#please give me a warm welcome back maybe?

[onebadassunicorn]

The Spy Who Loved Me

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: pining, longing, SMUT (18+)

word count: 10.1K

Taglist: @motheroffae @rosecobollway @tele86

If you would like to be added to the taglist, please leave me a comment!

Image owned by Velocity Visual Media.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

********

Chapter 6

The vibrant hum of the Summer Court’s marketplace surrounded you, the air filled with the salty tang of the sea and the mingling scents of fresh fruits, spices, and baked goods. Stalls lined the cobblestone streets, their bright fabrics fluttering in the warm breeze as vendors called out to passersby. You moved through the bustling crowd with purpose, your honey-colored eyes scanning the stalls, searching for a distraction—anything to quiet the restless thoughts swirling in your mind.

But then you saw him.

Azriel stood at the edge of the market, his tall, imposing figure impossible to miss even in the lively chaos. His wings were tucked tightly against his back, and his shadows seemed to retreat, giving him an almost unassuming presence.

Almost.

His hazel eyes locked onto yours the moment you spotted him, and your breath hitched. He didn’t move immediately, as though giving you the chance to decide whether to approach or flee.

You didn’t flee. Instead, you straightened your spine and walked toward him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“You,” you said softly when you reached him, your tone a mix of surprise and guarded curiosity. “What are you doing here?”

Azriel’s gaze didn’t waver, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile. “Is it so strange to see me here?”

“In the Summer Court? Yes,” you said, folding your arms as you regarded him carefully. “It’s not exactly your usual territory.”

He shrugged, his wings shifting slightly. “Maybe I needed a break. Even the Night Court has its… tensions.”

You studied him for a moment, your mind racing as you tried to determine his true purpose. But instead of bringing up Eris or your time in Autumn, as you’d expected, he seemed oddly at ease.

Content, even.

The sharpness in his eyes was still there, but it wasn’t as biting as before.

It threw you off balance.

“You came to Summer for a vacation?” you asked, raising a skeptical brow. “I didn’t think you were the type.”

“I don’t get away often,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “But when I do, I like to make the most of it.”

His words were simple, but the way he looked at you made them feel like something more. You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sudden heat in your cheeks. “Well,” you said lightly, gesturing to the bustling market, “welcome to Summer. The marketplace is as good a place as any to start.”

He fell into step beside you as you continued walking, the tension between you as palpable as the heat of the midday sun. His presence unsettled you, not because it was unwelcome, but because of the way it made you feel—like you were walking a tightrope with no safety net.

“What about you?” he asked after a moment, his hazel eyes flicking to yours. “Do you spend a lot of time here?”

You shrugged, keeping your tone casual. “I come here occasionally. There’s always something new to see. It’s a good way to unwind.”

He nodded, his gaze scanning the vibrant stalls. “It suits you. The Summer Court. Bright, warm… lively.”

You glanced at him, your heart skipping a beat at the quiet admiration in his voice. “And what about you? The brooding spymaster of the Night Court wandering through Summer—it’s almost too strange to believe.”

“Maybe I’m not as brooding as you think,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

His smirk widened, but he didn’t reply. The silence that settled between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy—filled with things unspoken, questions unanswered.

As you approached the end of the market, you glanced at him, hesitating for a moment before speaking. “There’s a festival tonight,” you said, your voice careful. “One of the Summer Court’s many celebrations. It’s lively, colorful. You might enjoy it.”

Azriel’s eyes met yours, and something flickered in their depths—curiosity, amusement, something more. “Are you inviting me?”

You tilted your head slightly, offering a small, teasing smile. “Consider it an invitation, if you’d like. It’s not often we get a Night Court visitor at our festivals.”

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face before he nodded. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” you said, your smile widening slightly despite yourself. “Then I’ll see you there.”

You turned to leave, your heart pounding in your chest, but before you could take more than a step, his hand shot out, catching yours. The warmth of his touch stopped you in your tracks, and you turned back to find his hazel eyes fixed on yours.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said softly, his voice low and rough.

Something about the way he said it—the way his fingers lingered against yours—made your breath catch. But before the moment could stretch too long, you gently pulled your hand free, offering him one last smile before walking away.

As you moved through the crowd, you couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes on you, the heat of his touch lingering like a brand.

********

The festival was alive with light and sound, the warm glow of lanterns casting golden hues over the gathering crowd. Strings of vibrant flowers and shimmering ribbons adorned the marketplace, transforming it into a scene out of a dream. Music filled the air, a lively rhythm played by a band tucked near the heart of the square, and laughter echoed among the stalls where vendors offered food, drink, and trinkets.

You stepped into the festival wearing a dress that seemed crafted by the Summer Court itself—soft, flowing fabric in shades of coral, ivory and gold that caught the lantern light with every movement. Your honey-colored eyes shimmered as you took in the sight of the festivities, and the warm breeze toyed with the dark waves of your hair, brushing it over your shoulders.

Azriel spotted you almost instantly, standing at the edge of the crowd. His hazel eyes darkened as they swept over you, his breath catching for a moment as though he hadn’t expected you to look quite so stunning. His wings shifted slightly, and his shadows seemed to retreat, letting the golden light bathe him as he moved toward you.

“You’re here,” he said when he reached you, his voice low and smooth. His gaze didn’t waver from yours, the intensity in his eyes making your pulse quicken.

“You didn’t think I’d show?” you replied, a teasing smile playing on your lips.

“I wasn’t sure,” he admitted, his tone quieter now. “But I’m glad you did.”

You held his gaze for a moment before glancing at the lively dance floor where couples swirled to the rhythm of the music. “Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to ask me to dance?”

Azriel’s lips curved into a faint smile, and he extended his hand, his scarred fingers steady as they waited for yours. “May I have this dance?”

You placed your hand in his, letting him lead you onto the dance floor. The music was lively, the tempo fast and playful, but Azriel moved with effortless grace, his hands steady as he guided you through the intricate steps. His touch was warm, firm but gentle, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his hazel eyes never left yours.

“You don’t seem like the dancing type,” you teased, your voice light as the two of you moved in perfect rhythm.

“I’m full of surprises,” he replied, his tone dry but laced with amusement.

You raised a brow, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Keep dancing, and maybe you will.”

The banter continued as the music swelled, each step pulling you closer until the space between you was nearly nonexistent. His hand pressed against the small of your back, his other holding yours as though he had no intention of letting go. The heat of his body seeped into yours, and despite the liveliness of the dance, your focus narrowed to him—his touch, his gaze, the quiet intensity that seemed to linger in every movement.

“Is this your idea of a break?” you asked as he spun you lightly, your gown flaring with the movement. “Chasing me across courts?”

Azriel’s lips twitched, his hazel eyes glinting with something darker. “If I’m chasing you, it’s because you keep running.”

You raised a brow, your voice tinged with challenge. “Maybe I’m just hard to catch.”

“I’m not giving up,” he said simply, his tone quiet but firm. The promise in his words sent a shiver down your spine.

As the music began to slow, his hand slid further around your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were nearly pressed together. His gaze dropped to your lips for a brief moment before meeting your eyes again, the tension between you palpable.

The final notes of the song faded, but neither of you stepped away. Instead, Azriel leaned in, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, “I can’t stay away from you.”

Before you could respond, his lips found yours, capturing them in a kiss that was deep and consuming. His hand slid to the nape of your neck, holding you in place as he kissed you again and again, each one more desperate than the last.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and breathless.

Your body stiffened as you pulled back slightly.

His brow furrowed as he searched your eyes.  “What’s wrong?”

You tried to feign nonchalance. “Nothing. It’s just that I’ve heard that from someone else recently.”

Azriel stiffened, his hand faltering at your waist as your words sank in. His hazel eyes darkened, the sharp edge of jealousy flashing in them as he realized what you meant. “Eris,” he said, his tone cold.

You tilted your head, studying his expression. “Yes, does that bother you?”

“Yes,” he said bluntly, his voice hard. “But let’s not talk about him. Not tonight.”

His fingers tightened slightly at your waist as he leaned in again, his forehead resting against yours. “Tonight, I just want to be here. With you.”

“Then just be with me,” you whispered during the final dance.

He kissed you again, his lips soft but insistent, as though he were trying to etch the memory of you into his very being.

********

Now, as you strolled along the beach, the cool sand shifting beneath your bare feet, Azriel turned to you, his hazel eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “Tell me more about you,” he said quietly, his tone uncharacteristically soft. “Your life, your past… anything.”

You glanced at him, a small smile playing on your lips. “It’s not important,” you replied, your voice equally quiet. “Not tonight. Let’s just enjoy this.”

To your surprise, he didn’t press further. Instead, he nodded, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable; it was filled with the gentle rhythm of the waves and the unspoken tension that had lingered between you since the moment you first met.

Eventually, you both stopped walking, settling onto the soft sand where the water lapped gently at the shore. The moonlight bathed the scene in silver, illuminating the waves and the shimmering grains of sand. You pulled your knees to your chest, gazing out at the endless expanse of water as Azriel sat beside you, his wings tucked neatly behind him.

“You look beautiful in the moonlight,” he said suddenly, his voice low and rough. His gaze lingered on you, his expression open in a way that caught you off guard.

Your cheeks warmed, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “You don’t need to flatter me, Azriel.”

“It’s not flattery,” he replied, leaning closer. His hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. “It’s the truth.”

“Azriel—” you started, but he cut you off with a kiss. It wasn’t gentle or exploratory—it was claiming. His lips moved against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as if he couldn’t get enough of you. You gasped into him, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders for balance.

His kiss was consuming, filled with a desperation that mirrored your own. You leaned into him, your hands sliding up his chest as the heat between you grew.

When he finally pulled away, you were trembling. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his eyes blazing with something primal. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted, his voice rough. “Every damn second, it’s you. Your smell, your taste of your kisses, the way you feel under my hands…” He trailed off, his fingers tightening around your waist. “It’s driving me fucking crazy.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but he didn’t give you the chance. In one swift motion, he had you pinned beneath him in the sand, his body caging yours. The cool grains contrasted with the warmth of his touch as his weight settled over you, his wings creating a cocoon around you both. His lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, and you gasped softly, your fingers tangling in his dark hair.

“Azriel,” you murmured, your voice trembling as his hands began to roam your body, exploring every curve. Your dress was no barrier to his touch, his fingers tracing the fabric as though memorizing the shape of you.

