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collaredsoldat · 3 months ago

Text

Condition.

summary: Soldat refuses to sit down, you notice he's in pain.

a/n: I saw someone caught one of the things I wrote earlier in hcs and I knew at some point I was going to delve deeper into it. So that's the push I needed. This one is potentially triggering thus no tags have been added to this post. Unedited; I have so may wips rn, I will check for mistakes later. ;; wc: 4.4k

You weren't too sure what the problem was.

Soldat didn't like to sit down. You thought maybe it was because he felt like he had to be on guard at all times, fresh out of HYDRA and paranoid the agents would somehow find his whereabouts, then forcibly break down your door and tear him away from your apartment that he deemed safe enough.

You noticed a pattern in Soldat's actions whenever he did reluctantly lower himself into a seated position. With each attempt, you saw a subtle but unmistakable wince or a barely audible hiss escaping through his clenched teeth, betraying his discomfort. These seated interludes were invariably brief, lasting a few seconds before he would abruptly rise to his feet once more.

The simple act of lowering himself onto a chair seemed to require an immense effort, though he tried desperately to conceal his discomfort behind a façade of indifference. The careful dance of pain that displayed anytime he attempted to lower himself down on the ground, or apply any pressure at all to his backside, shot up his spine and made him think twice.

On occasion, you noticed him favoring one side of his body as he sat, shifting his weight in what appeared to be an attempt to alleviate some hidden source of pain. But, more often than not, Soldat opted to forgo sitting entirely, preferring to maintain a standing posture that allowed for a quick reaction to any perceived threat.

It had only been a few days.

He maintained his resolute silence, stubbornly refusing to utter a single word. The only exception had been a barely audible thank you in Russian after you had carefully and gently bathed him. His demeanor remained guarded and defensive, occasionally punctuated by sharp, guttural exclamations of 'Нет' whenever you approached too closely. His words were replaced by growling and baring his teeth as if that were somehow off putting enough. He reacted as though you posed an imminent threat, despite your efforts to appear non-threatening and helpful.

You couldn’t really blame him, at the end of the day. His body bore the signs of telltale abuse and mistreatment for god knows how long.

As the days slowly passed, you grew increasingly concerned about his deteriorating condition. The pain etched across his features seemed to intensify with each passing hour, and you really wanted to confront him about his condition. He stayed in the spare room, his weary frame silhouetted against the window and sheer curtains guarding the glass. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion but remained vigilant, constantly scanning the darkened streets below.

Sleep had become a luxury he could ill afford, severe conditioning and sleep deprivation made it almost impossible for him to fall asleep naturally unless he completely collapsed from exhaustion. His paranoia and discomfort didn’t help his need to rest. The toll of his sleepless nights was clearly visible in the dark circles under his eyes and the slight tremor in his hand as he maintained his ceaseless vigil.

"Soldat..." You spoke gently, not wanting to startle him. Despite your cautious approach, your tone didn't have the desired effect. He still flinched visibly when you called his name, his body tensing as if bracing for impact. He turned to face you, his movements stiff and guarded, his eyes wary as the soldier watched you.

"It's okay, I just came to see you," you reassured him, your voice soft and soothing. You paused for a brief moment, allowing your words to sink in, before continuing with soft concern, "Are you doing okay? Are you in any pain?" As you spoke, you took a tentative step into the room, slow and deliberate to avoid frightening him further.

Soldat's reaction was immediate and instinctive to your step. He took one step back in response to your advance, his body language screaming discomfort and distrust. However, his retreat was cut short as his shoulder made contact with the cold, unyielding surface of the wall behind him. The realization that he had nowhere left to go flashed across his face, a fleeting expression of panic quickly masked by a forced blank stare. He stood there, cornered and tense, like a wounded animal trapped with no escape route.

You knew better than to approach too quickly. Experience had taught you that if he felt cornered or threatened in any way, he'd lash out instinctively. Although he hadn't physically harmed you before, you were aware of his potential to do so. He was a goddamn super soldier, and you were just a civilian. He could snap your neck with one arm. The tension in the air grew and you could sense his unease increasing with each passing moment.

"It's okay, I promise..." You slowly raised your hands, palms outward, trying to placate him. You were very cautious with your actions, designed to show him that you harbored no ill intent. You maybe hoped he’d recognize you were harmless, but understood why he still felt wariness in himself. You remained rooted to the spot where you stood, consciously avoiding any sudden movements that might startle him or exacerbate the fear you had inadvertently stirred. "I just want to see how you're handling yourself... you seem to be in pain, and I want to help. That's all I'm here for, nothing more."

You paused, carefully observing his body language. His already stiff posture became increasingly rigid as he pressed his back firmly against the wall. It was as if he was trying to conceal something from your view or instinctively protect an injury. His wince was unmistakable even in the dark room, as clear as a beacon in the night. Your ears picked up the sharp, hissing intake of breath when he inadvertently applied too much pressure to his backside. The sound was a clear indicator of his discomfort, and it only reinforced your concern.

"Please...Soldat, let me have a look at you?" You whispered softly, your voice barely audible in the tense atmosphere. Your heart ached with the desire to ease his suffering, to offer a gentle touch that might soothe his pain or provide the comfort he had been robbed from. You yearned for his trust, to create a haven where he could lower his defenses and find solace in your presence instead of constantly feeling so anxious and alone.

The air between you grew thick with anticipation, punctuated only by the shallow, measured breaths you both took. In the depths of his eyes, you could see the internal struggle unfolding—a battle between ingrained wariness and the desperate need and hope for comfort. Time seemed to stretch as he weighed his options, his body still rigid with uncertainty. Finally, after several long minutes, a subtle shift occurred in his demeanor.

Slowly, he began to peel himself away from the wall that had been his refuge. His body language was tinged with nervousness, his gaze never left you as he inched forward, scrutinizing your every breath, every twitch, as if anticipating a sudden betrayal. The distance between you diminished gradually until he came to a halt by the edge of the bed, his posture still coiled with tension, ready to retreat at the slightest provocation.

"There we are...good job," you offered gentle words of encouragement, mirroring the approach you had taken during his bathing session. The positive reinforcement had proven effective then, so you decided to employ the same strategy in this situation. "I can see you're in pain. Could you point to where it hurts?" You inquired softly, fully aware that he might not respond verbally given his usual restraint from speaking.

For a brief period, he remained completely still, his body language giving no indication of his thoughts. Then he shifted his posture, turning in such a way that his back was now fully exposed to your view. However, without the aid of words, the gesture alone didn't provide much clarity. The area of discomfort could be anywhere along his spine or surrounding muscles. "Is it your back that's causing you pain?" You asked, hoping for a more specific response.

He shook his head slightly, a subtle movement that nonetheless clearly conveyed a negative answer.

"Okay…is it your legs that are hurting?" You ventured, this query elicited a slight shrug from him, a gesture that hinted at possible agreement but still left room for uncertainty. You found yourself at a loss, unsure of how to proceed or phrase your next question in a way that would yield more precise information. After a moment's hesitation, you decided to be more direct in your approach, hoping it wasn't what you thought, but part of you knew deep down that it probably was. "You don't sit down very often. Is there some discomfort in your bottom?"

He almost made a scoff, his brow furrowing slightly at the unfamiliar sound. The concept of shyness was foreign to him, it contrasted to the harsh commands he was accustomed to hearing, vulgarity being barked at him about his body and how he looked. Soldat's eyes, initially narrowing with a hint of suspicion, quickly softened as he processed your tone. His gaze met yours, and he offered a gentle yet subtle nod. You noticed a flicker of discomfort cross his features, leaving you puzzled about the source of his pain. Hesitantly, you spoke again, "Can I see?"

He bristled instantly, a cocktail of emotions surging through him. Vulnerability and aggression warred within, his muscles tensing as if preparing for a fight. He had to remind himself that this was you standing before him, not them - not the towering figures from his past. You weren't one of the men who had loomed over him, using their size to intimidate and control. You weren't here to pin him down or force his compliance. Instead, you were asking for permission. The concept was so foreign, so at odds with everything he knew, that it almost felt like a trap. The idea that he might have any sort of autonomy, any say in what happened to his own body was terrifying.

Your simple act of requesting permission sent his mind reeling. It stirred up a maelstrom of conflicting instincts within him. Part of him yearned to seize this newfound agency, to exert control over his own choices. Yet another part, deeply ingrained and conditioned by years of abuse, screamed at him to flee. The mere possibility of having a choice was so overwhelming that it almost made him want to turn tail and run, to retreat to the familiar confines of obedience and subservience.

After a moment of internal struggle, he made a decision. He shifted closer to you.

His body language was a mix of caution and tentative trust as he allowed you to examine him. He was clad in the clothes you had provided, a simple black tank top and a pair of comfortable sweatpants. It wasn’t much, by any standards, but when he arrived at your home you had no men’s clothes at all. You hastily had to buy him an outfit of some kind. At least these clothes were stretchy, he hadn’t even told you his size.

His old uniform had been in a state of utter disrepair - torn, filthy, and reeking of neglect. You recalled the arduous process of attempting to salvage it, for whatever reason. The washing machine had groaned and protested, nearly breaking down after a single cycle as it battled against the ingrained grime and wear.

You delicately hooked your fingers into the elastic waistband of his sweatpants, slowly and cautiously tugging them down his thighs. This was different from when you had bathed him earlier; at that time, you hadn't been able to get a proper look at his condition. The warm water from the bath had caused his skin to flush, making any injuries blend seamlessly with the reddened areas. You hadn’t really looked at his lower areas either, your primary concern then had been to cleanse him thoroughly, rather than to scrutinize his body for signs of harm.

As the sweatpants descended to his knees, your eyes widened in shock, taking in the full extent of the damage. Angry welts and livid red lashes crisscrossed the backs of his thighs, creating a horrifying tapestry of abuse. The marks were severely inflamed, with some sporting small, beaded clots of blood that were desperately trying to peek through the swollen skin in an attempt to heal the split flesh. The pattern and severity of the injuries suggested that he had been repeatedly struck with a stick or a similar rigid object, each blow leaving its cruel imprint on his tender skin.

Your gaze followed the trail of lashes as they disappeared beneath the hem of his boxers, leading you to the realization that his buttocks likely bore the brunt of this vicious assault, explaining his evident discomfort and aversion to applying any sort of pressure to that area.

Steeling yourself for what you might find, you reached up to carefully peel down his boxers. As you did so, you offered him words of gentle reassurance, trying to comfort him since this was an extremely vulnerable position. "I'm just gonna take a look, okay?" you murmured soothingly as you slowly shimmied the underwear down to join the sweatpants at his knees, careful not to irritate his welts. Your suspicions were confirmed as the fabric fell away, revealing the full extent of the damage.

His buttocks were covered in a dense network of welts and bruises, the marks here even more numerous and severe than those on his thighs. Bruising painted his backside in various shades of purple, blue, and black, with the deepest bruises appearing almost pitch against his pale skin. The sight was enough to make your stomach churn, a mix of sympathy and anger rising within you at the thought of the pain he must be enduring.

Your gaze was drawn to the sight of dried blood on his inner thighs, your brow furrowing as you looked at the obvious bleeding that had been occurring. Without thinking, you instinctively reached out to get a closer look at the area, wondering if there was an open wound he had been concealing. You didn’t want him to have an infection, especially in that tender spot. Your hand gently caressed his cheek, gently trying to spread him to look.

Soldat's reaction to your sudden touch was immediate and he turned away from you, his movements awkward and uncoordinated due to his pants still being bunched around his knees. His eyes were wide with fear and anger, locked onto you as he glared fiercely.

"Не трогай меня!" He snapped, his voice sharp and filled with warning. The Russian words hung in the air between you as he stood rigidly, facing you with a defensive posture.

For a second, you were sure he was going to lash out at you physically with the way he postured up. But you realized that beneath the aggressive front he was putting on, fear was the dominant emotion. He continued to back away from you, his movements jerky and uncoordinated because of the way his pants were around his legs.

As he backed away, his knees collided with the edge of the mattress behind him. The impact caused him to lose balance, and he fell awkwardly into a seated position on the bed. The moment he made contact with the mattress, a sharp, pained sound escaped his lips, wincing as his face contorting in a grimace that showed the intense discomfort he felt from sitting. The force of his body weight had him sit harder than normal, the collision with the bed felt like he had fallen on his ass on the floor.

