the couch with a movie playing in the background.
his home isn't quiet anymore. he isn't lonely.
and it's thanks to you.
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gojomamashouse · 2 years ago
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Taking Care of You
Pairing: Mike Schmidt x babysitter!reader
Warnings: unprotected sex, oral sex (M receiving), breeding kink, praise kink, Fem!reader. Very minor mentions of injury & blood.
Description: He had never considered himself too fond of domestic life until you came into his house and made it feel like home.
A/N: crossposted on my Ao3 and Tumblr.
3.7k words
18+ content! Minors and ageless blogs dni!
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You remember the first time you came over to babysit for Mike all too clearly. You remember the way your eyes went wide when the door opened, and how your jaw nearly dropped to the floor. More importantly, you remember thinking that Mike Schmidt was far too hot for his own good, a clear image in your mind of how he had greeted you with tired eyes, messy hair, and a hand gripping the doorframe.
"Mr. Schmidt," you had blurted, ignorant to how his nose scrunched at the words leaving your mouth, "It's nice to—"
"Don't tell me I look that old?" His tired expression tried a smile, and you found yourself standing there, unable to formulate a proper response as you were already convinced you messed up the job before you even started. "Just Mike is fine.”
Back then, the only thing you knew about him was that he was hot, overworked, and clearly exhausted. So you did your best to make his life easier, even if those things were small, like cleaning all the dishes before he came home, tidying up all the clutter left behind on the table and kitchen counter. It wasn’t much, but you figured he could use whatever help he could get. He came home the first night, too tired to even notice before collapsing on the couch. Suppressing a giggle, you threw a blanket over his sleeping form, lingering a moment longer than you should have just to observe his face. Even in his sleep, you weren’t sure you could find even an ounce of peace in his expression.
Mike remembers the first week of your babysitting, when he returned home at some ungodly hour that Friday. While most babysitters in the past opted to lay on the couch, sleeping or watching TV, he had discovered that you preferred to be a bit more proactive. That night, in particular, he recalled your humming in the kitchen, rinsing the dishes before placing them in the dishwasher.
A strange feeling filled his chest at the sight, the smell of dinner still lingering and the radio playing some old song from his childhood. It was a feeling he shouldn't have been feeling towards the babysitter looking after his little sister. You had jumped when the floorboard creaked beneath himself shifting weight, still shy and jittery around him at the time.
“I didn’t see you come in,” your voice is still shaken from the scare. You turned to the oven, “Oh! I kept the food warm, in case you wanted some. Are you hungry?”
“No, no, I’m fine,” he said, blinking a bit to shake the thoughts from his head, “Ah, you don’t have to do all this, you know. The cooking and cleaning stuff.”
“I don’t mind. It’s not like I have anything else to do,” you returned your gaze to the dishes in the sink, “Besides, you work hard. It’s the least I can do. Just let me take care of it.”
Just let me take care of it.
A phrase he hadn’t yet forgotten, either. When was the last time anyone had taken care of anything for him? He’d taken on the role of being Abby’s caretaker the moment his parents were out of the picture. He had made countless sacrifices, dropping out of school to work full-time, losing his social life. His old friends preferring to go out partying rather than hang out with the guy who has a kid sister and a full-time job. Every day was work, only to mess up at work. Then go home, stress over a dirty home. Drive Abby to school, stress over her education and development.
He didn’t have it within himself to deny you, not when you were so kind and helpful. Even if the guilt ate away at him, reminding him how he couldn’t even afford to pay you close to what you deserved.
His eyes wandered to an image on the counter. There was himself, a familiar stickman with brown hair. There was Abby, of course, given the height difference. And then there was another figure, the hair undeniably similar to yours. All three figures were holding hands together inside a square home.
“What’s this?” He picked it up.
“Abby told me it’s us,” you had laughed, placing a dish in the dishwasher. “Cute, right?”
There was a thumping in his chest as he looked at you, before looking back down at the paper. All he could manage was a smile as he pinned it to the fridge.
You soon felt his presence at your side, his hand picking up another dish while you rinsed yours.
“Let me help with that,” he said.