“Azriel,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, though his hands were already moving, sliding up your sides, skimming over the curve of your hips. “Tell me, and I will.”

But you couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come. All you could do was stare up at him, your heart pounding in your chest as he leaned down to capture your lips again. This time, the kiss was slower, deeper, as if he were savoring every moment. His hands roamed freely now, exploring every inch of you like he needed to memorize the feel of your body beneath his fingers.

He groaned softly, his breath hot against your skin. “I can’t stop,” he said, his voice rough and filled with need. “I don’t want to stop.”

You arched beneath him, your body responding to his every touch, his every kiss. “Then don’t,” you whispered, your hands gripping his shoulders as you pulled him closer.

When he broke the kiss, it was only to trail his lips down your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. You gasped, arching into him as your fingers tangled in his hair.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he muttered against your skin, his voice thick with desire. “I thought I could control it—this need I have for you. But every time I touch you, it only gets worse.”

His hand found the hem of your dress, slipping beneath the fabric to trace the bare skin of your stomach. You shivered, your breath hitching as his thumb brushed over your hip bone.

“Azriel,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and burning. “Tell me you want this,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Tell me you feel it too.”

You nodded, unable to form coherent words. That seemed to be all the confirmation he needed. His lips crashed back onto yours, his hands working quickly to rid you of your clothes. The cool night air kissed your skin as your dress was tossed aside, followed quickly by his clothes.

Azriel didn’t waste time. His hands and mouth were everywhere, mapping every curve and dip of your body as if he were starved for the feel of you. His lips trailed down your neck, across your collarbone, lower still until they found the peak of your breast. You gasped as he took you into his mouth, your fingers tightening in his hair as pleasure shot through you.

“Gods, you’re perfect,” he groaned, his voice muffled against your skin. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

You could feel the evidence of his words pressing against your thigh, hard and aching. Your own desire coiled tight in your belly, every brush of his lips and hands driving you closer to the edge.

“Please,” you begged, your voice ragged.

Azriel lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours. There was no hesitation in them, no doubt.

Only hunger.

Pure, unrelenting hunger.

He shifted, positioning himself between your legs, his hands gripping your hips as he guided himself to your entrance. The first touch of him against you sent a jolt of electricity through your body, your back arching off the sand as he pushed inside.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his head dropping forward as he sank into you. “You are so tight. You feel… incredible.”

You whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move. Each thrust was deliberate, slow at first, as if he were savoring the way you stretched around him. But it didn’t take long for his pace to quicken, his hips snapping against yours with a rhythm that left you gasping for air.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice low and guttural. “Always mine.”

You couldn’t respond, couldn’t think. All you could do was cling to him as the pleasure built, wave after wave crashing over you until you were screaming his name, certain you would drown in him.

Azriel’s breathing grew ragged, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own release. When it finally hit him, he let out a guttural groan, his body shuddering above you as he spilled himself inside you.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The only sounds were your ragged breaths and the distant crash of the waves. Then, slowly, Azriel lowered himself onto his elbows, his forehead resting against yours.

“This is going to ruin me,” he murmured, his voice raw. “Now that I’ve had you, it just makes me want you more.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could, he was kissing you again, his hands already moving, already seeking more. And you knew—there was no stopping him.

Not tonight.

********

The night air was warm, carrying the salty tang of the sea as it brushed against your skin. Azriel’s hand tightened around yours, his fingers laced with an unspoken urgency as he led you toward the water. The moon hung low, casting a silvery glow over the waves that crashed relentlessly against the shore. His eyes flicked to yours, and you could see the hunger simmering there—a hunger that had only deepened since your last encounter on the sand.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” he asked, his voice low and rough like the tide pulling back from the shore. “This… need. It doesn’t stop, does it? Not for me.”

"I feel it too." you responded, gazing back at him.

However, you didn't even have to answer.

He already knew.

You could see it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his chest rose and fell with restrained breath. He stopped just before the waterline, his gaze dropping to your lips, then lower, tracing the curve of your body.

“I told you,” he murmured, stepping closer until his heat enveloped you. “Now that I’ve had you, it only makes it worse. I can’t stop thinking about you. About this.” His hand slid to your waist, possessive and firm, as if he were afraid you might slip away. “And how… I need more.”

Before you could respond, he bent down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was raw, desperate, a clash of tongues and teeth that left no room for doubt. His hands moved to cradle your face, holding you still as he devoured you. You felt the pulse of his desire in every brush of his lips, every sweep of his tongue. And when he finally pulled back, his breath ragged, his forehead pressed to yours, you could feel the tremble in his arms.

“Come with me,” he said, his voice thick with want. “Into the water.”

He didn’t wait for your reply, already tugging you forward. The first wave lapped at your feet, cool and refreshing against the heat of your skin. Your breath hitched as another wave rolled in. Azriel didn’t slow, guiding you deeper until the water reached your thighs, then your waist. His grip never loosened, as if he feared losing you to the ocean itself.

When he turned to face you again, his expression was feral, lit by moonlight and something far more primal. “Do you know what you do to me?” he demanded, his voice rough. “What you’ve been doing to me since the moment I saw you?”

His hands found your hips, lifting you effortlessly until your legs wrapped around his waist. The water surged around you, cold and insistent, but it was nothing compared to the fire coursing through you. Azriel’s mouth found the curve of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he spoke against it.

“I thought I could control it,” he murmured, his words hot and uneven. “But I can’t. Every time I touch you, it’s like… I’m unraveling. Like I forgot who I was before you.”

His lips traveled lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, your shoulder. Each one sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you clung to him as the waves pushed against both of you, threatening to pull you under. But Azriel held you steady, his strength unyielding.

“Tell me you feel it too,” he growled, his hands tightening on your thighs. “Tell me this isn’t one-sided. Tell me I’m not the only one going crazy.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off with another searing kiss, swallowing your words before they could form. When he broke away, his eyes were dark, almost black with need.

“Don’t say it,” he muttered. “Just show me.”

His gaze raked over your exposed body, and the look he gave you was enough to make your knees weak—if they weren’t already locked around him.

“Perfect,” he breathed, his voice trembling with awe. “You’re fucking perfect.”

He kissed you again, harder this time, his hands roaming your skin as if memorizing every inch. One hand slid between your legs, fingers teasing until you gasped into his mouth. He smirked against your lips, clearly pleased with himself.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice a heated promise. “All mine.”

The next wave came in strong, drenching you both, but Azriel didn’t seem to notice. His focus was entirely on you, on the way your body responded to his touch, the way you moaned his name into the night. He shifted, and you felt him—hard and insistent—press against you.

“Azriel—” you started, but he cut you off with a groan, his forehead falling to your shoulder.

“I can’t wait anymore,” he admitted, his voice strained. “I need you. Now.”

With a single thrust, he filled you completely, the sensation drawing a gasp from your lips. His hands gripped your hips as he began to move, each motion deliberate and deep, rocking against you in time with the crashing waves. The rhythm was relentless, consuming, and you could feel the tension coiling tighter in your core with every thrust.

“That’s it,” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. “Let go, baby. Let me feel you.”

His pace quickened, driven by the same desperate need that had brought him to you in the first place. The water splashed around you, cool and chaotic, but all you could focus on was the heat of his body, the way he drove into you like he was trying to imprint himself on your very soul.

“You’re mine,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “Not his. Not Eris. But mine. All mine.”

You nodded, unable to form words as pleasure washed over you in waves that rivaled the ones breaking around you. His name tumbled from your lips, a mantra, a prayer, as you clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders. He groaned, burying his face in your neck as he chased his own release, his movements growing erratic.

And then it hit you—an explosive wave of ecstasy that left you shuddering in his arms. He followed moments later, his body stiffening as he spilled himself inside you with a guttural cry.

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were heavy-lidded, his expression torn between satisfaction and something darker, more possessive.

“Do you see now?” he murmured, his voice rough. “Do you see what you’ve done to me?”

“Yes, and you do the same to me.” You whispered as you cupped his face and captured his lips in another kiss.

********

The quiet rustle of the waves and the cool breeze brushing against your skin grounded you as you and Azriel retrieved your clothes from the beach. Pulling your gown back over your head and brushing sand from it, you turned to him, your honey-colored eyes catching the faint gleam of the moonlight. He pulled his shirt over his head, and then his pants, his wings shifting behind him as his hazel eyes stayed fixed on you, searching, unguarded. For the first time, you hesitated—not because of the mission, but because of what you felt stirring inside you.

“Come with me,” you said softly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “Stay with me tonight.”

His brows furrowed slightly, but there was no hesitation in his voice. “Where?”

“There’s a beach house,” you explained, standing and brushing the remaining sand from your gown. “It’s secluded. Tarquin lets me use it when I need time to myself.” You glanced at him, your voice quieter now. “It’s special to me.”

Azriel stood, towering over you as he stepped closer. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, your breath catching as his hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Yes.”

The winnowing to the beach house was quick, the air shifting as you reappeared on the wooden deck of the small but elegant home. It stood nestled among the dunes, its pale stone walls and arched windows glowing softly in the moonlight. The sound of the waves was louder here, the salty air filling your lungs as you led Azriel inside.

The interior was warm and inviting, with soft lighting and plush furnishings. The large windows overlooked the sea, the moonlight painting the space in silvery hues. You turned to face Azriel, who was silently taking it all in, his hazel eyes lingering on the intimate details of the home. It felt strange—vulnerable—to share this place with him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.

“It’s beautiful,” he said finally, his voice low.

You smiled faintly, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “I come here to think. To get away.”

Azriel’s gaze shifted to you, his expression softening. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

You didn’t reply, instead stepping closer and reaching for him. His hands were on you instantly, his touch warm and grounding as he pulled you closer. Your lips met in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened, the intensity of the moment pulling you under.

As you guided him to the bedroom, the ache in your chest grew. This had grown to be more that using his feelings to manipulate him. You had decided the moment you saw him in the marketplace that you couldn’t bring yourself to do that.

The connection you felt to him now was undeniable.

It wasn’t just about the mission anymore—it was about him.

And that scared you.

In the privacy of the bedroom, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight streaming through the windows, Azriel kissed you again, his hands roaming your body with a reverence that made your knees weak. He shed his leathers with practiced ease, his wings flaring slightly as he stepped toward you, his hazel eyes dark with desire.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough as he helped you out of your gown, the fabric pooling at your feet. His hands explored your bare skin, his touch igniting a fire under your skin as he pressed his lips to your neck, your shoulder, every inch of you he could reach.