Almost as quickly as he sat, he struggled to his feet once more. His leg muscles flexed as he jerked himself upward, the sudden movement seemed to intensify his pain and you could see his knees trembling, threatening to give way beneath him. The agony that shot through his body was evident in every line of his face and every quiver of his muscles. He reached out and gripped the edge of the bed, trying to keep himself upright and not fall down to his knees.

Your heart ached seeing him so scared and hurt, especially in this sick way. You took a step forward, your hand held out as you cooed at him. "Soldat, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have touched without telling you. But you're bleeding, I just wanted to see where it was coming from, that's all." You attempted to explain your innocent reasoning, but he felt so much anxiety at the moment, he didn't trust you to just look. Those wild eyes made contact with yours, a look that told you to back off.

So you did. You didn't want to freak him out any more than he was right now.

His trembling legs felt uncontrollable, finally betraying him as he slowly collapsed to the floor, crumbling like a wilting flower. He surrendered to the soft embrace of the plush carpet beneath him, settling down on his side. He carefully curled into a tight ball, desperately trying to ignore the searing, relentless pain that radiated from his ass. The intensity of the sensation was overwhelming now that he had stimulated the pain by his accidental sit, causing him to retreat further into himself. It didn't help that memories were flooding his vision, he just saw boots surrounding him and vicious words being spat at him.

You observed his distress from a distance, recognizing the need for space in this. You made the decision to quietly exit the room, allowing him the solitude he seemed to desperately cling to. Attempting to intervene or offer comfort at this time would likely prove counterproductive, pushing too hard or too soon would only serve to exacerbate the situation, potentially causing him to withdraw even further. You wanted him to trust you so badly, but that meant patience was your best friend, and you required it for this delicate situation.

From what you had seen, your mind wandered to possible causes. You knew of the beating and relentless torture he faced, for whatever reason the idea of sexual assault hadn't crossed your mind until now. However...the blood trickling down his inner thigh felt like a slap in the face at your ignorance.

Of course they would do that. HYDRA was full of sick degenerates that were hungry for taboo and inhumane activities. The men in charge got away with everything, and being an asset in HYDRA was less than being a pet, a mere toy for pleasure and consumption. Soldat was basically just a doll for them to puppet around and fuck with.

After several long minutes had passed, you made your way back to the room. Soldat was still curled up tightly on the floor, his arms wrapped protectively around his face and his knees drawn up close to his chest. The poor soldier looked so pitiful as he curled into a small ball like that, as if he were shielding himself from an impending threat. Your heart ached at the sight, deep-seated fear must have driven him to such a defensive position.

You approached him.

Your feet moved silently across the plush carpet of the room, each step measured and deliberate so as not to startle him. As you drew closer, you lowered yourself to the ground, settling a few feet away from his huddled form. You wanted to be near enough to offer comfort, but far enough to give him the space he clearly needed.

"Soldat..." Your voice was barely above a whisper, soft and soothing to keep his frayed nerves calm. "Do you want me to help you clean up? I promise, I won't do anything you're not comfortable with. I'm not... I'm nothing like those bastards who hurt you." The last words came out with a hint of venom, your disgust for those who had mistreated him evident in your tone.

There was a moment of tense silence before Soldat eventually responded. He hesitantly lifted his head, the sight of his face made your heart clench. His face was flushed a deep red with random blotches, his eyes were glossier than you had ever seen them, brimming with unshed tears. The vulnerability in his gaze was almost unbearable to look at, making your chest feel tighter with each breath. You watched as he visibly swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing with the motion. His head inclined ever so slightly in what you interpreted as a nod of agreement.

Encouraged by his response, you continued in the same gentle tone, "I promise you, it'll help those welts feel better. Bit of cool water and some ointment will soothe the pain and help the inflammation." You paused, talking as if you were speaking to a frightened animal or scared child. "And I really need to make sure you don't have any tears or excessive bleeding down there. That could lead to infections or other bad things that will require more serious care, and I don't want your condition to worsen. I swear I'll be as gentle as possible."

A beat.

Then two.

Then three.

Soldat gave you another slow nod, just enough for you to notice his compliance. "I'm going to go grab some things, I'll be right back." You went to the bathroom where you kept a first aid kit, not really sure what you needed, but it contained some gels and ointments that you knew would at least soothe the swelling skin.

You carefully settled yourself beside him and reached for a bottle of soothing ointment, it was typically used for burns but equally effective for welts. The cool, smooth glass of the bottle felt reassuring in your palm as you unscrewed the cap. You squeezed a generous amount onto your fingertips, the translucent gel glistening and cooling your fingers already.

You lowered your hand to his ass, your fingers ghosting over his skin before making full contact. You tenderly began to spread the healing substance over one of his cheeks, ensuring every affected area was covered. You made sure not to press too hard, and to get it down his thighs too.

At the initial contact, his body tensed involuntarily. The sudden coolness of the gel against his heated skin elicited a sharp intake of breath, followed by a long, shuddering exhale. His mind reeled, struggling to process this new sensation. He never experienced the soothing balm of pain relief; it was an alien concept to him.

Throughout his time in HYDRA, he had been conditioned to endure, to bear the full brunt of every punishment, every ache, every sting. The mantra that had been drilled into him echoed in his mind: pain was the sculptor of his being, the unyielding order he was meant to follow. It was through suffering, they said, that he would be molded into their ideal.

And so, he had taken it all - every lash, every blow, every tormenting penetration they forced onto him. The pain had been relentless, a constant companion that he had learned to expect and accept, no matter how intense or unbearable it became.

But right now, things were different. For the first time in decades, the familiar sting of pain was gradually being replaced by a soothing coolness that spread across his skin. The sensation was so different, of relief, of comfort, of care. The contrast between what he had always known and what he was now feeling was stark and overwhelming, almost triggering him to react and wipe it away, to feel that horrible pain once again. He at least knew who he was, who he was supposed to be with the pain accompanying him like his shadow. Without it, the sliver of knowledge of his being was gone.

"Most of the lashes are already clotted to heal so...there's no need to bandage them." You spoke calmly, satisfied with the ointment being spread on him. "But I will wipe away the bit of blood from between your legs, okay?"

Soldat, still reeling from the memories plaguing his mind, somehow understood your words and gave a tentative nod.

He felt the warm, damp cloth gently press against his sensitive inner thigh, the soothing heat gradually softening the dried, crusted blood. With each careful stroke, you cleaned away the remnants of his ordeal. Even after it had long been over, his body carried the wounds of it, reminding him of the painful experiences. Your touch was tender, as if you were handling something precious and fragile. The level of care you were showing him left him with feelings he couldn't quite decipher. He struggled to understand and accept your gentle treatment with his own self-perception. You approached him with a kindness and respect typically reserved for fellow human beings, a category he had long since excluded himself from.

He was a machine.

He was a toy.

He was HYDRA’s fist.

He was not a person.

You delicately cleansed between the affected areas, ensuring no trace of blood remained. Your movements were slow and deliberate as you navigated around the swollen, tender flesh, careful with the area since you knew it was very intimate and you didn’t want him to feel like he were being threatened. After all the blood was washed away, you applied a cooling balm specifically formulated to alleviate inflammation and discomfort in that sensitive region.

"There we go...all done," you murmured softly. Your hand was so warm and comforting, trailed along his back in a gesture of reassurance. To your surprise, he didn't flinch or pull away from your touch, a small victory in itself considering he would with any other kind of physical gesture. Mustering his strength, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, twisting slightly to survey the damage inflicted upon his body.

Soldat turned away as quickly as he saw it, his mouth contorting into a pained grimace. The soldier couldn't bear to look anymore, his mind reeling from the vivid memories that assaulted him.

He felt the phantom strikes of various implements of torture - the sharp sting of canes and crops swinging down against his ass.

The bruising impact of hands and boots, the searing pain of teeth sinking into his abused flesh, and the cruel bite of leather belts. He especially hated when the buckle hit his groin.

These ghostly sensations, etched deep into his psyche, haunting him with the horrors he endured, making him flinch involuntarily as if the torment was happening all over again.

"It's okay." You whispered, "You are safe now." Your hand rubbed circles on his back, you'd keep this in mind, this kind of assault he endured. It was complicate things in the future, but for now all you cared about was his comfortability. You continued to whisper comforting things, pulling a blanket over him that had been on the floor by his makeshift bed. You draped it over his backside, covering him and giving him some kind of security with feeling covered up.

For the first time, he seemed to be accepting your touch without reservations, as you felt the soldier's back muscles relax under your palm.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest

#bucky barnes #winter soldier #the winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier x reader #the winder soldier x reader #winter soldier x you #the winter soldier x you #captain america the winter soldier #catws #bucky barnes angst #blythewrites⛓

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yuoimia · 3 months ago

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⊹ ࣪ ˖ SAVED NUMBERS

summary: you’re not the only one trying to keep it together (conversations over the phone) based off this scene from summer strike. characters: alhaitham, kinich, childe notes: fluff, teasing, mention of anxiety in kinich’s, wc: 1.3k

alhaitham

A sudden pattern of musical chimes sliced through the silence of the dark bedroom.

Automatically, a cathartic groan and yawn escape from your mouth as you blindly manoeuvred your hand across your nightstand, finally seizing the source of the irritating noise. A tap of your finger revealed the time and responsible caller.

“Is he crazy?” you abruptly sat up, roughly rubbing your eyes as if it there were some kind of mistake. “It’s 4am, for goodness sake.” Nevertheless, your finger swiped to answer the call, sinking yourself back into the warmth of the thick blankets and pillows and holding the phone close to your ear.

“Do you know what time it is?” you drawled, switching your attention from the ceiling to the phone.

“I couldn’t sleep,” came a breathy reply, those three words fluctuating in audibility. A faint hint of laughter. “But to answer your question, yes I do. It’s 4:06am.”

His voice is tender and doused in fatigue, a rare state to find the illustrious scribe. Gentle rustling of a comforter and indistinct breaths over the line. How close was he holding the phone? As if instinctual, you raise a hand against your lips to suppress any traces of nervousness and regulate the rapid beating echoing in your chest.

“You haven’t fallen asleep yet, have you?” he asked albeit suddenly, the sounds of movement halting.

You turned over and pulled the blanket to signify your consciousness, clearing your throat. “No,” then smiling as you added, “does my absence go as far as to completely disturb your precious sleep?”

Despite the cool emptiness of the night, the momentous distance that separated you both felt unimportant and forgotten. “You’re so bold.” Imperceptible traces of adoration intertwining within his voice, “but you’ve never been wrong when it comes to me.”

kinich

The scent of salt and sweet fruit juice swept through the open window of your rented cabin, sweeping the sheer curtains that adorned the wooden sides in graceful arches. Beyond the intricate frames stretched the breathtaking vastness of a tired sky, dwindling from its vibrant hues to a soothing navy blue, the prelude to a serene night blessed with stars. Faraway music and laughter echoed through the rolling hills of the People of the Springs, their infectious celebrations spilling through the evening, washing away any last remnants of worry or doubt that were previously clawing in your guts. It felt strange, almost eerie, somehow. Everything that once seemed so big and important felt so small and trivial against the quiet sanctuary where thoughts could gather by choice. This fragile feeling of saturated peace was always depicted as something temporary, and perhaps it was, but its value always lasted infinitely.

You take a step back and turn yourself to survey the cabin, leaning your hands against the windowsill. A coastal design with a minimal palette of blues and greys. Warm lamps scattered from the corners of the room to the ceilings of the ensuite. Puffy armchairs and beige bohemian couches around the edges of the bed, generously sized and cocooned by thick blankets and billowy pillows.

From beneath one of the blankets, a faint light emits through the fabric, simultaneous with the constant vibrating. The contact name elicits a soft smile, wasting no time to slide your finger to answer the call.

“I thought you’d forget,” you admitted, sinking yourself into the plush mattress. You laid on your back, an outstretched arm over your head as another held the phone.

“I’m offended that you thought so,” came his lofty reply. He was always so casual with his way of speaking. Blunt in some eyes, but equally endearing.

“I don’t have much time before Ajaw comes back,” and as if sensing your confusion, he adds, “I sent him on an… impromptu and urgent mission.”

His earnestness, so refreshing in the midst of such a quiet evening, brought forth a fit of laughter that resonated in your chest, and spread through the form of euphoria into your veins, warm and delicately precious. “It’s not late yet. Did you trick Ajaw into completing your commissions for you?”