You’ve fallen into a routine. Every day, when he returns home, he is met with the same thing. You, in the kitchen, humming. You, greeting him with a smile. You, sitting down to eat with him. You, always asking him about his day even though you know by now that he has nothing interesting to say. He prefers to hear you talk instead, to listen to you ramble about your shitty college professors and annoying roommates. He likes it like this. To be able to pretend that he’s not some deadbeat who can’t hold down a job to save his life or some traumatized freak haunted by the memories of his dead brother and parents. With you, he gets to pretend like he’s normal.
But, of course, just because he can pretend things are normal, doesn’t mean they are. Reality soon hits him when he’s sitting in his boss’s office, asking Mike for his badge and ID. It hits him when he’s driving home, remembering how he beat an innocent man, his knuckles still bloody as he grips the steering wheel tight. He walks through the front door, hearing you greet him from the kitchen, a sound that would have been music to his ears any other day.
“Mike?”
He doesn’t have the energy to reply. No, all he can do is walk over to the chair in the living room, sinking into it with a sigh. He loosens his tie and closes his eyes, trying to ignore the sound of dishes clattering in the sink followed by your footsteps against the hardwood floor.
“Hey, you okay?” Your voice is soft and gentle. His eyes shoot open when he feels your even softer touch against his forehead, laying the back of your palm flat. “You’re not sick, are you?”
In all the time you’ve been babysitting, neither of you had done so much as touch each other at all. The few times he could remember was how your fingers brushed when you reached for the same dish in the sink or the innocent hand you placed on his shoulder that one time you laughed so hard you couldn’t hold yourself up. He had always made sure to keep his hands firmly placed in his pockets or at his side. Now, you were touching his face, and he thinks that’s the first time anyone has touched him like that in years.
“Don’t worry about me.” He pleads, his body betraying his words when he leans into your touch, your hand drifting to caress his cheek, “You don’t have to.”
You ignore him, and your eyes scan over his form, before landing on his bloodied knuckles. A gasp escapes you, followed by the scolding of his name. He hears you stumble towards the bathroom, rummaging through whatever you can find and returning with a washcloth and disinfectant. You kneel beside him, cleaning the dried blood from his wounds and he winced from the sting of the alcohol.
“I know I don’t have to,” you finally break the silence. “I worry because I care.”
“Why?”
You avert your gaze.
“I just do.”
“That’s not a good enough answer.” He presses. There’s another pause.
“Because this feels like home.”
The answer is enough to render both of you silent, you out of humiliation, and him out of shock because he hadn’t realized you thought the same way.
You finish wiping the last bit of dried blood from his knuckles and there’s a lingering feeling left on his skin, where your fingers held his hands. Soft. Familiar. You’re still kneeling in front of him, but you’re wearing an expression he hadn’t seen since the first week he met you. It’s that look of shyness, the way you used to squirm under his gaze or shrink your presence out of fear of overstepping a boundary.
“Mike?”
“Yeah?
“Let me take care of you. Please?”
He knows it’s wrong. He knows that “messing around with the babysitter” has never been a good idea in the history of ever, but when he sees you gazing up at him like that, sitting on your knees between his legs, your eyes wide like that. Well, what the fuck else is he supposed to do?
The chair isn’t too high from the floor, so he easily finds himself at somewhat your level when he leans forward, his hand lifting your chin to look him in the eye. He pauses, analyzing your face just for a moment. Your lips are parted, so prettily, and your eyes are filled with a look of lust and desperation.
“Please,” you repeat, this time in a whisper.
Any semblance of self-restraint he had before was all lost the moment his lips met yours. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he was until he got a taste, a groan escaping his throat when he feels your tongue in his mouth. And you, you are so pliant. So eager to please. Still timid, hands hesitant as they rested on his knees, but so willing to let him handle you however he pleases, moaning when he tugs on your hair, whimpering when his hands grope your chest through your shirt.
“Quiet,” he mutters between kisses. You feel him pull away, the ghost of his lips at your ear, “we gotta be quiet, yeah?”
You nod, and he kisses your forehead, a tender change from his rough kisses shared only moments prior. He looks down at you, a flustered mess, but knows he must look the same. He couldn’t even remember the last time he let himself indulge like this. He feels your hand slither up his thigh, fumbling with his belt, groaning when you feel him through his jeans.
“You’ve had a long day, haven’t you?” You ask, looking up at him through your lashes as your hand dips into his boxers.