You fell onto the bed together, the soft sheets cool against your heated skin as his body covered yours. His kisses were slower this time, deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every moment. His hands traced the curves of your body, his touch firm but gentle, and the way he whispered your name sent shivers down your spine.

The hours blurred together as you made love, the passion between you building and ebbing like the tides outside. He was attentive, his every movement laced with a tenderness that left you breathless. And when it was over, when you lay tangled together in the sheets, the weight of what you’d shared settled over you.

But it wasn’t over.

The night stretched into early morning, the two of you unable to stay apart for long. Azriel kissed you again, his hands trailing over your body as though committing it to memory. He touched you like you were precious, his lips finding every sensitive spot, his voice low and reverent as he whispered words you couldn’t bear to unpack.

As dawn began to break, the soft light of the rising sun painting the room in gold and pink, you lay in his arms, his wings draped protectively over you. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, and you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

You realized that you couldn’t deny what you felt for him. Your feelings had become something that you could no longer control.

As the first rays of sunlight illuminated the room, Azriel pressed a kiss to your temple, his voice a quiet murmur in the stillness. “You’re dangerous,” he said softly, though there was no accusation in his tone.

You didn’t reply, couldn’t, as you closed your eyes and let yourself savor the moment.

********

The sun hung high in the sky, its golden rays kissing the endless stretch of turquoise waters as Azriel’s fingers intertwined with yours. The Summer Court’s beach house stood behind you, its sliding glass walls wide open to let the salty breeze sweep through. The air was warm, carrying the faint scent of sea salt and blooming jasmine, and the sound of waves crashing against the shore played a soothing rhythm in the background.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Azriel asked, his voice low and teasing, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief. His wings, usually a shadowy presence, were relaxed, the sunlight catching on the faint iridescence of their edges.

“Ready for what?” you replied, feigning innocence, though your heart already raced at the way his thumb traced circles on the back of your hand.

He smirked, a slow, knowing curve of his lips. “For me to win.”

Before you could protest, he tugged you forward, and you stumbled into the water with a gasp. The cool waves lapped at your ankles, then your knees, as he pulled you deeper. You laughed, the sound light and carefree, and splashed him with a wave of water. “You’re going to regret that!”

He dodged the spray with a grin, his wings flaring slightly as he moved with that effortless grace of his. “Oh, I doubt that.”

The game was on. Water flew between you, laughter echoing across the empty beach as you chased each other through the waves. His hands were quick, catching you around the waist and lifting you effortlessly, only to drop you back into the water with a splash. You retaliated by jumping on him, your arms wrapped around his neck and your legs wrapped around his waist as he staggered playfully, pretending to lose his balance.

“You’re relentless,” he groaned, but his voice was laced with amusement as he turned to face you, water dripping from his dark hair.

“And you’re a terrible sport,” you shot back, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead.

His eyes softened, the playful glint giving way to something deeper, more intimate. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. “Maybe I just like seeing you like this,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Carefree. Happy.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. The sound of the waves faded, the warmth of the sun dimmed, and all you could see was him. “Azriel,” you started, but he silenced you with a kiss.

It was gentle at first, a soft press of his lips against yours, but it quickly deepened. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as the water swirled around your legs. His kiss was intoxicating, a mix of passion and tenderness that left you breathless. When he finally pulled away, you were gasping, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Let’s take a walk,” he suggested, his voice rough with desire. You nodded, unable to form words as he took your hand and led you out of the water.

The sand was warm beneath your feet as you walked along the shore, the waves occasionally lapping at your toes. His hand never left yours, his presence a steady anchor as you moved. The beach was empty, the world feeling as though it belonged only to the two of you.

“This place,” he said after a while, “it suits you. The warmth, the light… it’s like you.”

You glanced up at him, surprised. “You think so?”

He nodded, his gaze unwavering. “You bring that kind of light wherever you go. It’s one of the things I…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening as if he’d said too much.

You squeezed his hand, a silent encouragement for him to continue, but he didn’t. Instead, he stopped walking and turned to face you. His wings stretched slightly, shielding you from the sun, and his eyes searched yours as if looking for something. “I’m glad we came here,” he said finally.

“Me too,” you replied, your voice barely audible over the sound of the waves. "Stay the week with me."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “Are you sure?"

You nodded, getting lost in his beautiful hazel eyes.

"You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

The intensity of his words sent a shiver down your spine, and you closed your eyes, savoring the closeness. His lips found yours again, this time with a hunger that left you weak. His hands roamed your body, his touch igniting a fire within you that burned brighter with every passing second.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes were dark, filled with a desire that mirrored your own. “Let’s go inside,” he murmured, his voice thick with need.

You nodded, your heart racing as he led you back to the beach house. The sliding glass walls were still open, the sound of the waves now a steady rhythm in the background.

He turned to face you, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you close. His lips crashed against yours with a fervor that left you breathless, his tongue teasing yours as his hands explored every inch of your body. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as the heat between you grew.

He broke the kiss, his chest heaving as he looked down at you. “I need you,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion.

“Then take me,” you replied, your voice trembling with desire.

His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. His lips found your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as his hands explored every curve. You gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders as the sensation overwhelmed you.

He stepped back, his eyes raking over your body as he slowly removed his own shirt. The moonlight highlighted the planes of his chest, the shadows emphasizing every muscle. You reached out, your fingers tracing the faint scars that marked his skin, and he shivered under your touch.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, your voice filled with awe.

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “No, that’s you.”

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and you arched into him, your body already thrumming with anticipation. The sound of the waves crashing outside seemed to echo the rhythm of your heartbeat. Azriel’s hands skimmed over your hips, his touch both tender and possessive, as he settled between your thighs.

You could feel his breath against your inner thigh, warm and teasing, and a shiver of anticipation ran through you. His eyes met yours, dark and intense, and there was a hunger in them that made your breath catch. “I want to taste you,” he murmured, his voice low and husky, sending a jolt of arousal straight to your core.

Before you could respond, his lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and you let out a soft gasp. He took his time, kissing and nipping his way closer, each touch of his lips sending sparks of pleasure through you. When he finally reached the apex of your thighs, he paused, his breath hot against your core, and you could feel the warmth of it through your wetness.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe, and then he leaned in, his tongue sliding through your folds in one long, slow stroke.

The sensation was electric, and you cried out, your hands tangling in the sheets as pleasure shot through you. Then he did it again, his tongue moving in deliberate, languid strokes that had your hips lifting off the bed.

“Fuuuuuuck, baby.  Your pussy tastes so good.” He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core

“Azriel,” you moaned, your voice trembling with need, and he responded by wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking gently.

Your back arched off the bed, a strangled cry escaping your lips as the pleasure intensified. He didn’t let up, his tongue flicking over your sensitive bud with practiced precision, and you could feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each passing second.

He reached up, his fingers sliding inside you, and you gasped as he curled them, hitting that sweet spot that made your vision blur. “Oh gods,” you whimpered, your hips rocking against his hand, seeking more of that incredible sensation.

Azriel’s teeth grazed your clit gently, and you came undone, your body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. He didn’t stop, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to draw out your orgasm, until you were trembling and gasping, your body utterly spent.

“So delicious,” he murmured, lifting his head to look at you, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “You taste fucking incredible.”

You could only manage a weak moan in response, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your climax. Azriel’s lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile, and then he was moving up your body, his hands sliding under you to pull you close.

His lips found yours, and you could taste yourself on his tongue, the thought sending a fresh surge of arousal through you. His erection pressed against your thigh, hard and insistent, and you reached down to wrap your hand around him, stroking him slowly.

He groaned into your mouth, his hips thrusting into your hand, and you could feel the restraint in him, the way he was holding back. “I’ve got to have you,” he growled, his voice rough with need, and you nodded, your own desire flaring anew.

He positioned himself at your entrance, and then he was sliding inside you, filling you completely. You gasped, your body stretching to accommodate him, and he paused, giving you a moment to adjust. Then he began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, each one sending ripples of pleasure through you.

Your hands roamed over his back, feeling the muscles shift and flex beneath his skin, and you pulled him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him against you. He kissed you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours, and you could feel the connection between you, the way your bodies fit together perfectly.

The rhythm of his thrusts increased, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he drove into you, each thrust hitting that spot that made you see stars. “Gods, your pussy is so tight,” he growled, his voice rough with need.

You could feel the tension building inside you again, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until you were on the edge once more. “Azriel,” you moaned, your voice desperate, and he reached between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing it in tight, rapid circles.

The combination of his thrusts and the pressure on your clit was too much, and you came with a cry, your body convulsing around him. He followed you over the edge, his thrusts becoming erratic as he buried himself deep inside you, his release hot and intense.

For a moment, you both lay there, your bodies still joined, as you tried to catch your breath. Azriel kissed you gently, his lips soft against yours, and then he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him. You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and you could feel the warmth of him beneath you, both comforting and arousing.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” he murmured, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. “The taste of your pussy, the smell of your skin, the way you feel wrapped around my cock, the way you kiss me… it’s addictive.”

You smiled, a sense of contentment washing over you, but even as your body relaxed, you could feel the heat building again, the desire that seemed to be never-ending when it came to Azriel. “Then don’t stop,” you whispered, lifting your head to meet his gaze.

His eyes darkened with hunger, and then he was flipping you over, pinning you beneath him. “I don’t plan to,” he growled, his lips crashing down on yours as his hands began to roam your body once more.

********

The morning had been quiet, lazy. You’d spent hours in the water, splashing and teasing each other like children. Azriel, usually so reserved, had let his guard down entirely. His wings, usually a weapon, were now a tool for mischief, fanning water at you with a single flap.

“You’re not going to get me this time,” you teased, your voice light and playful as you scooped a handful of water and splashed it at him.

He dodged with a speed that was almost unfair, his wings flaring slightly as he laughed—a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

You smirked, stepping closer, the water cool against your skin. “Oh, I will.”

In a flash, you lunged at him, tackling him into the waves. His laughter bubbled up as the two of you tumbled into the water, arms and legs tangling. When you surfaced, his hands were on your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. His gaze softened as he looked down at you, water dripping from his hair, his lips curving into a slow, tantalizing smile.

“Got you,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth as velvet.