His response was a half-hearted ‘hmm’. If this was a video call, you’re 99% sure that it would be accompanied by an even more half-hearted shrug. A moment to close his eyes, too.

“Poor Ajaw,” you jested, leaning to your side. “Out doing his master’s work while he handles other things he deems more important.”

“This is more important,” Kinich replies thoughtfully. “I wanted to say I love you before you went to sleep.”

For a fleeting moment, you’re completely suspended in silence, as if time momentarily halted. Did you hear that right? Of course you did; it wasn’t anything shocking. He was probably teasing you, provoking a reaction, like usual.

“The sun is still setting; what made you think I’d sleep this early?” You were nosy now, curiosity piqued at what he had to reason. I wanted to say I love you. It chanted like a spell, casting you into a dazed and smiling mess. I wanted to say I love you.

“The People of the Springs pride themselves on their bustling atmosphere. You’re not the type to miss out on that. Knowing you, you’ve probably exhausted yourself and are lying in bed as we speak.”

Bingo, bingo, and bingo.

childe

Only three more hours…

Boredom and exhaustion rippled through your body as you cupped your face in your hands, leaning absentmindedly over the front counter of the Northland Bank. Ornamental decorations occasionally twinkled when someone would enter, lazily drifting for a few seconds before falling back right into place, mirroring your state quite accurately. Each person was greeted in the same, uniform way. You’d briskly straighten with a polished smile, brightly posing a list of questions everyone would be asked before slouching back down once you successfully redirected them to an appropriate staff member.

“It would probably be dark by the time I’m out,” you mumbled with a ghost of a pout at the door, gazing half-heartedly at the tinted panels lined near the ceiling. Spotting a loose pen on the floor, you bent to retrieve it when the sound of a phone ringing from a cupboard caught your attention.

Answering personal calls while on the job was a strict regulation that was generally prohibited. Even so, you pondered, folding your arms and sneaking sideways peeks at the entries to empty hallways, so painfully desolate that even it too seemed opposed to any opportunity for distraction, those heedless and sickeningly pompous higher-ups would never dream of working on a Saturday afternoon, more or less care if a forgettable receptionist were to be caught on the phone.

“Hello?” you answered flatly, clearly disinterested in who the caller was from the way you didn’t bother to check the contact name before holding the phone close to your ear. Indistinct sounds of metal clashing and dull thuds echoed in response, and oddly, the bubbling of rushing water.

“Hello?” you repeated once again, a bit more forcefully in case the recipient couldn’t hear over the bizarre assortment of noises. A new round of agitation flushed through your body at the callers purposeful disregard, heat clambering up your face. Within the second you seriously contemplated hanging up, a panting voice emerged, and with it, a fervent series of persistent coughing and choking.

“Hey, don’t hang..up,” the voice, weak but evenly enthusiastic. “Sorry about that, I called, then a random army of treasure hoarders started attacking me from nowhere, and I had to-“

“Is this who I think it is?” Pausing in disbelief from amazement, you felt surges of every possible emotion colliding against each other in nauseating rounds inside your head. Hearing his voice so close by your ear whilst being surrounded by the bleakest of places felt like a taste of something divinely transcendental.

“Who else?” a breathless laugh came from the person on the other line. “I know…you told me to not call you unless it was an emergency, but hey, i’ve got your attention now, and I’d like to savour that for as long as I can.”

#genshin fluff #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham x reader #kinich x reader #kinich x you #childe x reader #anya writes ᝰ.ᐟ

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g-k444 · 12 days ago

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inspired by smth someone messaged me recently...

I don't sleep wearing many clothes. I like to feel sexy in what i wear to sleep though - which is why i have a range of silken little nighties that i alternate between. Each a different colour, but all the same components: two almost testingly thin straps, lace panel that fits snugly around my chest and holds my tits whilst the lower portion of my nightie is silk and flowy, ending just below my ass

the nightie sways and rides up my thighs as i waltz around my house in the little item of clothing, switching off lights and doing my last minute errands with such vigor that the silk jumps up and flashes the equally as revealing pair of panties i wear beneath the silk

and of course - when i sleep the nightie rides up and doesn't really cover anything... but that's fine... because who would be able to see it anyways?

Well, turns out the neighbour.

a middle age man, living alone who had a keen eye. who noticed every night how his young, slutty neighbour would step out of the shower and open her window with her towel wrapped around her middle - brushing her hair and then moving into her bedroom and hiding behind the curtain before reappearing downstairs - in the living room - wearing a tiny little nightie as she scampered from locking the front door to boiling her water for a hot water bottle, to closing her windows and turning her lights off...

he looked out for her every night, watching her do the very same bedtime ritual with his cock in his hand, honing in on how she would flash her panties when she turned quickly and the flowy material rose up - and the way the pep in her step had her tits bouncing beneath the lace hem of the nightie

one night i only realise once im tucked in bed that i forgot to lock my front door.

but the warmth of the bed and heaviness of my eyes had me able to convince myself: it's a safe neighbourhood... and ive never had any problems before... what are the chances someone would try break in just this once...? it's not that big a deal - i dont need to go down n lock it, i can just go to sleep and deal with it tomorrow morning...

though someone had in fact noticed that i'd left my door unlocked.

the neighbour was surprised to see that i'd forgotten a part of my nighttime ritual. locking the door. and i'd ascended up the stairs earlier than anticipated, leaving his hand holding his throbbing cock - unsatisfied - balls still full of cum and needing to find his release, still.

it was optimal, really

he could just wait for it to get a bit darker...

then open my front door - push the handle down quietly and shut it behind him, listening to hear if there was any noise within the house...

but everything within is dormant.

then walk up the stairs, down the corridor and to the right - to the room which he knew i slept in every night, wearing a nightie that didn't properly cover me.

he pushed the door open and felt heartrate shoot up as the door emit a squeak.

but no noise or sound of agitation followed from inside the room.

stepping around the door - he saw her body.

sprawled across the bed, nightie riding high on her thighs, lying on her side with her tits spilling from the hem of edge of her nightie -

there i lay.

my neighbour advanced the room, standing besides the sleeping girl. fingers tracing the bedside table, his hand knocked into a medication bottle - and picking it up to read, it read melatonin

what good news for him. he could do almost anything tonight and not wake her.

as if testing that hypothesis, the neighbour rolled her onto her back using her shoulder and watching as her breast bounced as her back hit the mattress, and she remained unconscious

she was so much more vulnerable and delicious when she was only a foot away from the neighbour.

now that he could see the bruise on her inner thigh and floral pattern across the lace chest part of the nightie - just sheer enough to allow him to see her dark nipples beneath the material

as if to really test whether she was asleep or not, the neighbour freed his cock and let it slap down onto her face - his balls sagging and sitting on her cheek whilst his cock lay against the other part of her face

it was so territorial. being able to put his cock on her face - mark her as his. his phone came out - taking a picture with flash of the sleeping girl with his cock against her face before proceeding to take a video - handling his cock from the base and rubbing it over her face, smushing her cheek with the stiff apendage and stroking his tip over her lips, letting the little bit of moisture from her parted lips wet the tip of his cock

he couldn't help his hands from ripping her lacey front down, exposing those pillowy tits and kneading them roughly with his palms - pinching them with his fingers and rolling those hard nipples between his thumb and index, feeling his cock twitch as she stirred slightly and let out a laboured breath

maybe she was having a wet dream.

the neighbour didnt know and didnt care.

he pulled her panties to the side and couldve moaned at how delicious she looked - her panties slick and a slimy tendril attaching her soaking pussy to the wet panties, her clit and hole gleaming in the barely lit room from her arousal

he couldn't stop himself.

his cock pressed against the slickness of her pussy, and he rubbed. he gyrated his cock back and forth against her folds, making lewd noises that made his balls twitch, cum fill his cock as he spat on her pussy and let his cock mix her slick with his fluids, the warmth of her pussy contrasting the unawakedness of the sleeping girl

he cant hold it much longer -

his balls tighten and he stuffs his head into my pussy, my unprotected, unsuspecting pussy as his cock splurges his seed into me and his heart pumps whilst he fills my pussy with his load and realises what he's done

my body stirs and he feels the need to leave.

just one picture - he lowers his camera to my pussy and the flash illuminates the cum that seeps from between my folds

and on the way out, he cant help but spot the keys hung besides the door. labelled house keys.

he cant stop himself from plucking them from where they rest, promising himself another experience like this one again as he shuts the door behind him, leaving me to turn over in my bed and wonder why my bedroom door has been left open before i doze off again

reminder to send rape threats and brutal messages of what you'd do to me in my inbox or messages <3

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aemondsbabe · 1 year ago

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Ñuha Zaldrīzes

summary: future & facesitting || discussing wishes for your baby with your husband turns into something more

pairing: daemon targaryen x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, pregnant reader, oral sex (f receiving), allusions to piv sex, dirty talk, daemon being soft and loving we love to see it, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 1.8k

a/n: happy day eight of 12 days of smuff!!! surely this counts as future otherwise i'd have them fucking in a spaceship & that just didn't sit right with me

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @pedropcl

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

A soft giggle bursts from your lips as Daemon’s hand skirts over your large belly yet again, his soft touches tickling your skin as his hand ghosts lovingly over your bump, the delicate lacy fabric of your nightgown bunched around his wrist.

“Okay, okay, so,” you say breathily, finally calming down as his touch seems to settle on your hip, “If it’s a little girl, perhaps Vaenera? And for a little boy… Vaenor?” You suggest, your breath warm against the prince’s neck as you rest your cheek against his shoulder, tucked safely into his side atop your silk covered bed.

“I still think we should name her Visenya,” the blond drawls, tracing soothing patterns into your hip as he holds you against him, “With a nice strong name like that, she will grow to greatness.”

You stay silent for a moment, your eyes locked onto the fluid movements of the sheer curtains that lead out onto the balcony, watching as they blow in the breeze carried in by the Narrow Sea. Daemon can’t help but notice you still against him and he smiles softly when he sees that familiar, far off look in your eyes – always his dreamer.

“Where did you go?” He asks gently, all traces of the usual brash, cocky tone with which he speaks gone.

“Nowhere,” you smile, tilting your head up to peer at him through your lashes, “I was merely thinking of what kind of person this little one will grow up to be.” You stroke a hand over your belly as you speak, your smile only growing as you feel a soft, barely there kick against your palm.

“If they’re even half as kind and gentle as their mother, the world will be a much better place with them in it,” your husband whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. A pink blush blooms across the apples of your cheeks, as it always does when he speaks so tenderly.

“And if they’re half as hard headed as their father, well… somehow, I will love them all the more,” you whisper, laughing yet again as Daemon trails his fingers over your side, tickling you purposefully this time.

“Me, hard headed?” He teases, laughing along with you, “I’m not the one that nearly sent the kitchens into a tailspin this evening when they demanded duck, now am I?” His violet eyes sparkled in the low light of the candles that flickered around the room, a teasing smirk etched across his face.

“That’s very unfair!” You giggle, leaning up to properly look at him. “You know how I am when I’m with child,” you huff, your blush only deepening when you see his eyes darken just slightly as his gaze flits over you, “Especially once it’s this far along; all I want is roast duck and–”

“And lemon cakes at every meal,” Daemon finishes for you, softly smiling, “Yes, sweetling, the entire castle is most aware.” He chuckles.

“Then the kitchens should know to have duck, that’s all I’m saying…” You grumble, sinking back down into his embrace. The two of you relax into a comfortable silence for many minutes, your husband’s breathing so steady and calm that you assume he’s fallen asleep. When he speaks again, his soft voice almost startles you.

“The kitchens did particularly well with the lemon cakes this evening…”

Your eyebrows furrow together at the statement and you lift your head again, meaning to give him a confused stare. The cakes were exceptionally good this evening, but you can’t help but notice the teasing lilt in his voice.

You open your mouth to speak, but the darkness in Daemon’s eyes gives you pause, a breathy, barely audible whimper escaping your lips before you have a chance to stop it.

“However, I can’t help but be in the mood for a much different type of dessert, little wife.” He says lowly, gently pulling you up until your faces are level, careful to be ever conscious of your growing stomach.

“Daemon –” You start, only to be cut off with a searing kiss as he presses his lips to yours. You whimper against his lips, your head already spinning in his embrace as his tongue toys with yours.