“You have no idea,” he says, his hand caressing the side of your face, making circles with his thumb against your cheek. He can feel your skin heat up under his touch. Your hand wraps around his hardening cock, and he has to stop himself from bucking into you. You’re just so gentle and sweet and he knows you’d let him take his frustration out but he just cannot allow himself to do that just yet— not without a little guilt.
“Then talk to me.”
“Got, ah, fired,” he chokes out, feeling your thumb swipe over his tip, gathering his pre-cum and helping you stroke up and down with more ease. “Was my fault, too.”
“You started a fight, didn’t you?”
“Something like that.”
He looks down at you, his cock now fully hard in your hand. He can’t hold but admire the sight, how you hungrily stare at him, or how you press your thighs together to relieve yourself of your own desires. He feels his breathing become heavier with each passing stroke of your hand on his dick, and he forces himself to look away, his hand that had previously been caressing the side of your head now digging his fingers into the back of your scalp.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do now,” he leans his head back, in an attempt to stop himself from busting in your hand before you’ve even done anything. He swears he’s not usually this sensitive, but the fact that it’s been so long, and the fact that it’s you, had him feeling like he was a teenager getting his first handjob all over again. He tries not to think about it. “I’m already behind on bills. I don’t think I can even pay you. Probably won’t even get another fucking job after what I did.”
“You don’t need to pay me.”
“You’ve got to stop saying shit like that,” he shakes his head, almost in disbelief. He looks down at you again, and you’re pressing your lips to kiss the underside of his dick, then kissing his tip. He shudders. “You’re too good for this. For me.”
He’s about to continue, but your lips wrap around him and he can’t think of anything. Curse words slip from his lips, feeling your tongue work around him, your hot mouth taking him. He still has his hand on the back of your head, tempting him to force your head down, but he’s more curious about whether you’d try to take him all yourself— which you do. He feels your throat contract around him as you try to push yourself down his cock, determined to take it all. Sometimes, you really were that predictable. Sure, you were a timid little thing, but you were equally if not more stubborn. He grips the back of your head to pull you off, a cough rising to your throat as you catch your breath and he smiles lazily.
Your quick to take him back in your mouth, and he cherishes the feeling of his cock hitting the back of your throat, and your hands that reached for the base of him to stroke whatever you couldn’t take. He gives an experimental thrust and he’s in bliss when he hears you moan around him. And as much as he wishes he could do this forever, watching you take him in your mouth, he knows his own limits and he knows he won’t last any longer. Besides, he’s neglected your needs for far too long.
He pulls you off of his cock finally, tears stinging the corners of your eyes, your lips puffy from their earlier actions. Then, he’s lifting you to the couch, hovering over your form as your back hits the cushions. Mike is thankful that you chose to wear a skirt tonight because with your legs spread like this, he gets a full view of your white cotton underwear, as well as the wet patch your arousal has created. He brings his hand down between your legs, feeling you through the fabric. He can hear your breath hitch and he watches you bite down on your lower lip to suppress your noises. And as much as he wants to tell you not to, he is reminded by the fact that you are both doing this in the living room, and the last thing he wants to do is traumatize his little sister, who is sleeping a few doors down the hallway.
“Didn’t know you wanted me this bad,” he whispers, finally slipping his hand past the fabric barrier to gather your slick at his fingers and rub your clit with his thumb, his other fingers prodding at your hole but not yet entering.
“Wanted you for so long,” you admit, sucking in a breath when you feel his thumb circle around your clit again. “You’re really fucking hot.”
“Yeah?”
Two of his fingers finally sink into you and you’re gripping the fabric of his uniform at his shoulders. Rough, long and so much bigger than your own— you have to grit your teeth even harder to stop any sinful noises from escaping you.
“Always thought you were real pretty, too.” He continues, “You’re prettier right now, though.”
He continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, the wet sounds making you burn up in embarrassment. He’s obsessed with the way your eyes roll back, how your pretty lashes flutter open and closed, and how your hips buck to meet his rhythm.
“More, please,” you finally let out, your eyes going down to his cock, which was still very much hard. “Need you inside.”
You whimper at the emptiness you feel when his fingers leave, but quickly forget about it the moment your panties are removed and you feel his cock rub against your cunt, the tip resting at your entrance. You expect to feel him push in, only to see that he has paused.
“I don’t have any condoms,” he says, a pained look on his face. He had no reason to keep any around any more, not since providing for Abby had become his number one priority. He mentally kicked himself for it now.