Your breath hitched as his fingers traced the curve of your jaw, tilting your face up to his. His lips met yours in a kiss that was both gentle and demanding, his tongue brushing against yours, coaxing a moan from your throat. The water lapped around you as his hands slid down your back, pulling you closer, until there was no space left between you.

When he finally pulled away, his breath was ragged, his eyes darkened with desire. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear.

You grinned, trailing your fingers down his chest. “I’m counting on it.”

By midday, you’d collapsed onto the sand, breathless and grinning.

“Thank you,” you said softly, glancing up at him.

He raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For this. For… letting me see this side of you.”

His expression softened, and he stopped, turning to face you. His wings unfurled slightly, casting a shadow over you both, and his golden eyes searched yours. “You make it easy,” he murmured, his voice rough.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur of laughter and stolen kisses. The two of you chased each other through the waves, his wings sending sprays of water soaring into the air whenever he beat them. You lounged on the warm sand, your fingers intertwined as you watched the sun begin its slow descent toward the horizon.

As the sky turned shades of orange and pink, Azriel stood, pulling you to your feet. “Come on,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “Let’s take a walk.”

The beach stretched out before you, endless and serene. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was a soothing rhythm as the two of you walked hand in hand, the cool sand shifting beneath your feet. The air was thick with the scent of salt and the faint tang of sea grass, and the occasional cry of a gull echoed in the distance.

Azriel’s thumb traced small circles on the back of your hand, his touch sending little sparks of warmth through you. “It’s beautiful here,” he said, his voice quiet, almost reverent.

You glanced up at him, taking in the way the fading light caught on the angles of his face, the way his shadows seemed to melt into the dusk. “It really is.”

He stopped, turning to face you, his eyes searching yours. “But it’s not the place that makes it beautiful,” he said, his voice soft but intense. “It’s you.”

Your breath caught as he stepped closer, his free hand cupping your cheek. His lips met yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, his tongue teasing yours, his breath mingling with yours. When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed.

The two of you stood there for what felt like an eternity, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world around you fading away.

When the moon hung high in the sky, casting its silvery light over the waves, Azriel led you back to the beach house. The large sliding walls were open, the cool night breeze carrying the scent of the ocean into the room. The moonlight reflected off the water, casting shimmering patterns on the walls.

Azriel turned to you, his eyes dark with desire as he pulled you into his arms. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

His hands slid down your back, pulling you closer, until there was no space left between you. His lips met yours in a kiss that was both gentle and demanding, his tongue brushing against yours, coaxing a moan from your throat.

He trailed kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His hands slid under your shirt, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, his touch igniting a fire in your veins.

When he finally pulled your shirt over your head, his breath hitched as his eyes roamed over your body. “Gods, you’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire.

He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed and laying you down gently. His lips found yours again, his hands roaming over your body, exploring every inch of you. When he finally pulled away, his eyes locked onto yours, his breath ragged.

“I need you,” he whispered, his voice trembling with urgency.

“Then take me,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

His lips crashed into yours as his hands slid down your body, his fingers teasing you, driving you to the edge. When he finally entered you, it was with a slow, deliberate thrust, his eyes locked onto yours, his breath mingling with yours.

The waves crashed against the shore as the two of you moved together, the moonlight casting its silvery light over your entwined bodies. Azriel’s hands roamed over your body, his lips trailing kisses down your neck, his breath hot against your skin.As the two of you reached the edge, your bodies trembled with the force of your release.

The two of you lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore lulling you into a deep, contented sleep.

But in the early hours of the morning, when the moon was still high in the sky, Azriel woke you with a kiss, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’m not done with you yet,” he whispered, his voice low and intense.

Your breath hitched as his hands slid down your body, his touch igniting a fire in your veins. “Then show me,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desire.

Azriel’s lips crushed against yours, his hunger evident in the way his tongue swept into your mouth, claiming you as if he hadn’t just spent hours worshiping your body. His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips with a possessiveness that made your core tighten in anticipation. He pulled you upright, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he stood effortlessly, his wings flaring slightly to balance the weight.

“You’re mine,” he growled against your lips, his voice low and guttural, sending a shiver down your spine. “Mine.” He punctuated the word with a sharp nip at your bottom lip, and you gasped, your fingers tangling in the inky strands of his hair.

He picked you up from the bed and carried you to the nearest wall, your back pressing against the cool surface as his body pinned you there. His wings spread wide, then closed around you both, cocooning you in a dark, intimate embrace. The sensation was overwhelming—his heat, his scent, the way his wings blocked out everything but him. It was as if the world had dissolved, leaving only the two of you.

“Azriel,” you breathed, your voice trembling with want. His name was a plea, a prayer, and he answered it with a predatory smile that made your stomach flutter.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, his lips trailing along your jaw, down your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you firmly against him, and you could feel the hard length of him pressing against your core, teasing you.

“I want you,” you whispered, your hips shifting against his, seeking friction. “I want all of you.”

His eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, he just watched you, his gaze burning with an intensity that made you feel like you were the most precious thing in the world. Then, without breaking eye contact, he reached between you, his fingers brushing over your slick folds, and you moaned, your head falling back against the wall.

“Damn baby, is all of this for me?,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire. “Always so ready, so perfect.” His fingers slid inside you, curling in just the way that made your thighs tremble, and you whimpered, your hips rocking against his hand.

“Azriel,” you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Please.”

He chuckled low in his throat, a sound that sent heat pooling in your belly. “So impatient,” he teased, though his own breathing was ragged, betraying his own need. He withdrew his fingers, and you whined at the loss, but then he was gripping your hips again, lifting you slightly before positioning himself at your entrance.

“Look at me,” he commanded, and you obeyed, your eyes meeting his as he pushed into you slowly, so slowly, stretching you in the most delicious way. You moaned, your head falling forward to rest against his chest as he filled you completely, the sensation overwhelming.

“Look at me,” he repeated, his voice firmer this time, and you forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze once more. His expression was fierce, possessive, and it sent a thrill through you. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his hips rolling against yours, and you gasped as he started to move, his pace slow and deliberate.

His wings tightened around you, his body pressing you harder against the wall as he thrust into you, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. His lips found yours again, his kiss searing, and you clung to him, your body responding to every touch, every movement.

“Gods baby, I’m becoming addicted to you,” he groaned against your lips, his voice strained as if he were holding back. His hands moved to grip your ass, lifting you slightly to change the angle, and you cried out as he hit a spot inside you that made your vision blur.

“Azriel!” you gasped, your nails raking down his back, and he growled, his pace quickening. His wings shuddered around you, their movements mirroring the rhythm of his hips, and the sensation of being completely enveloped by him was almost too much to bear.

“Come for me, beautiful” he commanded, his voice dark and commanding, and your body obeyed, pleasure crashing over you in waves as he continued to thrust into you, his movements becoming more erratic. You clung to him, your mind spinning as you rode out the intensity of your release, his name falling from your lips like a mantra.

He followed you over the edge, his body tensing as he spilled inside you, his wings tightening around you as if he couldn’t get close enough. For a moment, the only sound was your labored breathing, the world outside the cocoon of his wings forgotten.

“Mine,” he whispered again, his voice soft now, almost vulnerable, and you nuzzled into his neck, your heart swelling with love for him.

Oh shit –

It hit you like a tsunami.

You were in love with him.

And you were not sure how to reconcile your feelings for him vs the mission you must complete.

********

Later that night, after your bodies lay tangled in the sheets and the moonlight streamed through the open window, Azriel began to speak, his voice low and rough.

“You must think me a monster,” he said, staring up at the ceiling, his scarred hands resting loosely on your back as you lay across his chest.

You shifted, propping yourself up on your elbow to look at him. “Why would I think that?”

He hesitated, his hazel eyes distant as though he were looking at something far beyond the room. “Because I’ve done monstrous things. I’ve killed more people than I can count, spilled blood for the sake of the Night Court, for Rhysand, for my family. Sometimes… I wonder if there’s anything left of me that’s not stained by it.”

Your chest tightened as you saw the raw emotion in his gaze, the weight of his confession settling between you. “You’ve done what you had to,” you said softly, your fingers tracing the scars on his hands. “To protect the people you love. That doesn’t make you a monster.”

He gave a bitter laugh, his gaze dropping to your face. “You say that because you haven’t seen the worst of me.”

“Maybe not,” you said, holding his gaze. “But I know you’re not the monster you think you are. You care, Azriel. You feel. That’s not something a monster would do.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his eyes searching yours as though trying to find the lie in your words. When he didn’t, he exhaled softly, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face. “You make me feel… different. Like I’m more than just what I’ve done.”

Your breath hitched at the quiet honesty in his voice, and you raised up to kiss him, your lips soft against his. It was a kiss that spoke of more than passion—it was comfort, reassurance, a silent promise that you wouldn’t run from the darkness he carried.

“I know what it’s like,” you said softly, your gaze fixed on the his. “To feel like you’ve been shaped by things you had no control over. My childhood… it wasn’t what most people would call normal.”

Azriel looked at you, his expression unreadable but his eyes filled with quiet curiosity. You hesitated for a moment, weighing your words carefully. The truth was dangerous, but you could offer him pieces of yourself without compromising the mission.

“I grew up in the shadows,” you admitted, your voice steady despite the vulnerability laced within it. “Not literally, but… my family, they weren’t what you’d call traditional. We lived in secrecy, moving from place to place, never staying anywhere long enough to form attachments.”

“Why?” Azriel asked softly, his tone gentle.

You hesitated, then offered a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Let’s just say my family had their enemies. And they taught me early on how to survive—how to adapt, to blend in, to become whatever I needed to be in order to stay safe.”

The conversation flowed naturally after that, his quiet questions drawing out more fragments of your past. You told him about the places you’d seen, the people you’d met, the ways you’d learned to navigate a world that was often unkind. But you kept the most crucial details to yourself—your true origins, your family’s history, and the mission that had brought you to this moment.

Even so, each piece you shared felt like a small surrender, a step closer to a vulnerability you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years. And as Azriel listened, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name—respect, perhaps, or understanding—you found yourself wanting to give him more.

In return, he shared more of himself, peeling back the layers of his stoic facade to reveal the male beneath. He spoke of his brothers, of Rhysand and Cassian, of the bond that had saved him when he thought he couldn’t be saved. He spoke of his shadows, the constant companions that had been both a curse and a gift, and of the scars that marked his hands, a reminder of the darkness he had endured.