“It’s been so long,” he starts, trailing kisses down your jaw and neck, nibbling at one spot that always has you seeing stars, “Since you’ve let me have what I want.”

“H-Husband,” you gasp breathlessly, your nails digging helplessly into his chest as you cling to him, “You had me just this, Gods, this morning for breakfast, if you’ll recall.” You managed to say between whimpers and gasps as he practically feasted on the sensitive spot on your neck, his hands softly kneading and caressing your breasts.

He makes a small, displeased hum before he pulls back to look at you, his dark eyes studying you carefully before a small smirk grows on his lips, “You know very well that’s not what I’m after.”

Your eyes widen just slightly as you finally catch his meaning; you shake your head with a small chuckle. “Surely you can’t be serious,” your smile fades as he holds your stare with a small, unchanging smirk, “Daemon, I’ll crush you!”

“And what an honorable death that would be, sweet wife,” he chuckles, his hands firmly grasping your hips as he lifts you up and onto his lap, your head spins as you feel his already hard length pressing against you through the thin linen breeches he has on, “I’ll be fine, it’s not as if this is exactly new territory for us…” He teases, gently skirting his hands over your belly.

“We’ve never done it when I’ve been… like this, though,” you shyly point out, looking down at your bump.

“Do you really not see how insatiable I become every time you’re with child?” Daemon asks, his voice soft and gentle, “I will only ever have you like this a scant few times. Please, sweetling, let me savor it.”

Biting your lip, you gaze down at him, eyes trailing across his bare chest and shoulders and up the strong column of his neck before they finally settle on his face – the look in his eyes nearly making you gasp. His violet eyes are fixed on you, roaming over your body with so much love and adoration that you feel as if you may melt from it.

Before you even register the movement, you’re nodding.

Daemon’s eyes instantly flick up to yours, sparkling with victory. His hands grip your hips again, gently guiding you up his muscular form as he silently thanks the Seven that you wear nothing beneath your Myrish lace nightgowns. A loud groan practically bursts from the prince’s chest once you’re positioned over his face; he loves being surrounded by you — loves the way your soft thighs bracket his head, the way you position your dripping center perfectly over his mouth, and the way the only thing he sees when he looks up is your belly, swollen with his seed, his child.

If it were up to Daemon, he would happily spend the rest of his days here.

Your chest heaves as you grip the headboard of the bed, your heart hammering in your chest from the anticipation of it. You whimper softly as his hands, rough from so many years of sword fighting and dragon riding, grab at your thighs and hips.

He presses soft, sweet kisses to the inside of your thighs before licking a slow, steady line up your center; you can feel him smirk triumphantly against you as moans and whimpers spill from your lips.

“Oh, Gods, Daemon!” You gasp, voice already ragged as you white-knuckle the headboard. Your thighs tremble with the effort of holding yourself even a fraction of an inch above your husband’s face, something he notices quite quickly. A displeased growl rumbles from his chest, making you pant as it vibrates against your core.

“Fucking sit,” Daemon rasps, tugging you against his mouth, his tongue roughly spearing into you as he grinds your pearl against his nose, hands moving your hips against his face.

Your mind all but whites out as he rocks you against him, nose and tongue working in perfect tandem to send shivers down your spine. Your eyes squeeze shut, frantic moans pouring from your mouth as a fire steadily builds within you.

“H-Husband,” you pant, walls clenching tightly around his tongue as he groans into your heat, “I— Fuck, I’m—!” You can hardly get the words out as Daemon seals his lips around your sensitive bud, suckling it at a maddening pace as his hands move down to cup your ass, kneading it roughly.

Your face flushes at the slick sounds pouring from between your thighs as the prince growls against you, sounding as if he’s gaining as much satisfaction as you are. Your core clenches at the thought, pleasure threatening to consume you.

“Daemon!” You cry urgently, shaking above him, a thin sheen of sweat covering your body. You want so badly to thread your fingers through his hair as you normally would, but you can’t even see his face around your protruding belly.

He groans loudly beneath you once more and fucks his tongue back into you, causing the knot in your belly to pull tightly before finally unraveling. Sparks burst behind your eyelids, your back arching as your whole body tenses and relaxes in time with his movements.

The prince moans appreciatively, messily drinking down your pleasure as you peak on top of him. You jump when one of his hands smacks against your ass, the tingling sting extending your release, the intensity of it nearly making you go mad.

Finally, once your signs of relief have turned into whimpers of overstimulation, Daemon releases you with a pleased hum, helping you shuffle back down his body until you’re straddling his hips once again.

You laugh softly at the sight of him — his cheeks flushed a light pink, hair sticking up at odd angles, and a pleased, self-satisfied grin on his face.

“You look as if you were the one who was ravished, my dragon,” you tease, your heart rate slowly returning to normal as you trace over the muscular dips in his chest and stomach.

The prince chuckles lowly, his violet eyes still dark with lust as he takes in your curves. “Ravishing you is a pleasure in and of itself, sweet wife,” he drawls, smirking as you gasp at the feel of his cock against your sensitive core as he rolls his hips against you, “I trust you’ll allow me to feel it again?” He asks, that all too familiar cocky tone back, as if asking is merely a formality.

Sighing happily, you bite your lip as you stare down at him, the knot in your belly beginning to tighten again as you feel his length pressing hotly to you.

“I believe that can be arranged.”

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc @fan-goddess @wickedfrsgrl @moonriseoverkyoto @echos-muses @schniiipsel @avidreader73 @marvelescvpe @imawhorecrux

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

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nialls-golf-putt · 2 months ago

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You Say It Tastes Like Candy

Niall thinks you just woke up in a really really good mood. He's in for a hell of a ride.

c/w: face riding, a hint of come eating and blowjobs ;) just a fluffy silly little smutty bit

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You rolled over in bed, burying your face under the duvet. The sun was shining in your face. Why was- Niall must've forgotten to pull the blackouts last night, you realised sleepily.

And no matter how much you tried, you just couldn't fall back asleep. Stifling a yawn, you sat up in bed, watching the sunlight pouring in through the sheer curtains.

Niall was still fast asleep, curled up sideways with his head on his hands, knees bent with his hair falling over his forehead. You pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, brushing the hair back. "Morning, Ni." You whispered, to which he grumbled something sleepily, turning his back to the curtains, and also- you.

So much for a romantic morning. Shaking your head to yourself, you pulled the covers off, ignoring his sleepy protests as you settled between his legs.

"Niall," You said in a soft sing-song voice, pressing kisses along his thighs, fingers playing along the waistband of his boxers.

"Mmph?" He mumbled sleepily, head now buried under his pillow.

Wasting no time, smirking to yourself, you slowly pressed your lips to the bulge through the thin fabric, eliciting an instant response from him (which you couldn't make out either, but sounded suspiciously like 'no fair babe').

Thank god for morning wood, you chuckled to yourself as you left open-mouthed kisses along his hip bones, following the trail of hair and tugging at the elastic with your teeth, to which he quickly obligingly raised his hips.

Men. You couldn't help but chuckle against his skin, goosebumps spreading at your warm breath as you pulled down his boxers, Niall bending one knee to help it off, spreading further to give you the space you needed.

You kept your eyes on him, smiling slightly to yourself as you dipped your head down, tongue darting out in kitten licks along his head, already angry red and weeping with precum.

You flattened your tongue, savouring the bitter feel of it, licking a broad stripe up from his balls, pausing at the spot under his head you knew he loved, keeping your tongue pointed as you drew patterns along the silky skin.

"Babe-" He whined softly.

"Mhm?" You asked, not taking your mouth off of him, pressing featherlight kisses along the underside of his cock, tracing the vein on your way up.

"'S today somethin' I'm forgetting-?" He asked groggily, lifting his head up slightly to look down at you before breaking off with a loud moan as you ducked your head down, swallowing him down halfway before popping off. You slowly wrapped your fingers around his now slick length, giving him a few slow firm pumps.

"Not that I know of." You hummed, hollowing your cheeks as you took him in again, hand wrapped around the base, squeezing gently.

"Bloody hell- 'S a damn good way to- fuck- wake up, then." He choked out as he looked down at you, his breath coming out in sharp gasps already, pupils blown wide.

You hummed softly around him, knowing it drove him crazy when you did, fingers dancing along his balls teasingly as you kept up the slow movements. His fingers were in your hair in no time, gripping tightly at the nape of your neck as he guided you, doing his best to not buck his hips up into your mouth.

"Fuck- Your mouth feels so fuckin' good, princess," He groaned out, grip tightening on your head as he held you down for a few seconds, letting out a string of expletives as he hit the back of your throat.

"That's it, fuck, you're so pretty when you're on your knees- oh, bloody-" He broke off with a deep moan, his hands gripping your hair so tightly you were certain you felt it pulled at the roots.

You couldn't help but smirk at his reactions, your grip on him tightening, enjoying the way his body responded to every flick of your tongue and touch of your hands. You glanced up at him, taking in his hair already clinging to his forehead, eyes scrunched shut, his lips parted with silent moans before you quickly popped off him, wiping your chin with your palm.

"Hey!" Niall protested immediately, his eyes flying open. "Princess, what the fuck?" He whined, all but pouting at you as he made grabby hands towards you where you were sitting back on your heels between his legs.

"I was so closeee." He said, making puppy eyes up at you but you shook your head, crawling towards the headboard. His eyes watched your every move, biting his lip to stifle a whimper as you pulled off the tshirt you wore to bed, leaving you clad only in your panties.

"Be patient, Ni." You said with a small smirk. "Good things come to those who wait," You said with a soft laugh, echoing what he always told you when he was in a teasing mood, leaving you whining and frustrated. It felt good to be on the other side for once.

Ignoring his grumbles, you slowly pulled off your underwear, smiling inwardly as you saw the glimmer in his eyes for a second as you straddled his waist. "You just had to ask, babe-" He started cockily, and you giggled as you saw the smug expression slip off his face as you slowly moved up, carefully putting your knees on either side of his shoulders.

"Oh"

That was all he said for a few seconds, his hands gripping your thighs, eyes riveted to your face.

"Get to work, Horan." You said with a soft laugh, wiggling your hips playfully.

He raised his eyebrow, face still turned up at you.

"Don't make me ask again, Ni."

"Do I atleast get to know what I did, cause there's always-"

"No. Later." You said, biting the inside of your cheek to stifle your smile.

"Yes, ma'am." He said, chuckling softly before he took a deep breath, wasting no time at all as he flattened his tongue, laving it along your slit, humming at the taste of your arousal. He darted along the sides, licking up stripes with his tongue pointed, pulling you down onto his face, his nose brushing your clit.

"If you're gonna sit on my face at least do it properly." He mumbled muffled against you, and you bit your lip as you felt the vibrations through you.

He kept his grip firm, fingers digging into your thighs as his tongue moved with finesse, darting along your swollen bud, teeth grazing against it for a second as you let out a loud moan, bracing yourself on the headboard, your hips grinding forward instinctively.

He groaned at the movement, urging you on, the vibrations causing you to whimper even louder, lightheaded already as he moved his tongue just the way you liked it, mumbling muffled praises against you.

"Niall, fuck, I-" You bit your lip, letting out a sound between a whine and a whimper as he teasingly let his tongue circle your entrance, dipping in just enough to leave you desperate for more.

His hands traced up your sides, cupping your breasts as you moved against his tongue, his stubble scratching ever so slightly at your skin. He pinched down on a nipple, rolling the hardened nub, moaning in satisfaction against you as it pebbled under his touch.

He kneaded at the flesh desperately, his other hand firm on your waist as his tongue finally slipped into you.

You gripped desperately at the headboard, the only thing grounding you as his hands danced over your body, playing with your arse as he built up a steady pace, his tongue fucking into you deliciously, curling it just right to press against the right spots, his nose nudging your clit every so often as you could feel your thighs starting to shake, the familiar knot tightening in your belly.

"Ni- Babe-" You whimpered out, trying to form a sentence as he squeezed at your flesh, fingers digging in and you instinctively leaned back, hand trailing along his abs, following the trail of hair as you grasped him, precum dripping down his entire length as you began stroking him in time with his tongue, his moan sending shockwaves through your body.