“Mike,” you whine, trying to roll your hips up, but his hands remained firm against you, keeping you down. “I don’t care. Just pull out or something.”
You feel like a pathetic idiot for saying it, and he feels even more of one for considering it at all. All he can manage is a sigh. He’d already crossed so many lines tonight that he shouldn’t have. What difference would crossing one more be?
He hesitates before pushing in, but once he feels your tight walls around the head of his dick he can’t find it within himself to have any regrets. You’re so tight and warm and wet and he loves the way you stretch around him, gasping with every inch he gives you. He pauses when he’s buried at the hilt, mentally trying to cool himself down because the fact that he’s fucking you raw and you’re taking him so well is driving him mad.
“So good,” he coos, his hand on your face, thumb on your lower lip, “so fucking good.”
He pulls away until he’s nearly out again before thrusting into you fully, and he has to slam his hand over your mouth to stop the moan that would have escaped you. He continues to fuck you like this, slowly, and deeply, before it’s not enough, and he finds himself taking you faster, harder, wanting to see how much you were willing to take.
You feel every inch of him inside you, and you can’t help but clench around him every time the tip of his cock hits the spot inside you that you can’t reach with your own fingers. You feel so full and it’s everything and more that you’ve needed for so long.
He pushes up your shirt, revealing your cleavage. Your breasts are still covered by your bra, but he pinches your nipples through the lacy fabric anyway, content when he hears you make a sound, muffled by his other hand which remains on your mouth.
He can tell you’re close from the telltale sign of your pussy clenching harder, and how you start to freeze up, too fucked out to do anything else. He, too, starts to feel himself approaching his limit but knows he has to hold out long enough to let you reach your high first. He finally removes his hand from your mouth and uses it to rub your clit.
“Such a good girl,” he breathes.
“I’ll always be good for you,” you keep your voice a whisper, “Always waiting for you when you come home.”
Your words ignite a desire within him he never realizes he had. He had never considered himself too fond of domestic life until you came into his house and made it feel like home. Now, as he’s fucking you, the only thing he can think about is how deeply he wants to cum inside you, over and over again until he gives you another kid to take care of. He doesn’t care if he can’t afford it. He’ll pick up as many jobs as he can get just to take care of you.
He feels your back arch and your walls clench around him, immediately going to kiss you to swallow your cries. He ruts into you, over and over again and though there’s a sinful voice in the back of his head telling him to fill you up until he’s dripping out of you, he knows he should stay true to his promise to pull out. That is, until you tell him otherwise.
“You can do it inside,” you choke out, still fucked out from your orgasm, “I don’t mind—“
Before you can finish your sentence his hips come to a stop and he’s finishing inside you, as deep as he possibly can, as if to not waste a single drop. When he finally pulls out, he can’t help but watch in awe as his seed drips from your cunt down to your ass, ruining the couch cushions beneath you both. He tries not the think about the consequences that will bring. Instead, he’s pulling you close, catching his breath while laying his head against your stomach. Moments later, he feels your hand running your fingers through his hair and he sighs, leaning into your warmth.
“I don’t want you to be Abby’s babysitter anymore,” he starts, his voice hoarse and worn out. He can feel you tense up when he says it, before immediately continuing, “I want you to be my girlfriend.”
He hears you laugh.
“Does that mean I won’t get paid anymore?”
“I’ll repay you in other ways,” he flashes you a suggestive smile, earning him a snort and a flick on his forehead. Still, the guilt gnaws at him from within. “Seriously, though. I will. I’ll take care of you, too.”
He doesn’t care what job he picks up next. He’ll take any job in the world, so long as it means he can provide for you and Abby.
You wake up the next morning, the scent of pinewood and campfire surrounding you. You don’t remember exactly how, but you remember, after being fucked mercilessly, being carried to his room, cleaned up, and falling asleep in Mike’s bed. Now, you find the place next to you empty but can observe Mike standing at the door, speaking in a hushed voice while holding back the door.
You stand on shaky legs, still wobbly from your earlier affairs, approaching the argument.
“Abby, go away!”
“No! Let me—“
“What’s all this?” You interject.
Mike loses his grip on the door and Abby opens it wide. Her arms are crossed, adorning a frown while Mike is bringing his hands to his face.
“Abby, I can explain—“
“Why didn’t you tell me you guys were having a sleepover?” She fumes, “We could have built a pillow fort!”
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