And despite your best efforts to stay detached, to keep your feelings at bay, Azriel was becoming more than just a complication.

He was becoming a part of you, a presence you didn’t want to lose.

But the mission couldn’t be ignored.

********

At the end of the week, as the sun set over the horizon and painted the beach in hues of orange and pink, Azriel stood on the deck, his wings silhouetted against the fading light. You approached him quietly, your heart heavy as you tried to find the words to say goodbye.

“I have to return to the Night Court,” he said, turning to face you. His hazel eyes were soft, his expression unreadable. “There’s… a lot that needs my attention.”

You nodded, forcing a small smile. “I figured. You’re not the kind of male who can stay away from his responsibilities for long.”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “I don’t want to leave,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I have to.”

“I understand,” you said, your voice softer now. “It’s who you are.”

His thumb brushed over your cheek, and he leaned down to kiss you, slow and lingering, as though trying to memorize the feel of you. “I’ll come back,” he murmured against your lips. “As soon as I can.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening at the promise in his voice. “I’ll be here,” you lied, knowing full well you wouldn’t be as did he.

As Azriel disappeared into the night, his shadows curling around him one last time, you turned back toward the house, the ache in your chest nearly unbearable. The next morning, you would leave for the Autumn Court, for Eris, for the mission you couldn’t abandon.

And as much as you hated it, you would have to bury your feelings for Azriel, lock them away, and become the person the mission demanded you to be.

Even if it meant tearing yourself apart in the process.

Chapter 7

[pedricos]

You could do one where the reader feels insecure about the attention Héctor receives from other girls and he comforts her Using the translator I hope you understand

Hector Fort – I chose you .ᐟ

a.n: english is not my first language

warnings: slight angst, intentional lowercase, crying (?), eventual fluff

summary: where y/n gets insecure about her boyfriend's fans, so he reassure his loving for her! (1,1k words)

hector sure enough was handsome. not just handsome, he was hot, he played well, he loved and was loved by his family. he's every girl dream.. and that's the problem! because with this many girls cheering for him in the crowd, signs asking for his shirt how can you not be in such distress?

he has such a pretty smile, he's so funny too.. all the girl wanted him! you couldn't blame them, you can't take his eyes off him too.

but it was too much when you came to visit him training. you were already known between the guards, who welcomed you while a warm smile, letting you enter the training camp in the evening.

you didn't have to go that far after the gates to see your boyfriend being surrounded by girl screaming his name, asking to sign their shirts, trying to get a selfie. they were also so pretty too..

you boyfriend saw you from afar, waving his hand on your direction. he excused some fans, trying to make his away in your direction, but when he got off of the middle of various girls trying to snatch him, you were nowhere to be found.

“hector, aquí! sign, please!” the crowd when after him again, trapping him once again, “not now guys, otra vez!” he tried to be as polite as possible, only to hear them boo-ing on his face. (here/another time)

you were already so tired already, you could only make your way to the visits benches, watching his teammates training. gavi was the first to notice your presence, and maybe the only one too, “heyy, ms. fort! que passas?” he tried to be cheerful. (what's up?)

your face didn't tried to hide away your feelings, your shoulders shrinking and you arms hugging themselves, “héctor busy with the fans..” you said, and gavi got the message, nodding his head and pouting his lips, “te dejare descansar, he will be back soon!” he softly taps your shoulder, making you smile with his act of unnecessary kindness and understanding. (ill let you rest!)

hector watched from afar as he entered the training camp running, looking for you. the only thing he saw was gavi trying to be respectful and leave with your thoughts, but for him? how could you ignore your own boyfriend and be so smiley with one of his teammates?

he was the one ignoring your presence now. being weirdly cold about the fact that he's the one who invited you to watch him training, but now, he wasn't even looking at your direction. on his water break he wouldn't speak with you, nor come closer to the benches to give you, his so called, ‘good luck kiss’.

by the dawn, both of you haven't spoke a single word to eachother, being pitty as never. you made you way to the parking lot as he was already getting ready to go home, and so, you waited him by his car. the whole time you were silent, mostly enjoying the sunset in madrid.

“we can go now, no te haré esperar” hector appeared with a cold tone, his keys already on his hands as he pressed the button to unlock his car. he didn't looked at you directly, his eyes so focused on everytime but your presence right now. (i won't make you wait)

you both entered the car in pure silence, it took a long few minutes until both tried to break the silence.

“why me?” you asks.

“why me?" he asks.

both at the same time.

it's impossible to not crack a laugh right now, even with the tension in the air.

“why me and not one of them?” you asks again, firmly. héctor took a second to process the question, frowning his eyebrows and looking at you in disbelief. “them? who's them, bonita?” his hands found it's way to your cheeks, caressing them so lightly. (pretty)

and héctor was always like this. touching you so softly, like you could break if put to much force into your skin. but that's how he thinks loving you is. is soft, it's ease with no pressure.

“the girls in your dms.. the fans..” you said almost in a whisper tone, having héctor to slightly come closer to hear clearly your insecurities.

“why care about them, guapita? do you see me responding to any of them?” he passes his arms through your shoulders, using his hand to caresses the strand falling prettily by your face, “look at you.. i wouldn't want anyone else in this word, pero tu” he plants the softest kiss on your forehead. (pretty girl/but you)

“te amo, and you only” héctor places his own forehead against yours, you instinctively closing your eyes, forgetting about any concern in the world. (i love you)

the golden hour had arrived, when you opened your eyes to look at him he looked majestic. his curls in the prettiest golden brown tone, his eyes turning this pretty honey gold.

in this moment he could only see you. your hair falling down so perfectly on your shoulders, the sun glowing directly into your face making your eyes glow so angelic. you were so his. so made for him to love. ‘how could you doubt his love for you?’ he always thought.

“look at you, mi amor.. how can i not love you?” he asks so sincerely, his heart beating a million times faster. he could cry about how much he loves you.

the truth is: even though many fans tried everything in the crowd to get his attention, he only has eyes for you. the last whistle was blown? he's running to the reserved area to hug you and give you his shirt for the nth time. you came to surprise him in the training field? he's so radiant the whole day, he just can't stop smiling.

“i love you more, mi vida.. please, ser solo mio?” your voice sounds so week, your vocal cords giving up in the last minute while a single thin tear rolled down your cheek, the tear stopped rolled down when meeting his thumb, whose hands were still holding your face. (you're only mine?)

“solo tuyo” he reassures. (only yours)

his lips meet yours as soon as he finishes his sentence. a kiss so sweet yet so full of yearning for eachother, not wanting to let go for one second.

“and you?” he separate the kiss as soon as he feels that both of you need air, keeping his hands running through your hair, “todo tuyo” he comes closer to run his noser softly into yours, getting a giggle out of you. (all yours)

he adjust himself in the driver's seat, grabbing the steering wheel.

“and what was that with gavi?” his tone is suddenly so serious.

“oh, díos mio!”

sorry if it's too rushed.. it's so hot where i live, my brain is meltiinngg

im taking requests for other players!! bye bye, hope u like it 💋

[devildom-moss]

May poll story

NSFW - Asmodeus x Solomon x MC

(Asmodeus x Solomon x gn!MC)

(NSFW) (switchy overall but slightly sub!Solomon) (poly/threesome) (no penetration; oral - receiving; handjob - Asmo giving Solomon; dry humping; so much kissing; light praise; bondage; facial; cum eating; photos; lots of teasing; marking/hickeys; "master" for Solomon by Asmo; voyeurism; no reader/MC sex organs specified)

Word Count: +4,400

Asmo was hosting an intimate Asmo Night with his two favorite humans. Some nights, he simply wanted a bit of attention from you both – affection from two people he knew adored him for who he was. Fans were nice, but he wanted to be around someone he had feelings for, and in your case, his love was so intense it almost matched his love for himself. A relaxing sleepover with you and Solomon seemed like the perfect way to get his fill of adoration.

As usual, Asmo was a wonderful host, preparing games, activities, and an abundance of snacks – although the latter was planned, in part, to dissuade Solomon from attempting to cook. If Solomon had brought homemade food, that would have ruined the entire night.

With a long night ahead of you, Asmo sipped his Demonus slowly, fearing intoxication; there would be other nights to get drunk around either of you, but tonight, he wanted to feel in control of everything – to savor every word, look, and sensation that he eagerly anticipated. Asmo wanted to remember the way Solomon’s eyes darted between his body and yours as the two of you danced to music he had put on – the way his gaze felt hungry like some vicious predator in that moment and how Solomon had smothered his desire as the song came to an end, trying not to initiate something so early in the night. He wanted to fully enjoy the warmth of your lips on his neck when you lost the card game that Solomon insisted be made a little more interesting by turning it into a punishment game – no doubt hoping luck would be on his side tonight, especially with Barbatos not in attendance. You were all too happy to agree to Asmo’s – slightly restrained – punishment. All he wanted was for you to leave a hickey on him in a place where everyone would see it. Out of all the things Asmo could have asked for, that almost seemed innocent. Asmo wanted to engrave the praise you and Solomon gave him when he put on an impromptu fashion show. Your words were honey-sweet, pooling on your tongues so enticingly that he could hardly resist kissing both of you and tasting the words in his mouth.

Later in the night, Asmo stretched, letting out a soft little moan, and got up. “I was thinking – maybe we could all take a nice long bath together, hmm~? My bath is big enough for all of us. What do you think?”

Solomon scoffed and shook his head, seeing right through Asmo’s offer. “No thanks. You just want to get us both naked.”

“Well, of course, hun. Can’t blame a demon for trying, can you~?” Asmo winked. “What about you, MC?”

“You’re really going to leave me all alone in your room? That’s hardly good hosting etiquette.” Solomon cocked his head to the side, as if it was a veiled threat. “Besides, if you two bathe alone together, who knows how long you’ll be in there.”

“Ugh, Solomon! You’re such a meanie!” Asmo huffed. “You won’t let me get a good look at that body of yours, and now you want to keep MC all to yourself.”

“By all means,” Solomon shrugged, “leave me to my own devices – unsupervised in your room. Or maybe I’ll go prepare a snack while you two add unnecessary steps to getting clean.”

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone, Solomon!” you interjected quickly. He knew his cooking was universally considered a weapon, didn’t he? You’d never put it in such harsh words – but he had to understand that, right? “Besides, you’ll only get into trouble if you’re on your own for too long.”