You couldn't even control the movement of your hips, grinding shamelessly against his mouth. Niall reached up, tracing his path along your breasts and waist down to your ass before giving you a firm smack, the sheer surprise of it more than anything sending you over the edge, waves of pleasure passing through you, your toes tingling as you rode out your orgasm, feeling like your knees were giving out on you.

Vaguely, you were aware of his own hips jerking against your hands, his warm come splattering all over your hand and his stomach as he caught his breath against you, tapping your thigh after a few seconds.

Chest still heaving, you slowly climbed off him, flopping down next to him. You brought your hand up to your mouth, licking off some of the warm come before holding it out in front of his mouth, trailing your damp fingers along his lips as he quickly captured your fingers in his mouth, making quick work of it, pressing a kiss to the fingertips before he let go.

You slowly lifted your head up, wiping your arousal off his glistening chin with your palm, chuckling slightly to yourself as he caught your hand, licking it clean again. "You're insatiable, Ni."

He laughed softly, trailing kisses up to your wrist as he looked at you. "Can't deny the allegations."

You exhaled softly, closing your eyes as you laid down beside him again.

"You know," He said, his voice hoarse. "If that's your idea of being all strict and punishing me, I wouldn't mind you punishing me daily."

"Shut up," You giggled, fondly swatting his chest.

"Can I at least now know what i did, though?" He asked, pulling you into his side as he carded his fingers through your hair.

"You forgot to pull the curtains last night." You murmured, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

"That's it!?" He said, with a soft incredulous laugh.

"What do you mean that's it?" You asked, unable to not laugh along. "The sun got in my eyes and woke me up- And then you turned your back to me when i tried to be all sweet and wake you up."

"Oh no no- Don't give me that." Niall said playfully. "There were no sweet intentions behind waking me up- It was all personal vendetta- 'I woke up so now he will too'."

"Was not!" You protested, laughing.

"It so was."

"There'll so definitely be a round two for that." You said, fake stern, giggling slightly.

"Get some breakfast in me, princess, and I'll do it twice." Niall grinned.

"Oh you're so on"

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#niall fic #niall fanfic #niall horan fanfic #niall 1d #niall james horan #niall #niall fluff #niall horan #niall horan blurbs #niall horan smut #niall the show #niall horan oneshot #niall horan fic #niall imagine #one direction smut #niall x reader #boyfriend niall

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callsigns-haze · 4 months ago

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His Shadow: Chp 4

masterlist part 1 part 2 part 3

Azriel, secretly juggling his responsibilities and personal life, maintains a hidden relationship with YN, who works at a pleasure house in the Hewn City. She was his light, his love, his passion. Yet being his darkest secret is a hard role because life in the Hewn as a young female isn't the easiest as the two of you hold an even dark secret yet to be told...

Pairing: Azriel x reader

This series contains mature themes: Explicit depictions of violence, including physical and emotional. Themes of secrecy. Descriptions of difficult relationships, including strained familial and romantic dynamics. Mature sexual content. Themes of power, control, and manipulation within complex interpersonal relationships. Discussions of parenthood and the challenges associated with it, including postpartum experiences.

The morning sun filtered softly through the sheer curtains of YN’s mother’s modest living room. The pale light danced across the room, casting gentle patterns on the worn wooden floors and faded furniture. YN had spent the night on her mother’s small, but comfortable sofa, using a makeshift nest of blankets and pillows. She stirred slowly, the quiet stillness of the house a sharp contrast to the bustling atmosphere of the pleasure house.

Yawning and stretching, YN glanced around, her mind still wrapped in the haze of sleep. The night had been restful, but she couldn’t shake the nagging worry about Knox. Her mother had graciously offered to care for him while YN worked, but she had been missing him terribly. It was time to reunite with her son.

She carefully gathered her things, folding the blanket she had used and tidying up the small space as best as she could. Her mother, an woman with a warm, kind demeanour, was still asleep in her own bedroom. YN wanted to make sure everything was ready before she woke her.

With a soft, cautious step, YN made her way to the small nursery that had been set up in a corner of her mother’s apartment. The room was modest but cozy, decorated with pastel-coloured curtains and a few framed pictures of animals. In the crib at the centre of the room lay Knox, his tiny form barely visible beneath the soft, knitted blanket.

YN’s heart swelled as she approached the crib, her eyes softening at the sight of her sleeping son. Knox’s small chest rose and fell with each gentle breath, his little fingers curled into tiny fists. She reached down, carefully placing a hand on his back to wake him softly.

“Good morning, my little one,” YN murmured, her voice tender and loving.

Knox stirred, his eyelids fluttering open to reveal the curious, innocent gaze of a three-week-old baby. YN carefully lifted him from the crib, cradling him gently in her arms. His warmth and weight were a soothing comfort against her chest.

“Let’s get you ready to go home,” YN whispered, her voice full of affection. She carefully adjusted Knox’s blanket, making sure he was secure and comfortable.

Her mother had prepared a small bag with some essentials for Knox—diapers, a few changes of clothes, and a soft toy that YN had brought from home. YN picked up the bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she prepared to leave.

She made her way to the small kitchen, where she could hear the faint sounds of her mother beginning to stir. YN set the bag down on the counter and walked back to the nursery to say a quiet goodbye to her mother.

Her mother emerged, rubbing her eyes and offering a sleepy smile. “Good morning, dear. Are you heading out already?”

“Yes, just about,” YN said, her voice gentle. “Thank you so much for taking care of Knox. I really appreciate it.”

Her mother came over, reaching out to gently pat Knox’s head. “He’s a lovely little boy. I’ve enjoyed having him. Just be sure to get some rest when you can.”

YN nodded, her smile filled with gratitude. “I will. I just need to get him home and settled.”

As YN and her mother exchanged a final hug, YN carefully picked up Knox and adjusted him in her arms. With one last look around the apartment, she stepped out into the fresh morning air.

The city was slowly coming to life as she made her way back to her own apartment. The streets were quieter than usual, and the early morning light bathed everything in a soft, golden hue. YN’s heart ached with both joy and weariness as she walked, the familiar weight of Knox in her arms a constant reminder of the responsibilities and love she carried.

She reached her apartment building, a modest structure with a worn exterior that belied the cozy interior. She carefully navigated the stairs, her mind filled with thoughts of getting Knox settled and ready for the day ahead.

Entering her apartment, YN carefully placed Knox in the small crib she had set up in the corner of the living room. The space was small but welcoming, filled with the warmth of home and the love of a mother’s touch. She adjusted the blanket around him and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“Welcome home, Knox,” she whispered, her voice full of love and relief. “We’ve got a lot to do today, but we’ll do it together.”

---

Azriel stood by the large, arched window of Rhysand’s office, the glass cool against his fingertips as he looked out over the sprawling gardens of the River House. The room was bathed in the warm, golden light of the afternoon sun, casting a soft glow over the luxurious furnishings and elegant décor. Yet, despite the opulence of his surroundings, Azriel's thoughts were distant, his attention focused on the scene unfolding outside.

Nyx, Rhysand’s nine-year-old son, and Agnar, Cassian’s seven-year-old son, were out on the lawn, their laughter carrying through the open window. The two boys were engaged in a spirited game of tag, their shouts and giggles filling the air with a sense of carefree joy. The sun illuminated their faces, highlighting the innocence and exuberance of childhood.

Azriel watched them with a mixture of fondness and melancholy. He saw the way Nyx’s dark hair gleamed in the sunlight, a mirror of his father’s, and Agnar’s quick, agile movements, so reminiscent of Cassian’s youthful energy. The sight of them playing together, their faces flushed with happiness, tugged at something deep within him.

A shadow of sadness crossed Azriel’s features as he observed the scene. The joy and vitality of his nephews were a stark contrast to the burden he carried. The secrecy surrounding his relationship with YN and their son, Knox, weighed heavily on him. Despite the love he felt for them, he was forced to keep their existence hidden, his role as a father concealed from those closest to him.

Azriel’s gaze softened as he took in the sight of the boys, his thoughts drifting to the life he could have had if circumstances were different. He imagined what it would be like if he could openly share his joy and pride in Knox, if he could let his family see the life he had built with YN. The pain of not being able to do so was a constant ache, a reminder of the sacrifices he had made to protect those he loved.

Rhysand’s voice broke through his thoughts, rich and warm with a touch of amusement. “You seem lost in thought, Az.”

Azriel turned away from the window, his expression carefully neutral as he faced Rhysand. “Just watching the boys. They’re growing up so fast.”

Rhysand smiled, his eyes following Azriel’s gaze to where Nyx and Agnar continued their game. “They are. It’s hard to believe how quickly time passes.”

Azriel nodded, forcing a smile. “Yes, it is.”

Rhysand’s tone grew more contemplative. “Sometimes I think about how different things might be if circumstances were different. But I suppose we make the best of what we have.”

Azriel’s eyes flickered with a mixture of gratitude and sadness. He knew Rhysand’s words were meant to offer comfort, but they only served to underscore the gap between his public life and his private heartache.

“Indeed,” Azriel said quietly, his voice tinged with a sadness that he tried to mask. “We make do with what we have.”

Rhysand’s gaze remained thoughtful, and he seemed to sense the deeper emotions behind Azriel’s words. “If there’s ever anything you need to talk about, you know you can always come to me.”

Azriel nodded, a flicker of appreciation in his eyes. “Thank you, Rhys. I’ll keep that in mind.”

As Rhysand turned his attention to some documents on his desk, Azriel returned to the window, his thoughts returning to the life he had to keep hidden. The sight of Nyx and Agnar playing was a bittersweet reminder of what he yearned for—an open, unburdened life with YN and Knox.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the polished floors of the River House as Azriel excused himself from the inner circle's meeting with barely a moment to spare. Rhysand, Cassian, and the others were deep in discussion about upcoming strategies and potential threats, but Azriel’s mind was elsewhere, focused on the fleeting moments he could spend with YN and Knox.

“Sorry to cut out early,” Azriel said quickly, his voice tinged with a mix of urgency and apology. “I’ve got something I need to take care of.”

Rhysand looked up, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “Everything alright, Az?”

Azriel forced a smile, nodding. “Yes, just personal matters. I’ll catch up with you all soon.”

Before anyone could press further, Azriel was already striding towards the exit. His steps were brisk, the weight of his desire to return home fueling his haste. He made his way through the grand hallways and down the stairs, his thoughts solely occupied with the comforting vision of YN and Knox awaiting him.

The journey back to his apartment felt interminable, but finally, he landed silently on the balcony. He slipped into his home with practiced quiet, his senses attuned to the familiar sounds of his sanctuary. The apartment was calm, the air carrying a soft, serene quality that immediately soothed his frazzled nerves.

Azriel moved through the living room, his heart fluttering with anticipation and love. As he rounded the corner, he was met with a sight that warmed him to his core.

YN was asleep on the couch, her form curled up in a cozy nest of blankets. Her hair was splayed across the cushions, a serene expression on her face. Knox, their precious son, lay nestled on her chest, his tiny body rising and falling with each gentle breath. He was awake now, his small eyes blinking with curiosity as he looked up at his mother.

Azriel’s breath caught in his throat at the sight. The image of YN, exhausted but peaceful, with Knox cradled against her, was a poignant reminder of the love and dedication they shared. He approached them quietly, careful not to disturb YN's slumber.

Kneeling beside the couch, Azriel reached out, his fingertips brushing gently against Knox’s soft cheek. The baby cooed, a small, delicate sound that filled Azriel’s heart with overwhelming tenderness.

“Hey, little one,” Azriel murmured softly, his voice a low whisper. “Look who’s come to see you.”

He carefully lifted Knox from YN’s chest, his movements gentle and practiced. The baby’s head rested against his shoulder as he held him close, a smile spreading across Azriel’s face. Knox’s tiny fingers grasped at the fabric of Azriel’s shirt, his eyes bright and curious as he cooed back.

Azriel leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Knox’s forehead. “You’ve been such a good boy today, haven’t you?”

Knox gurgled in response, his eyes widening as he looked up at his father. Azriel’s heart swelled with affection as he held his son, feeling the warmth and weight of him in his arms. The bond between them was palpable, a silent conversation filled with love and promise.

Azriel glanced over at YN, still peacefully asleep. He carefully adjusted Knox, making sure the baby was comfortable in his arms before leaning down to gently brush a strand of hair away from YN’s face.

He settled onto the couch beside YN, keeping Knox cradled close. He watched as YN stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open. She blinked sleepily, her gaze settling on Azriel and their son.