Asmo caught your eyes, silently thanking you for sparing him – and everyone else in the House of Lamentation for that matter. “Anyway~ I’ll be back. Behave, you two.”

As Asmo made a hasty escape, Solomon smirked at you. “You don’t really think I’m so troublesome that I can’t be left alone, do you?”

It was clear to him that you had lied; after all, he knew his adorable apprentice inside and out. There was little that you could hide from him, but his self-confidence and desire wiped Solomon’s memory of his threat of extra-strength food poisoning; the only reason you wanted to stay with him that remained was because you were hoping for some alone time together. Solomon got up from Asmo’s hanging chair and walked over to you.

“Are you not troublesome?” you teased, inching over on the edge of the bed so Solomon could sit next to you.

Solomon chuckled, shook his head, and put one knee up on the bed next to your thigh. “Would you like me to be?”

“Meaning?” You gave Solomon a confused look, but as he straddled your lap and extended his arms behind your head, you knew exactly what he meant. Your eyes unintentionally darted towards Asmo’s bathroom door, worried that he would suddenly return.

“Fool around with me,” Solomon got closer and whispered in your ear, bringing your attention back to him.

“I don’t know, Sol.” It seemed mean to Asmo: making out – or more – with someone else in his bed while he was busy, especially on an Asmo night. If he walked in, saw that, and realized he wasn’t included, you thought, “Asmo might get pouty.”

Solomon’s low, gentle laugh rang in your ear before he began to kiss down your neck. “He’ll like it, trust me.”

Each kiss was slow and deliberate, aiming to leave his mark on you. Perhaps Solomon needed a way to remedy his jealousy from when you gave Asmo a hickey earlier – or perhaps he was simply overcome by his underlying desire to mark you as his own. Either way, Solomon continued to suck and nip down your skin until he was satisfied with his work. His hot breath, saliva, and the sweet moans that escaped his lips as he squirmed in your lap sent shivers up your spine. By the time he pulled away, your heart was racing.

“Oh!” Solomon grinned, took his wand out from his back pocket, and gave it a quick wave. You furrowed your brows; Solomon replaced his wand just as quickly as he had pulled it out. He brought his finger up to his lips and whispered, “had to cast a secret spell.”

“And you wonder why people think you’re shady? What did you do?” you laughed.

“I cast a spell to warm up Asmo’s towels for when he’s done with his bath.” Your heart melted immediately – only to feel jolted as Solomon added, “now, where were we?”

Solomon took advantage of the quickly-fading charm of his sweetness to push you on your back with a grin on his face. He leaned down close but hesitated slightly – waiting for any sign of resistance. “Please” formed silently on his lips, grazing yours in a chaste kiss, touching you lightly like a devotee may trace the outlines of an altar. You were sacred to Solomon; in all his years, he had never met another creature he regarded as so holy. No demon nor angel could have his worship like this. Every prayer that fell from Solomon’s lips was an act of love and devotion. Across all three realms, only you had given Solomon something worthy of divine adoration.

He could only hope that his reverence would translate, transcribed on your hallowed body with his lips and tongue. Solomon’s kisses grew deeper and more desperate, as if he was starved of your affection and intended to gorge himself on whatever love you offered. Nothing could come between him and his communion – not even the demon standing in the doorframe to the bathroom.

Kisses trailed down your neck as Solomon’s hand made its way under the hem of your shirt, teasing your bare skin with his fingertips. When he had buried himself in the crook of your neck, you could tell from his eagerness and attention to one particular area that he intended to mark you. Your brows knit together, but the ecstasy of Solomon’s lips was interrupted by the gentle biting feeling of someone else’s eyes on you, so you turned your gaze to the bathroom door.

Asmo’s eyes were half-lidded, and a seductive smirk sat on his face when he finally caught your eye. He held your gaze intently, as if determined to pull your attention away from Solomon for as long as he could. Only when Solomon panted hotly against your neck and softly, slowly dragged his nails along your stomach so lightly that your skin was as unaffected as a brilliant sapphire brushed over by a raven’s feather, causing you to shiver and gasp, did Asmo feel a compelling tinge of jealousy. His smile dropped, briefly slipping into a pout, before he resolved himself and strutted towards the two precious humans playing around in his bed.

Solomon felt Asmo’s presence, but he refused to acknowledge him until Asmo ran a lovely hand up Solomon’s back with an amused hum. “Just how far were you planning to go in my bed?”

“As far as I could,” Solomon admitted with a chuckle, sitting up and pressing his back against Asmo’s hand. “Problem?”

“May~be~” Asmo sang sweetly. “Depends on whose cute little idea this was. MC?”

“Solomon said you’d like it,” you blurted out under the scrutiny of Asmo’s honey-sweet tone. Solomon feigned offense and got off you so he could get a better look at Asmo, who was standing in a lovely pink silk robe decorated with red spider lilies and blood spatter, along with a matching bonnet.

“Betraying your own teacher?” Asmo hummed. “That’s my MC.”

“Yours?” Solomon scoffed and playfully added, “that mark on their neck isn’t your handiwork.”

You could feel the tension building in the room as Asmo’s affectionate stare turned from you towards Solomon with an inhuman wickedness – devious and sexy in a way that caused Solomon to shiver excitedly. Asmo cooed, “oh, poor Solomon. An appetizer sits in the stomach all the same, doesn’t it? I think MC’s had their fill of you, darling. I’m so gorgeous, I’m obviously the main course and dessert; isn’t that right, MC?”

The sense that Solomon and Asmo were trying to stake their claim on you was muddied by the seductive overtones and lustful stares they offered each other. Solomon was about to sit up and pull Asmo into a forceful, dominating kiss when Asmo snapped his fingers. The vines of roses that adorned Asmo’s bed shot out and quickly restrained Solomon, pulling him back towards the headboard.

At first, Solomon chuckled and weakly tugged against the vines, putting on a show of struggling. When he did, he felt the vines wind around him more – stronger than before. Solomon looked surprised and tried a low-level unbinding spell to loosen the restraints, but it only backfired. The vines moved further up his arms, and one slipped around his waist. Solomon could feel faint traces of his own magic imbued in the vines now, causing the roses to glow a soft pink. Panic flashed in his eyes briefly as he realized what Asmo had done, but it dissolved into amusement and arousal.

“Lucifer has some very interesting books on how to deal with powerful sorcerers,” Asmo giggled at Solomon. “You can struggle, but that will only make it worse. Only the caster can undo the spell.”

“Asmo!” You sat up in protest. That seemed a bit excessive. However, your concern for Solomon melted when he met your eyes with a soft smile.

“It’s fine,” he reassured you.

“Besides,” Asmo interjected, gently turning your head back to face him, “if he was against it, he’d use his pact on me and be free right away. Trust me.”

You did; you trusted them both, and so when Asmo slowly pushed you back down on the bed, you let him. His charm didn’t work on you the way it did with others, but it was so easy to allow yourself to slip under Asmo’s seductive spell. He was so lovely as he pushed your shirt up and slowly kissed down your stomach, brushing his lips over the places Solomon’s fingers had dared to touch. Solomon may have tried to claim you first tonight, but Asmo was determined to overwrite every bit of Solomon’s seduction until the only man you could think of was him; he was the Avatar of Lust, after all. Asmo was programmed to make you come undone at his hands.

Every kiss and puff of air that left Asmo made you tremble and shiver until your hand found his bedsheets and bunched the soft threads against your palm. He heard your movements and giggled, lifting his head slightly and staring up at you seductively. Your body continued to shake under his gaze despite the momentary relief from the pleasure of his lips on your skin. He sat up, removed his bonnet, and chucked it to the floor. Asmo gently loosened your tight grip around his sheets and held your hand briefly before bringing it up to his lips, leaving a lingering, sensual kiss on the tops of your fingers. Slowly, Asmo moved your hand up to his slightly damp hair and guided your hand into a ball until you were gripping it. “Be as rough or as gentle as you need.”

Asmo lowered himself back down to your body until his hair tickled your bare skin, leaving small pools of water where his hair touched you or where droplets fell. The cool sensation of drying water was juxtaposed with Asmo’s hot mouth as his kisses got slower, sloppier, and sexier. He kissed you like he was devouring a dessert with all the lewd sexiness of an adult streamer. The intimacy of it felt overwhelming. Each motion was a clear sign of affectionate dedication. Asmodeus, Avatar of Lust, would go to war for your pleasure and make all forms of perverse, depraved, and beautiful love for your safety. His entire world was you and Solomon in his bed right now, and nothing short of the catastrophic end of all three realms would dare interrupt his blissful peace.

His delicate and thoughtful touches convinced you that Asmo had every intention of unraveling you with his mouth. Even Solomon could sense it as he watched on in amusement. You began to feel self-conscious and needy. Choosing to attempt a diversion, you whined and squirmed away from Asmo’s touch, but he only followed your movements with intensified desire. He knew you were loving this, and if you wanted to pause, you’d have to muster up all your strength and use your words. Whimpering his name, you interrupted his ceremonious flood of devotion. “Asmo, please, wait. I should be spoiling you.”

“Nonsense,” Asmo chuckled, licking a long stripe up your stomach before continuing, ���letting me turn you on is spoiling me.”

 Asmo pecked your lips lovingly, staring at you with overflowing adoration as he pulled away. It was almost unbearable. He pulled at every defense, like loosening the soft, satin ribbon of a corset, determined to undo your strength and set you at ease. With a heated smirk, Asmo looked up at you from between your thighs. Your clothes were disheveled – pants pulled unevenly around your hips, shirt pushed up to your chest, underwear peeking out over your pants, yet still exposing part of your ass. The only way you could look sexier, Asmo thought, was if he could get you out of those clothes, but he was far too eager and would settle for getting you out of your underwear.

Maintaining eye contact, Asmo slid your pants further down, and you lifted your legs to help him. They were tossed across the room as far as Asmo could manage while he was still fixated on you. He bent down to kiss your bare thigh, tickling you with his breath as he giggled. Mischievous as ever, Asmo quickly swiped his tongue over the wet spot on your underwear. The whimper he pulled from your lips delighted his ears.

“I love you,” Asmo whispered, leaning down to kiss your inner thigh once more. The tenderness in his voice melted your thoughts and stalled your tongue so that his declaration went unanswered – not that Asmo needed a reply when he pulled back and looked at you splayed beneath him. If this was not an act of love between you, then love must be more myth than reality.