“Azriel?” YN’s voice was soft, her tone a mix of surprise and sleepiness. “You’re home early.”

Azriel smiled, his eyes filled with warmth. “I couldn’t wait to see you both. How was your day?”

YN stretched gently, her eyes softening as she looked at Knox in Azriel’s arms. “It was good. He’s been a little angel. But I’m glad you’re here now.”

Azriel nodded, his gaze fixed lovingly on Knox. “I’m glad too. He’s grown so much in just a few weeks.”

YN reached out, her hand brushing tenderly against Knox’s cheek. “He has. And he’s so lucky to have you.”

Azriel’s smile grew, his heart swelling with love for his family. “And I’m lucky to have you both.”

As he looked down at his son, Azriel felt an overwhelming sense of pride and love. Knox’s small, cherubic face was a perfect blend of both parents, but it was the subtle, distinctive features that made Azriel’s heart swell with emotion. The baby’s tiny limbs and soft, downy hair were endearing, but it was Knox’s nascent wings that truly captured Azriel’s attention.

Even at just two weeks old, Knox had already begun to display the faintest hints of his Illyrian heritage. Though the wings were tiny and not yet fully developed, their presence was unmistakable. They were delicate and translucent, their edges a soft, silvery shimmer that caught the light. They rested against Knox’s back, their appearance a blend of the ethereal and the divine.

Azriel’s fingers traced the edge of one of Knox’s wings with a gentle touch, careful not to disturb his sleeping son. The delicate membranes were warm and soft beneath his fingertips, and the faint luminescence was a reminder of the incredible heritage Knox was inheriting.

“Look at these wings, little one,” Azriel whispered, his voice filled with a tender awe. “Just like mine. You’re growing up so fast, even though you’re still so tiny.”

Knox stirred slightly, his tiny wings fluttering ever so gently in response to his father’s touch. Azriel’s smile widened, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. The sight of Knox’s miniature wings, so full of potential and promise, made his heart ache with a bittersweet joy.

He shifted slightly, pulling Knox closer to him, his own wings instinctively curling around them in a protective embrace. The warmth of his wings enveloped Knox, creating a cocoon of safety and love. The sensation of his son's small body nestled against him, combined with the soft, almost imperceptible flutter of Knox’s wings, was an exquisite reminder of the bond they shared.

Azriel leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Knox’s forehead. “I know you’re just beginning to learn about your wings, but I promise you, they will grow strong. They will carry you through the skies just like mine.”

He continued to speak softly, his words filled with the kind of love that only a parent could feel. “When you’re older, you’ll learn to soar through the skies. But for now, just enjoy being small and safe in your mother’s arms and mine.”

The quiet moments stretched on, and Azriel found solace in the simple act of bonding with his son. The world outside seemed distant and irrelevant compared to the peace he found in these fleeting moments. The responsibilities and secrets that burdened him felt lighter, if only for a while.

As Knox’s tiny hand reached up, his small fingers grasping at the fabric of Azriel’s shirt, Azriel felt a pang of deep affection. The tiny, innocent gesture was a powerful reminder of the love he had for this little being, a love that transcended the complications of their lives.

The peaceful cocoon of the living room was gently disturbed as YN stirred from her slumber on the couch. She stretched languidly, her muscles protesting slightly as she woke from a deep, restful sleep. She blinked sleepily, her gaze falling on Azriel, who was now tenderly bottle-feeding Knox. The soft glow of the lamp illuminated their quiet moment together, casting a warm light across the room.

YN smiled softly at the sight. Azriel’s presence, so gentle and attentive with their son, was a heart-warming sight. She reluctantly pushed herself up from the couch, her body a bit stiff from the hours spent resting in one position. The couch had become a makeshift bed over the past few weeks, but the comfort of being with her family made it all worth it.

Yawning, YN moved to the small, neatly arranged bedroom where her work attire awaited her. She quickly began the process of getting ready for her shift at the pleasure house, her mind already focusing on the tasks ahead.

She started with her undergarments, slipping into a comfortable, supportive bra and a pair of seamless panties. Next, she chose a simple yet elegant outfit for the evening—a fitted, deep navy dress that complemented her figure and allowed ease of movement. The fabric was soft and smooth, with a subtle sheen that caught the light just right. She paired it with a black satin belt that cinched at her waist, adding a touch of refinement to her look.

As she dressed, YN kept an ear out for Knox’s soft coos and Azriel’s soothing murmurs. The quiet, intimate moments they shared were precious, and she cherished the time they had together, even in the midst of their busy lives.

She pulled on a pair of black, sheer stockings, the fabric gliding up her legs smoothly. Her heeled, ankle-length boots completed the look, their dark hue and sleek design adding a touch of sophistication. She glanced at herself in the mirror, adjusting her outfit and making sure everything was in place.

While YN worked on her makeup, she chose a subtle look for the evening. She applied a light foundation to even out her complexion, followed by a touch of blush to give her cheeks a healthy glow. She carefully applied a coat of mascara to her lashes and a muted shade of lipstick that accentuated her natural beauty without being too bold. The final touch was a delicate, sparkling pendant necklace that rested softly against her collarbone.

As she finished up, YN glanced back towards the living room, her heart warming at the sight of Azriel and Knox. Azriel was gently burping Knox, his movements slow and deliberate, a tender expression on his face. Knox seemed content, his tiny hands gripping the edge of the bottle as he took his time feeding.

“Everything going smoothly?” YN asked, her voice soft but filled with a hint of playful curiosity.

Azriel looked up, his eyes meeting hers with a gentle smile. “He’s doing well. We’re just finishing up here.”

YN moved back into the living room, her steps light and purposeful. She bent down to give Knox a soft kiss on his tiny forehead, her fingers brushing gently against his downy hair.

“Almost time for you to go back to sleep, little one,” YN murmured, her voice full of affection. “I’ll be heading out soon.”

Azriel glanced at the clock, noting the time. “I’ll make sure he’s settled before you leave. You go ahead and finish up.”

YN nodded, taking a moment to appreciate the quiet domesticity of the scene before her. She knew that every moment spent with Knox and Azriel was a precious gift, and she cherished these early, serene hours before her work began.

With a final check of her appearance, YN grabbed her small, elegant handbag and slung it over her shoulder. She moved to the door, pausing to take one last look at Azriel and Knox.

“Be good for Daddy,” YN said softly to Knox, her gaze lingering on the tiny, peaceful face of her son.

Azriel looked up, a touch of mischief in his eyes. “We’ll be just fine. You go on and take care of things. We’ll be here when you get back.”

YN gave him a warm smile, her heart full of love and gratitude. “Thanks, Az. I’ll see you both later.”

With one last affectionate glance, YN left the apartment, the door clicking softly behind her. As she walked to her car, she felt a sense of both anticipation and resolve. Her work awaited her, but the love she had for her family was always close to her heart, a guiding light through the busy days and nights.

YN stepped into the dimly lit interior of the pleasure house, the familiar blend of perfume and alcohol greeting her senses. Tonight felt like any other—until she noticed two familiar figures occupying the corner booth. Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized Rhysand and Cassian, their presence unexpected and sending a ripple of anxiety through her.

What are they doing here again? YN thought, trying to keep her composure as she walked toward them. She had just served them the night before; seeing them again so soon unsettled her.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she greeted, her voice warm but professional as she approached their table. “Back again so soon? What can I get for you tonight?”

Rhysand looked up from his conversation with Cassian, his violet eyes sparkling with the usual charm. “Couldn’t stay away,” he replied smoothly. “We’re here to discuss Azriel’s next mission. This seemed like the perfect place to do so.”

The mention of Azriel’s mission made YN’s heart sink. She forced herself to maintain a neutral expression, though her mind was racing. Another mission? So soon after Knox’s birth? The thought of Azriel heading into danger again so soon filled her with dread.

Feigning casual interest, she asked, “Where is Azriel tonight? I thought he might be with you.”

Rhysand shook his head. “He’s probably handling some last-minute preparations. You know how he is—always ahead of the game.”

Cassian grinned. “Or brooding somewhere, as usual.”

YN managed a light laugh, but the weight in her chest only grew heavier. She knew where Azriel had been before she left for work, but hearing them discuss his next mission as if it were routine was unsettling. She needed to know more, to understand what lay ahead for him.

“I’ll get your yesterdays drinks,” YN said, slipping into her role. “Anything else I can bring you?”

Before she could leave, Cassian’s voice stopped her. “Actually, YN, there’s something I wanted to ask.”

She turned back, her heart beating a little faster. “Yes?”

Cassian’s expression softened, genuine curiosity in his eyes. “Last night, you mentioned you have a baby. How are they doing? And your boyfriend? It must be a lot to juggle.”

YN felt a surge of panic but kept her smile intact. She had mentioned her baby the previous night to maintain the cover story. Now, under Cassian’s kind gaze, she had to continue the lie.

“They’re both doing well,” she replied smoothly, though her heart ached. “My boyfriend’s very supportive. It’s been challenging, but we’re managing.”

Cassian nodded, his smile reassuring. “That’s good to hear. You deserve the best.”

Rhysand, who had been quietly observing, spoke up. “It’s not easy, especially with your job. But you’re handling it well.”

YN’s stomach twisted. They had no idea how close they were to the truth—or how much she wished she could tell them everything. But she couldn’t risk exposing her and Azriel’s secret, especially with his upcoming mission looming over them. She needed to know more, even if it meant asking directly.

“So, this mission you’re planning for Azriel,” YN began, keeping her tone casual. “Is it dangerous?”

Rhysand’s expression became guarded, though his tone remained light. “Nothing he hasn’t handled before. Just another piece of the puzzle we’re putting together.”

Cassian added, sensing her concern, “We can’t share details, but Azriel’s the best at what he does. We trust him completely.”

YN nodded, though her worry deepened. She had seen firsthand the toll these missions took on Azriel—the nights he came home battered and weary, the weight of secrets he carried. She couldn’t help but feel protective, knowing what was at stake for him and their family.

She pressed further, hoping for more information. “Do you know where he is now? I haven’t seen him around.”

Rhysand shook his head. “No, he didn’t say where he was heading tonight. But he’ll turn up.”

Cassian grinned. “Probably avoiding us because he knows we’re about to pile work on him.”

YN forced another smile, though her heart was heavy. She knew Azriel had reasons for keeping her in the dark, but that didn’t make it easier. The thought of him out there, facing unknown dangers while she pretended everything was fine, filled her with helplessness.

“I’m sure he’s just busy,” YN said, maintaining her calm facade. “Let me get those drinks.”

She moved away, her mind racing. As she prepared their drinks, the reality of their situation weighed heavily on her. Azriel was preparing for another mission, one that could take him away from her and Knox. And all she could do was wait, serving drinks and keeping up appearances while the man she loved faced danger.

When she returned with the drinks, she plastered on her best smile. Rhysand and Cassian accepted them, quickly resuming their discussion. YN lingered, hoping to catch more information, but the conversation shifted away from Azriel’s mission.

YN pushed open the door to the small, dimly lit apartment, her heart heavy with a mixture of fear and sorrow. As she stepped inside, the familiar scent of home—of Azriel—washed over her, but it brought no comfort this time. Instead, it felt like a cruel reminder of what she was about to lose.

The door closed behind her with a soft click, the sound echoing in the silence of the apartment. Knox’s soft coos came from the bassinet by the window, but YN barely heard them, her mind too clouded by the news she had just overheard. She had known this day would come—that Azriel would be called away on another mission—but knowing didn’t make it any easier.

As she walked further into the apartment, her steps faltered, the weight of her emotions finally crashing over her. She stopped in the middle of the small living room, her vision blurring as tears filled her eyes. A choked sob escaped her lips, and before she could hold it back, she was crying—deep, wrenching sobs that shook her whole body.

She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle the sound, but the tears kept coming, flowing freely down her cheeks. The realization that Azriel would be leaving soon—leaving her and Knox to face whatever dangers awaited him—was too much to bear. The thought of him not coming back, of Knox growing up without knowing his father, of her losing the man she loved, was a fear she couldn’t shake.

YN sank onto the couch, her legs giving out beneath her as the grief consumed her. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs. She had always known that Azriel’s work was dangerous—that every mission could be his last—but the reality of it had never hit her as hard as it did now. Knox had changed everything. He had brought a new kind of love into her life, but with that love came a new kind of fear—one that gnawed at her every time Azriel left.

The sound of a door opening in the bedroom startled her, and she quickly tried to compose herself, wiping away the tears with trembling hands. Azriel had been in their room, likely catching up on some much-needed rest after his long day. He had no idea she knew about the mission yet; she hadn’t had the chance to tell him.

YN hurriedly stood up, trying to smooth her dishevelled appearance as she heard Azriel’s footsteps approaching. She forced a smile, hoping to mask her distress, but she knew her red, puffy eyes would give her away.

Azriel stepped into the room, his sharp hazel eyes softening when they landed on her. “YN,” he said gently, concern immediately colouring his tone as he noticed her tear-streaked face. “What’s wrong?”

YN opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. She didn’t know how to tell him—didn’t know how to voice the fear and sadness that were choking her. Instead, she just shook her head, fresh tears spilling over as she looked at him, her gaze pleading.

Azriel was at her side in an instant, his strong arms wrapping around her, pulling her close. “Shh,” he whispered, holding her as if she were something fragile and precious. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t okay. YN buried her face in his chest, her hands clutching at his shirt as she cried. Azriel held her tighter, one hand stroking her hair, the other rubbing soothing circles on her back, his voice a soft murmur in her ear.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he urged, his voice gentle but firm. “Please, YN. What’s happened?”

YN pulled back slightly, looking up at him through tear-filled eyes. “I heard about your mission,” she finally whispered, her voice trembling. “I know you’re leaving soon.”

Azriel’s expression shifted, his brow furrowing in concern. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing away her tears. “It’s just a mission,” he said softly, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something that told her he knew it wasn’t just any mission.

YN shook her head, fresh tears spilling over. “But what if you don’t come back, Azriel? What if this is the one that takes you away from us? From Knox?” Her voice broke on their son’s name, the fear and anguish she had been holding back pouring out of her.

Azriel’s gaze softened even more, and he pulled her close again, his lips pressing against her temple. “I will come back,” he promised, his voice steady and sure. “I swear to you, YN. I will come back to you and Knox.”

But even as he said the words, YN couldn’t shake the fear that gripped her heart. She clung to him, her tears soaking into his shirt as she prayed that he was right—that this wouldn’t be the mission that tore their family apart.

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thediaryofaurora · 5 months ago

Text

General HCs

Bloody Painter/Helen Otis

This bad boy is LONNGG, I included a lot of his backstory in this. Writers block is beating my ass. 💔

- Twenty one!

- 6’1. When I say this dudes lanky, I mean LANKY. Slim and naturally toned, his main exercise comes from chasing or climbing stairs.

- Both of his parents are Korean, but he was raised in Pennsylvania.

- His parents struggled with getting pregnant, most ending is miscarriages. His mom was completely batshit, so when the pregnancy stuck she swore she had some divine intuition that made her believed he’d be a girl. She didn’t even bother having an ultrasound, so when he was born and she saw that he was a boy she thought him being a girl was some sort of prophecy she needed to fulfill.

- His whole life she had always told him he was meant to be a girl and he would be going against ‘God’s will’ if he didn’t follow through. He was always dressed in feminine clothing and had an extremely girly room. His mother didn’t put him in school until he was about thirteen, since she thought the kids would taint his mind and make him think he’s a boy.

- When he was put in school he got bullied RELENTLESSLY. His name, the way he dressed, everything. After meeting Tom he slowly started to realize that all the shit he grew up with wasn’t normal and his mom was psycho, so he started borrowing his clothes and changing in the school bathrooms so he could feel less weird. Once Tom admitted to planting Judy’s watch in Helen’s bag, they argued on the roof while getting slightly physical. Tom had slipped off the edge, but Helen managed to grab him. Of course, a middle schooler isn’t necessarily strong enough to hold another off a building without going down with them, so Tom let go to save Helen. Rumors spread that Helen had pushed him, but no one cared enough to investigate.

- After that school year was over he started to dress more androgynous/ masculine and ignored his mom’s pressure, which lead to her abusing him both physically and mentally. Eventually, with his ignored mental issues and the abuse he completely snapped, killing his mom and several of his bullies right before a Halloween party. He was sent to a psychiatric hospital that Slender ended up taking him from.

- VERY polite and proper. He’s pretty soft spoken and his grammar is like never flawed, big word user. 1000% the type of guy to kiss your hand as a greeting. The most he’ll do if he doesn’t like you is give you the silent treatment or a dirty look.

- Weird little detail, but his fingers and SLIM and LONG. His nails are neatly kept. He likes to pamper himself.

- He does botany in his free time! Any flower arrangements in the mansion and the gardens outside are his doing. There’s a few residents that he brings bouquets to every other week so they can have something nice. EJ, Sally, and Jane are his usual market. Also does flower pressing.

- Used to do ballet when he was about 4-7.

- Definitely the safest driver, but that makes him a pain as a get away driver. Always goes the exact speed limit and follows every possible law.

- Mainly listens to classical music. However, he does like Billy Joel, Fleetwood Mac, David Bowie, even a little bit of Queen.

- His room is SO nice and very big. Long sheer curtains, velvet & silk bedding, a grand piano, flowers, tall bookshelves, chairs, a large bed with a canopy, big windows, and lots of sculptures and framed paintings done by him. He’s really into elegant things and floral patterns. Has a mural on his ceiling!

- Hangs out with EJ, Liu, Puppeteer, and Jane. Rarely does he talk to any of the proxies or any creeps he’s not close with. Awfully reserved.

- Loves the fine arts. Painting, writing, music, sculpting, all that jazz. Occasionally does poetry! Him and Liu both like to write, so sometimes they’ll get together and talk about it. He mostly reads old classic books & poetry.

- Jane has taught him how to sew, although he doesn’t find much use for it.

- He has a white persian cat named Juliette in his room no one knows about other than his close friends. She never leaves the room, but she’s content; it has enough room to have lots of things just for her. He has a MASSIVE painting of her renaissance style by her bed. (He got her one of those fancy cat beds that look like a tiny rich person couch.) Pampers her to death.

- I know in his canon design he has that denim kinda jacket on with the pin, but in my HC he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that. Usually wears jeans and baggy button ups while he’s painting, but his day to day outfits are well put together. Rich person style in clothes — turtle necks, slacks, dress shoes, almost kind of dark academia.

- Super high standards in general, but especially when it comes to food. Fine dining for sure. Usually buys only enough ingredients for a serving just for him so he doesn’t have to leave them in the fridge. He doesn’t trust the other residents at ALL.

- This guy is ROLLING in it. He has so much loose cash from victims he can do whatever the hell he wants, big reason why his cat is living like royalty.

- Drinks at least one glass of wine a day. He has an entire rack in his room of old, fine wines. A lot of them are from Europe.

- For whatever reason, he’s an amazing masseuse.

- All of his candles and soaps are very high quality and expensive. He won’t settle for anything less.

- Can play the piano and the violin! He would kill to have a harpsichord, he might.

- He’s not big on history, but he could talk for hours about the titanic. He’s done paintings of it and has watched every possible documentary on it. Thinks the movie is a work of art.

I hope you all liked this! I love this fine man.

❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎

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woso-story · 9 days ago

Text

A Day With The Engen-Leon Family

Ingrid Engen x Mapi Leon x Baby

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of the Engen-Leon household, casting warm streaks of light across the cozy kitchen. The faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the lingering scent of lavender from the candles Ingrid had lit the night before. Mapi was perched at the kitchen table, her tattoo sketchpad open, the tip of her pencil tapping thoughtfully against her chin. Her eyes were locked on the design she was working on—a swirling floral pattern that was giving her more trouble than it should.

Across the table, two-year-old Mila, the undisputed star of the household, was decidedly not eating her breakfast. Instead, the bowl of yogurt in front of her had become an artistic medium. With her tiny fingers, she swirled the yogurt into intricate patterns across the tray of her highchair, giggling at her handiwork. Her dark curls bounced as she looked up at Mapi with her sparkling green eyes.

“Mami, look!” Mila chirped, holding her sticky hands up triumphantly. “Draw like you!”

Mapi glanced up from her sketchpad and laughed. “Wow, Mila! That’s amazing. You’re a little artist, just like Mami.”

Leaning against the counter with a steaming mug of coffee in hand, Ingrid let out an exasperated sigh, though the faintest smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She was dressed in her usual morning attire—an oversized hoodie and jogging shorts, her dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail.

“Maria, you’re encouraging her,” Ingrid said, shaking her head. “Mila, breakfast is for eating, not finger painting.”

Mila paused her yogurt masterpiece to give Ingrid a dramatic pout. “No eat. Draw!” she declared, smacking her palms onto the tray, sending a few droplets of yogurt splattering onto the table.

“Great. Now the table’s an art canvas, too,” Ingrid muttered, setting her mug down and crouching to Mila’s level. “Mila, sweetie, I know it’s fun, but you need to eat your food. If you don’t eat now, you’ll be hungry later.”

Mila crossed her arms defiantly. “No.”

Mapi, watching the exchange, stifled a chuckle. “She’s got your stubbornness, Ingrid.”

Ingrid gave her a pointed look before turning back to Mila. “If you don’t eat, Mila, there won’t be any energy for the park later.”

At the mention of the park, Mila’s resolve wavered. She looked back at Mapi, searching for an ally. Mapi reached over, tapping Mila’s nose playfully.

“Tell you what,” Mapi said. “If you finish your breakfast, we can draw together after.”

Mila’s pout melted into a tentative smile. “Promise?”

“Promise.” Mapi extended her pinky, and Mila eagerly hooked hers around it. With a dramatic sigh, she began spooning yogurt into her mouth, though she didn’t seem thrilled about it.

Ingrid shook her head but smiled. “You always know how to bargain with her.”

“Talent,” Mapi replied with a wink.

---

True to her word, Mapi set up a little art station in the living room after breakfast. The coffee table was cleared and replaced with blank sheets of paper, colored pencils, and markers. Mila sat cross-legged on the floor, a small piece of paper in front of her. Her tongue poked out in concentration as she scribbled colorful lines across the page.

Mapi sat beside her with her sketchpad, her own drawing slowly coming to life. She’d decided to incorporate some of Mila’s swirling yogurt-inspired shapes into her design. Every now and then, she glanced over to check on her little protégé’s progress.

Bagheera, had claimed a spot beside Mila, her tail lazily swishing back and forth as she purred contentedly. Mila reached out to scratch Bagheera behind the ears, eliciting an appreciative meow.

“Baggy likes my drawing!” Mila announced, holding up her paper. The scribbles were a chaotic burst of colors, but to Mapi, it was as beautiful as any professional piece.

“Of course she does, baby. You’re a natural artist,” Mapi said, ruffling her daughter’s curls.

Mila leaned down, showing her masterpiece to Bagheera. “See, Baggy? It’s you!”

Bagheera responded with a gentle nuzzle, much to Mila’s delight.

---

In the afternoon, the family set off for the park. Mila insisted that Bagheera join them, holding the leash tightly as the cat padded along beside her. Ingrid initially raised an eyebrow at the idea of taking a cat to the park, but she had learned by now to pick her battles.

Bagheera, surprisingly cooperative, trotted beside Mila like a seasoned leash-walker. Passersby stopped to smile, amused by the sight of a little girl and her leash-trained cat.

At the playground, Mila raced toward the climbing frames, her laughter echoing as she scrambled up the colorful structures.

“Mami! Look at me!” she shouted from the top, waving down at her parents.

When Mila got stuck halfway down, Mapi didn’t hesitate to climb up to help her. But the equipment was clearly not designed for adults, and Mapi found herself bumping her head on the low bars.

“Careful, Maria,” Ingrid called, barely suppressing her laughter.

“This is a death trap,” Mapi muttered, rubbing her head. She eventually guided Mila down safely and turned to Ingrid with a smirk. “Next time, you’re climbing up there.”

---

By the time they returned home, Mila was a mess. Dirt streaked her cheeks, her clothes were stained with grass, and her hair was a tangled mess.

“Bath time, Mila,” Ingrid declared.

Mila, however, had other plans. “No bath!” she shouted, darting away like a mischievous sprite.

It took Ingrid nearly ten minutes of chasing, coaxing, and bribing to finally wrestle Mila into the tub. Once inside, Mila’s protests turned into splashes, and the bathroom quickly resembled a miniature flood zone.