Your underwear was discarded on the bed next to Solomon’s thigh – Asmo’s subtle attempt to tease him: leaving your damp underwear in his line of sight, just out of reach. Solomon tugged against his restraints with an annoyed sigh only for the vines to snap right back into place.

In a gentle display of strength, Asmo lifted you and repositioned your body so that you were laying with your head at the foot of the bed. On his knees, he looked down at you again. If only you were wearing my shirt, too, he thought. When Asmo bent down to kiss your inner thighs, Solomon was graced with the sight of Asmo’s gorgeous ass – a show that Asmo was well aware he was putting on, evidenced by the subtle roll of his hips as he moaned against your skin. If he wasn’t doing it on purpose, then he was too sexual for his own good.

The feeling of soft lips, hot breath, and vibrating moans melted every thought in your mind, and just seconds before a plea for more escaped your lips, Asmo pulled away. You whimpered, making an almost pathetic sound. Asmo giggled, thrilled by your cute desperation. “Ready for more, luv?”

“Mhmm.” You looked down at him, catching his burning gaze. He was loving this. In your periphery, you caught a glimpse of Solomon staring at you just as intensely. His cheeks flushed bright pink from the sound of your voice alone, but even the obscured sight of you on your back, waiting for Asmo’s next move so eagerly and obediently, had him throbbing in his pants.

“Good,” Asmo sighed in relief. “I can’t wait anymore.”

Asmo sunk down further than before, kissing you quickly before giving you a gentle lick. You gasped, and he rewarded you by sticking out his tongue, wet with saliva, and leaving it against you for a few seconds as he giggled, allowing you to simply feel the warm slick of his mouth.

Lust – as a pure essence – seeped from Asmo’s tongue. How else could you explain the aphrodisiacal effects he had on your body? It appeared effortless for him to leave you squirming and rolling your hips up against his mouth. Those lovely lips made a mess of you. Loud, needy moans that humiliated all who heard them served as proof of the sexual expertise of the demon between your legs. Your mind clouded. Your breath shortened. Your head lolled back.

You were being so perfect and pretty for Asmo that he couldn’t hold his own need back. His hips lowered just enough so he could leisurely grind against his bed, compounding his pleasure as he continued to taste and tease you. Asmo’s own moans reverberated against you and played as a beautiful accompaniment to your own that drove Solomon wild. Sexually intoxicating you was Asmo’s sole focus – entirely undisturbed until a soft groan from Solomon caught his ear – the sort that indicated a shameful degree of frustration that only made Asmo pull away from you slightly with a giggle. You whined.

“Poor thing,” Asmo cooed quietly, and, for a second, you weren’t sure whether he was talking about you or Solomon. “Should we give Solomon a bit of attention, too, MC?”

As much as you wanted Asmo to keep going, the opportunity to expand your circle of unearthly pleasure excited you – and you knew Asmo would never leave you unsatisfied. Head still hazy, you offered a slow nod as you shakily sat up. Asmo saw your unsteadiness and rose to meet you; a stabilizing hand found the back of your neck as he leaned in to kiss you affectionately. Your taste lingered on his tongue, shared with you through a deepening kiss that was cut cruelly short, the ache of which was only soothed by the adoration in Asmo’s eyes as he stared back at your bliss-stained face.

“My love is too beautiful.” Asmo cupped your cheek and ran his thumb along your lips before prompting your mouth open with it, “and so good, too.”

You bit down on him gently, earning a delighted laugh.

“Fuck,” Solomon sighed, growing impatient and eager for attention. The sight of you and Asmo flirting and being romantic was riling him up, stirring up this dark, predatory aura that dimmed the glow of the roses from a soft pink to a mysterious lavender. Even in the lowered lights, you saw his need and desperation cleanly – compressed and carefully restrained, ready to be made a mess of.

“My poor master,” Asmo giggled teasingly, turning and crawling over to Solomon, leisurely and wordlessly requiring for the release of his thumb – as if he was reluctant to let the appendage leave your mouth without proper attention. Perhaps another time, but at this moment, Solomon’s body called to him. Asmo leaned down, getting a closer look at the twitching tent in Solomon’s pants and running a single finger up it. “Should I give you a hand?”

“Just a hand?” Solomon scoffed. All that teasing and waiting, and the only thing you’ll give me is a hand, Solomon thought, pretty little brat.

“Trust me,” Asmo spoke sweetly enough to appease the great sorcerer, “you’ll like it.”

You and Solomon watched on in anticipation as Asmo undid Solomon’s pants and slid them slowly down his hips. To your surprise, Solomon’s cock sprang up.

“You naughty boy~” Asmo teased, “no underwear~? You weren’t expecting this, were you?”

“You really are a slutty old man,” you chuckled and approached him. Before Solomon could protest, you caught his lips in a heated kiss so intense that his embarrassment leaked from the tip of his cock. Asmo used it to lube up his hand in slow, circular motions around the head before he started stroking Solomon in equally slow motions. A rumbling sigh fed you and died in the back of your throat as Solomon eagerly accepted your kiss. That deep, debauched sound contrasted with the soft, submissive whimper that left his lips as you pulled away and attempted to cling to you.

“Grind on my ass, MC,” Asmo instructed, interrupting your kiss-induced haze.

“What?” you asked, playfully amused.

“Hump me, silly,” Asmo giggled and shook his ass for you slightly – still focusing on pleasuring Solomon. “Let me make you both feel good.”

You pet Asmo’s head gently before you positioned yourself behind him. With a firm grip, you pulled him flush against your hips and started to grind against his soft ass, earning an aroused “oh.” Solomon’s eyes met yours, and despite being bound by vines, he smirked at you, as if he could read your mind. Maybe it was the eroticism of the situation, but as you rolled your hips into Asmo’s, all you could think was fuck, this shouldn’t feel so good. Or maybe Solomon knew what you were thinking because the same thought crossed his mind.

“Do my soft, pretty hands feel good, master~?” Asmo asked, looking up a Solomon with the loveliest eyes – a look that unfortunately went ignored as Solomon watched your face contort in pleasure. Asmo’s only response was Solomon’s desperate attempt to thrust his hips up into Asmo’s hand at the same pace as you were humping his ass; it said enough, and the demon was all melodic giggles.

Was it Asmo’s warm, soft skin, or Solomon’s burning gaze holding you, or the moans of both men that filled the room? Maybe Asmo was using a spell on you? Something intensified the pleasure, and before you could figure out what was getting you so worked up, you were cumming against Asmo’s ass.

Asmo could feel you pulsing as your grinding slowed but refused to stop; a part of you still wanted more – couldn’t bear to separate your body from his. Asmo took advantage of Solomon’s evident excitement at getting to watch you cum and sped up his movements, pulling more lewd noises from Solomon.

“Fuck, please?” Solomon whined mindlessly, “I’m gonna cum.”

“I know~” Asmo cooed. “Be a good master and cum on my face, ‘kay?”

Solomon was so focused on biting back his moans that he couldn’t even manage a nod. Instead, he replied by following orders and spurting cum all over Asmo’s pretty face. Asmo looked up at Solomon; that lovely face that he had made a mess of made Solomon’s cock twitch. Asmo leaned in to kiss Solomon and stretched his arm over to the nightstand, grabbing his D.D.D. and opening the camera app. He pulled away with a seductive smile, turned, and handed you the device.

“Take a flattering picture, luv,” Asmo grinned. He wasn’t going to upload this moment; some things were too intimate to share – but not so intimate that proof of it should stay confined in memories. You snapped a few pictures – some lovelier than others, but one in particular caught your attention as you scrolled back. You showed it to Asmo for his nod of approval. He took his phone from your hand and gently tossed it on the bed so he could caress your face with both hands. “Beautiful.”

You weren’t sure if he meant you or the photo – or maybe you were, but you were too embarrassed to admit that the Avatar of Lust looked at a photo of himself and still turned to you in admiration, in worship. Yet, you, like a disciple, leaned in and began to clean his face with your tongue. Asmo was giddy at your touch, but with each slow trail your tongue traced, fervent arousal grew in him. Even Solomon, confined to watching, felt himself getting hard once more. He was enamored – so much so that he waited until you had cleaned every drop of cum off Asmo’s face before he dared interrupt by clearing his throat.

Asmo laughed and snapped his fingers, freeing Solomon from his binds.

Solomon chuckled, “you sure know how to show a few humans a good time.”

“It’s not over yet, is it?” You glanced down at Solomon’s crotch quickly.

“Of course not,” Solomon got to his knees and kissed Asmo’s forehead sweetly, placing his hand on the base of Asmo’s neck, as he stared at you lovingly, propositioning you. “Let’s give you a fun Asmo night.”

Once again, you weren’t sure who was at the receiving end, but you were certain night would bleed into morning. If the Devildom had a sun, your lovemaking would greet the sunrise in equal beauty.

(A/N: please ignore that this is half a year late and please enjoy the content. Turns out Obey me is almost done, but I'll keep giving you content to make you feel stuff for a while.)

[navybrat817]

Deep in the Woods: Part 2

Pairing: Soft!Dark Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: A relaxing getaway in the woods may become your permanent home when you catch the eye of a lumberjack.

Part 1 | Series Masterlist | Part 3

Chapter Summary: You chat with a friend about the grumpy lumberjack and pay him a visit.

Chapter Word Count: Over 4.5k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, bits of MCU canon, cheating mentioned (reader's ex), grumpy x sunshine trope, invasive behavior, bits of insecurity, tension, reader is too trusting, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: Next part of our lumberjack is here! ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn’t make small talk when he came back to the table with his second helping. You sat for maybe a minute before you went to clean out your bowl. As pretty as he was to look at, it felt rude to sit there and watch him eat and you weren’t going to force him to chat. Standing at the sink, you felt him staring at you. He didn’t look away either when you snuck a glance at him. He looked fascinated and you couldn't imagine why.

“Do I have food on my face?” you asked, swiping at your cheek when he continued to stare.

“No.” He swallowed his last bite and licked his lips, making your cheeks warm as you looked away. “Was just looking at you.”

You glanced down at yourself, a nervous giggle bubbling up. “Not much to look at,” you mumbled, going back to get his empty bowl. “So, you said early afternoon tomorrow to go to your place. Will 1 o’clock work?”

He leaned back in his chair, nodding. “Should be fine,” he said, observing you in continued curiosity as you finished cleaning up. You weren't used to someone observing you the way he did, and you couldn't pinpoint if the feeling in your stomach was nerves or butterflies. “You trying to kick me out?”