By the end, Ingrid was drenched, but Mila emerged clean and wrapped in a fluffy towel, smelling of lavender.

“That was exhausting,” Ingrid said, flopping onto the couch while Mapi dried Mila’s hair with a small towel.

Mapi smirked. “You did great. A true warrior.”

---

After dinner, the family settled on the couch for movie night. Mila chose her favorite: The Jungle Book. She sat between her moms, her eyes wide with wonder as Bagheera the panther appeared on screen.

“Baggy!” she squealed, pointing at the TV. “It’s you!”

Bagheera, curled up in Mila’s lap, purred softly as if to agree. Mila giggled, petting her feline companion and showing her the screen repeatedly. Ingrid and Mapi exchanged a loving glance, their hearts full.

---

When bedtime rolled around, Ingrid read Mila a story, her voice soft and soothing. Mila’s eyelids grew heavy, and she soon drifted off to sleep clutching her favorite stuffed lion.

But in the middle of the night, soft cries woke Mapi. She found Mila sitting up in her bed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Bad dream, Mami,” Mila whimpered, holding out her arms.

Mapi scooped her up, her heart aching. “It’s okay, mi cielo. Let’s go to the big bed.”

When they entered the bedroom, Ingrid stirred, her voice a sleepy whisper. “Bad dream?”

Mapi nodded, settling Mila between them. The little girl cuddled up under the covers, her breathing evening out as she fell asleep again. Mapi and Ingrid each kissed her forehead before lying down on either side of her.

As they drifted off to sleep, cocooned in warmth and love, they knew that tomorrow would bring another day of laughter, messes, and adventures with their little family.

#ingrind and mapi #woso #woso community #barca femeni #ingrid engen #mapi leon #ingrid engen and mapi leon #woso fics #woso fanfics

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greengoblinswifey · 1 month ago

Text

𝑭𝒂𝒎𝒆’𝒔 𝑬𝒅𝒈𝒆 ・₊✧🩶 Part III

Pairing— Nicholas Chavez x Model!Reader

Warnings— Mentions of arousal, fluff.

Series Masterlist

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

The morning sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting soft patterns on the bed. You woke up to the quiet sounds of the ocean outside, your body still tangled in the warmth of the sheets. Nicholas was already awake, propped up against the headboard, scrolling through his phone beside you. He looked effortlessly fine—his hair messily perfect, his jawline catching the light, those pretty eyes.

“Morning,” he said, glancing at you with a small smile. His voice was rough, low, and intimate in the quiet room.

“Morning,” you replied, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

There was a beat of silence, the air thick with the unspoken acknowledgment of what had transpired the night before. You sat up, the covers slipping off your shoulders as you reached for your phone, you were one of those people. But the memory of his touch, how close he was to you last night, was still vivid in your mind.

“So, last night..,” you said eventually, your voice softer than usual. “I haven’t had something like that in a long time.”

Nicholas looked at you for a moment before answering. “Wow, but it was nice.”

You caught yourself studying him—his relaxed posture, the way his fingers scrolled through his phone, and the faint hint of a smile on his lips. There was a question you wanted to ask, something burning at the back of your mind. Was he hard this morning? The thought made your cheeks heat up. You didn’t bother asking. You already knew the answer. But the real question was—why? Was it because of you, or was it just typical morning wood?

Instead of voicing your thoughts, you both dove into headlines, trying to avoid the lingering air between you. As you scrolled through the news, a headline caught your eye, and you couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you.

“‘Mystery man spotted! Could this be the one to tame the wild child?’” you read aloud, barely containing your laughter.

Nicholas leaned over to glance at your phone, his eyebrow quirking. “Tame? Are they serious?”

“I know, right?” you said, still laughing. “I’m in my early 20s, at the top of my career. I don’t need some man tying me down.” You paused, glancing at him. “No offense.”

“None taken,” he replied with a smirk, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

The laughter eased the tension, and the two of you fell into the kind of comfortable rhythm that had been building since your first meeting. You spent the rest of the morning lounging around, the conversation flowing easily. At one point, Nicholas opened up about his past, a year long relationship that had ended just before his career had taken off.

“Were you in love?” you asked, curiosity lacing your tone.

He shook his head thoughtfully. “I don’t think so. It just didn’t work. We were in different spaces in life, completely different people.”

You nodded, processing his words before admitting, “I’ve never been in love, I think.”

The confession hung in the air, intimate and raw. His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, you wondered what he was thinking. Was he imagining what it would be like if your first taste of love was with him?

You shifted the conversation, steering it toward lighter topics. hobbies, interests, little quirks that made you both laugh. The more you learned about him, the more you realized how different you were, yet there was an odd sense of compatibility that kept pulling you back in.

Later in the afternoon, you both sat down to discuss your next PR move.

“I’ve got a GQ red carpet event in a few days,” Nicholas mentioned. “It’s the perfect opportunity to make this whole thing slightly more public.”

You tilted your head, intrigued. “What’s the plan? Play it cool?”

“Exactly,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’ll be my date, but we won’t even follow each other on social media. Let the speculation do the work.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Look at us, plotting and scheming.”

Nicholas chuckled, leaning back against the couch. “I can’t believe this is the same person the media paints as a messy party girl.”

“And I can’t believe you’re supposed to be the detached, aloof guy,” you countered, grinning.

He smiled, his gaze softening. “You’re not so bad. Not bad at all.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

The afternoon had barely begun when Angela, you and Nicholas’ manager, threw a last-minute photoshoot into your schedule. This wasn’t new, she was known for her knack for delivering surprises, but you didn’t mind. Despite the controversies that had plagued your career recently, brands were still eager to work with you. It was a testament to your influence, even when the media tried to frame you as a wild child.

As you prepared to leave the beach house, your driver pulled up. Nicholas was still lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone. When you casually mentioned the shoot, he perked up.

“Mind if I come?” he asked, looking genuinely curious.

You laughed, raising an eyebrow. “To a photoshoot? Why?”

“I want to see you in your element,” he said, his tone surprisingly eager.

It was an odd request, but something about it felt endearing. You shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

Arriving on set, the atmosphere was as chaotic as ever—stylists rushing around, makeup artists perfecting details, and the director shouting last-minute adjustments. As you were whisked away to wardrobe, Nicholas trailed behind, taking everything in with wide-eyed fascination.

When you emerged from the dressing room, clad in a couture gown that hugged your figure perfectly, Nicholas looked stunned. He didn’t say much, but his expression spoke volumes.

“You clean up nice,” he teased, smirking as you walked past him toward the set.

“Don’t I always?” you shot back playfully, throwing a wink over your shoulder.

As you posed, the producers buzzed around, setting up lights and angles. One of them, a sharp-eyed man with a clipboard, noticed Nicholas standing off to the side.

“Who’s he?” he asked, curiosity evident in his tone.

You seized the opportunity, a sly smile spreading across your face. “Well, that’s Nicholas Chavez. He’s my industry muse. Gaining traction fast. He starred in Ryan Murphy’s Netflix show about the Menendez brothers, I’m sure you’ve heard of it. Great actor, and honestly, he has the kind of face that would be perfect for campaigns. You should keep him in mind for any projects or shoots.”

Nicholas blinked, caught off guard by your sudden endorsement, but he quickly recovered, nodding along and smiling gratefully. “Thanks,” he murmured under his breath as he stood beside you.

You glanced at him, brushing it off casually. “It’s my job now isn’t it? That’s why we’re doing this PR thing in the first place.”

The shoot went on, and you moved through each pose effortlessly, embodying the grace and confidence that had made you a household name. Draped in high fashion and surrounded by a perfectly styled set of flowers and soft lighting, you were in your element. Nicholas watched from the sidelines, snapping candid videos and pictures on his phone.

“I can’t believe you just do this,” he said during a break, shaking his head. “It’s like watching a masterclass.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

By the end of the day, you both had enough content to stir the media into another frenzy. Nicholas snapped a picture of the set, with you posing in the background, while you did the same. The plan was to release the images strategically once the photos were ready, perfect publicity for both of you.

Later that evening, Nicholas invited you into his mansion. The two of you lounged in his master bedroom, scrolling through social media and discussing the buzz that was already building.

“Think it’s time to post these?” Nicholas asked, holding up his phone with a mischievous grin. He was referring to the photos of the romantic set up from your beach house.

“Go for it,” you said. “I’ll follow your lead.”

He uploaded the photos first, his caption vague enough to keep people guessing. You followed a few minutes later, knowing the coordinated posts would send your followers into a frenzy.

“This is a fun game,” you admitted, laughing softly as you watched the likes and comments pour in.

Nicholas leaned back against the pillows, his gaze on you. “Look at us, playing the media like it’s chess.”

You grinned but said nothing, focusing instead on the undeniable ease that had settled between you two. As the night wore on, the conversation shifted to lighter topics, jokes, stories, playful banter.

But eventually, you excused yourself. As much as you enjoyed his company, a part of you held back. You couldn’t afford to enjoy it too much, not when the lines between professional and personal were already so blurred.

As you walked next door to your house, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something unpredictable. Would your alliance lead to something more, or was it foreshadowing the chaos to come? Only time would tell.

It should’ve been easy to slip back into your usual mindset, focus on your modeling career, keep your emotions in check, and stay professional. But as much as you tried, your thoughts kept wandering back to Nicholas, how he looked at you today, the way he made you laugh, and how he didn’t seem fazed by your world of chaos. He wasn’t intimidated by it the way other men that had been in your life were.

By the time you stepped into your home, the familiar silence greeted you, grounding you in reality. The space felt bigger than usual, emptier somehow, and you rolled your eyes at yourself. Get a grip, you thought. You weren’t the type to get hung up on anyone, let alone someone you barely knew.

You changed into more comfortable clothes, tying your curls back as you sank into the couch with your phone in hand. Notifications were exploding from the posts you and Nicholas had made earlier. Fans and media outlets alike were speculating, spinning wild theories about the "mystery man." Headlines like “Wild Child Model Tamed?” and “The Love Story We Didn’t See Coming” made you laugh out loud.

“Settle down?” you muttered to yourself. “They’re insane.”

But beneath the humor, a strange pang hit you. It was more like curiosity. What if they aren’t completely wrong? You shook the thought off. You were in your early twenties, at the peak of your career. You didn’t need a man to define or anchor you, even one as intriguing as Nicholas.

Your phone buzzed, pulling you from your thoughts. A text from him.

Hope you got inside safe though I watched you from my window. Thanks for bringing me to the shoot today, it was kind of amazing seeing you do your thing.

For a moment, you just stared at the screen, his words making you smile despite yourself. He didn’t have to text you. This wasn’t part of the PR script. You typed back quickly.

Don’t get used to it. My world’s a little too chaotic for you.

The response was immediate.

I don’t know. I think I can handle it ;)

You found yourself laughing, the warmth from earlier creeping back. But you couldn’t let this go beyond what it was, a strategic partnership, a temporary arrangement. Right?

You tossed your phone onto the couch and let your head fall back, staring at the ceiling. It should’ve been simple to keep things professional. Nicholas was just another coworker in a way, a means to an end for both of you. But there was something about him, his quiet confidence, the way he challenged you without overstepping, and how he didn’t take himself too seriously, that was starting to get under your skin.

It’s just because he’s new, you told yourself. Once the buzz dies down, so will this—whatever it is.

Still, a small part of you wondered if he felt the same pull. He wasn’t like most people you worked with, who saw you as a means to elevate their own image. Nicholas had seemed genuinely curious about you today, more interested in watching you work than using your name for clout.

Later that night, you scrolled through Instagram, where fans were dissecting every detail of your joint posts. Nicholas had posted first—just a picture of the set with a cryptic caption: “Quiet on set. She’s working.” You’d followed up an hour later with a similar post, careful not to include him in the shot.

The game was still on.

As you lay in bed, your thoughts drifted again. You didn’t want to admit it, but you enjoyed his company far more than you expected. Maybe too much. And that was dangerous. The last thing you needed was to blur the lines between professional and personal.

But then you remembered the way he looked at you today, like you were more than just a headline or a pretty face. Could you really keep this strictly professional? Or was it already too late?

With a frustrated sigh, you rolled over and closed your eyes, determined not to let this turn into something bigger. Tomorrow, it would be back to business. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Taglist: @blackynsupremacy @rafeysslut @lanadelreysvs

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