“No,” you said, your brows pinched as you sat back down. “Does it seem like I am?”

“Just cleaning up quickly and asking about tomorrow. Seemed like you were trying to get me out of here.” He lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “I could be wrong.”

“I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.” You hadn’t exactly planned for his company, but you didn’t mind, and you weren’t trying to be a bad hostess. You almost reached across the table to touch his hand but opted to give him a soft smile instead. “It’s nice having you here.”

His gaze softened, his lips inching upward before he cleared his throat. “Any plans for the rest of the day?”

“Not really. I do have to get on my laptop for just a few minutes, but that’s it,” you answered. Since the trip was meant to be a romantic getaway and you were alone now, you didn't have much of anything planned besides relaxing. “You?”

“No,” he said, tilting his head. “Why did you say that earlier?”

“Why did I say what?” you asked.

“That you aren't much to look at,” he said, tilting his head with another tiny smile that made your knees go weak. “You’re beautiful.”

Your eyes widened, your cheeks hot. “That’s…” You thought for a second that he was joking, but his eyes were serious. The compliment was also completely unexpected, especially from a man who wasn't too welcoming a short time ago. “Thank you, Bucky, but I’m not-”

“Don’t do that. If I made you uncomfortable, just say so.” His cheek twitched and guilt churned in your stomach at the thought of upsetting him. “You don't need to brush off the compliment by trying to put yourself down.”

You looked in your lap, not wanting him to see the sadness in your eyes. Your ex should've called you beautiful, should've made you feel that way, too. And what happened? He strayed. You couldn't hold onto him. As much as you wanted to think there wasn't anything wrong with you, there was still that voice of doubt that said you weren't good enough or pretty enough. Insecurities had a tendency to seep in like poison. What was the remedy for that?

“I wasn't trying to brush off your compliment,” you promised, lifting your gaze. He didn’t look convinced and that made you feel worse. He was only being nice. “It’s just… My confidence is a little shaken and self-deprecating is a defense mechanism, I guess.”

You wanted to run to the bedroom and hide when he regarded you. Why did you tell him that? Why did you tell him anything? He wasn’t your friend or confidant, and it wasn’t fair to unload anything like that onto him.

“I’m sorry. I-”

“Don’t apologize. I understand what it's like,” he said, glancing at his metal hand. “To have your confidence shaken.”

After what he had been through, you could only imagine. “How did you pull yourself out of it?”

“Still working on that,” he replied, his eyes distant as he pushed himself up from his chair. “I should get going.”

“Oh, okay,” you smiled politely and got up to follow him to the door. While it wasn’t your intention to push him out, you may have inadvertently driven him away. “Thanks again for chopping the firewood.” It saved you a lot of trouble.

“Thanks for the meal.” He swept his eyes over you once his boots were on. “Guess we took care of each other, huh?”

“I guess we did,” you said. And you really appreciated his compliment. It felt nice after everything.

You were reminded once again just how large he was when he straightened up, your heart racing when he stood directly in front of you. That close you could smell the forest on his shirt. “Don’t touch that axe again,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding. “If you need anything, you come to me.”

Your throat went dry. He was so dominant in his stance, something in his tone sending a delightful shiver down your spine. There was also a predatory shadow in his eyes that gave you pause. He could eat you alive.

Out here, all alone, he could do anything.

“Say it,” he whispered.

“If I need anything.” You had to clear your throat. “I’ll come to you.”

Bucky stepped back and took some of the warmth with him. “Lock the door tonight. I need you safe,” he said, leaving without another word.

The silence in the cabin was deafening as you were left alone. Bucky was… something. Curt at times, a bit defensive, and didn’t have regard for your personal space bubble, but you weren’t going to judge his social skills when yours were nowhere near perfect. He also seemed to like your company at least a little and was oddly protective of you.

“Probably thinks I’m just a damsel in distress,” you muttered, going to get your laptop.

You thought back to the conversation you had with Bucky. He was out here for nine months now and had a cat. And you… your stomach sank when you realized you told him you lived alone and worked from home. He already knew you were out there by yourself and you basically implied that no one would realize if you were gone. At least, not right away.

“It’s fine,” you said, pushing the weird feeling away. Bucky Barnes was a hero, and you were a stranger in his territory. It was natural that he’d have questions. You had nothing to worry about.

You decided to sit out on the porch so you could look at the picturesque view again. Part of you wondered what it would be like to live out here full time. To walk outside on a cool morning and inhale the fresh air. To see the sun rise through the trees. You wouldn’t have to worry about the bustling sounds of the city but could instead take in the quiet.

Which was interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing.

You smiled when you saw Kenna’s name pop up. She was one of your oldest friends. “Hey,” you answered, putting the phone on speaker so you could continue to type. “What’s up?”

“Hey, girl. Work sucked. I’m seriously considering getting a sugar daddy.” You scoffed. She would never. She hated relying on others. “How about you? How are the woods?”

“Gorgeous,” you smiled, stopping to look around. “Sorry work sucked.”

“It’s whatever. You actually get reception out there in the woods? Nice.”

“So far, so good,” you said. You expected it to be a bit spotty, but it was fine for now.

“And you're feeling okay?” she asked with a hint of concern. “That cabin was supposed to be for-”

“I’m fine. Really.” You didn't want her to worry about that. “But I may have done something kind of stupid.”

“God, you didn't call him, did you?”

“No! No way.” You blocked his number and all social media accounts. You wanted nothing to do with him.

“Then what did you do?” she asked curiously.

“Well, there’s this kind of grumpy, really hot lumberjack who lives near the cabin I’m staying in,” you said, looking around to make sure Bucky wasn’t nearby. It looked like you were all alone. “He wasn’t exactly nice to me when we met earlier today, and I may have snapped at him a little bit.”

“You snapped at a guy who was rude to you? That doesn't sound stupid. Sounds like he deserved it.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t the stupid part,” you said, taking a breath. “I may have told him that I am here all alone for the next couple of weeks,” you blurted out, leaving out that he knew you lived alone, too, and that the grump in question was Bucky Barnes.

Your face scrunched up when you waited for Kenna’s response. “Oh, sweetie…” There it was, the condescending tone complete with a “sweetie” on top. “Why would you tell him that?”

“I don't know!” you exclaimed, lowering your voice with a sigh, “Because I’m an idiot.”

“You're not an idiot.” There was a pause on the other end. “I mean, you did kind of shine a beacon over yourself that says ‘hey, take advantage of me!’ because your self preservation skills aren’t the sharpest, but I know that wasn't your intention.”

You made a face at the phone, your fingers taping the keys harder than you needed to. “Wow. So, I am an idiot and anything that happens to me is my fault?” you asked. You were being defensive when Kenna was only being honest, which you appreciated. But being in the woods, the only thing you should have to worry about was bears, not people with bad intentions.

“No! That’s not what I meant. You just see the world in a much brighter light than most of us do, you know? You feel like you can trust people to have your best interest at heart when you open up to them because you choose to see the good. But the reality is, the world isn't that bright, and most look out for themselves first.”

“Rose colored glasses, I know,” you said, softer this time.

“Listen, I shouldn't have said you put a beacon on yourself. People who do bad things are the ones at fault, not the people they take advantage of.” There was another pause. “Maybe you won’t have to worry about this guy but try to be careful.”

“I will,” you said. You had to look out for yourself.

“And before you say more, let me guess. You were nice to the grump after you snapped at him?”

“You know me too well,” you smiled sheepishly. “I fed him.”

“Oh, God, he tasted your cooking? Yeah, you’re in danger,” Kenna teased. She always praised your cooking skills. “He’ll probably be on the doorstep every day asking for a meal and you’ll give him one.”

You giggled. “Because I’m a pushover?”

“It’s because you’re a good person, so stop with the self-deprecating,” she said. First Bucky, now Kenna. “If I could just give you some of my pessimism and you give me some of your optimism, we’d be perfect.”

“The perfect blend,” you said, though you didn't think Kenna was that pessimistic. She was just realistic.

“Also in your defense, a hot grumpy lumberjack is like something out of a romance novel. I probably would've jumped his bones.”

“Trust me, you would,” you said. Bucky was drop-dead gorgeous, and he would probably have fun with Kenna. Why did that thought make you feel sick? “He has a cat. And he said I was beautiful,” you said, your heart skipping a beat from the memory.

“Oh, he did, did he? Okay, I know I just told you to be careful, but… maybe this guy can blow your back out.” You looked around again and debated taking her off speakerphone when you thought you heard a twig snap in the distance. “I mean, you deserve multiple orgasms after what he who shall not be named put you through.”

“Kenna…” you sighed, not in the mood to discuss your ex. She never liked him but tried to tolerate him for you while you dated. You were grateful she didn’t say “told you so” when you broke up. “I just met this guy.”

“And? People go to bars and leave with people all the time. And all I’m saying is that your ex is out of the picture, and you have some wounds exposed,” she said carefully, not wanting to upset you. “So let this guy lick them clean if he offers. Let him lick something. I mean, he’s a lumberjack. He’s probably pent up and a beast in bed.”

Heat spread between your thighs before you mentally dumped a bucket of cold water on yourself. No way did Bucky want you. “So, I’m no longer supposed to be careful. I’m supposed to let him, what, fuck me?” you asked.

“Be careful and let him fuck you. Establish boundaries but have fun over the next couple of weeks. Go see his cat and then show him yours.”

You burst out laughing and covered your mouth so the sound wouldn’t echo. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m also the best,” she stated. She really was. “And who knows? This could be the start of something new.”

“I don’t think…” You sat up when another twig snapped, this one closer. You couldn’t see anything when you did a quick scan from your seat. “Hey, what would you think about coming out here for a couple of days so I’m not alone the whole time?”

There was a beat of silence on the other end. She was probably looking at her calendar. “Hmm. I’ll try to swing it with work, but no promises. I’ll keep you posted,” she said.

“Yeah, just call or text me,” you said, shutting your laptop. If she couldn’t, maybe one of your other friends wouldn’t mind spending some time away from the city. “I gotta go.”

“Me, too. Take care. Carry pepper spray. Be safe,” she said, hanging up.

You slowly went to the edge of the porch and looked around the side of the cabin. There was a good chance the sounds came from an animal nearby, maybe a deer. You could blame the chill that ran through your body on the breeze. It was getting darker though and not being able to see much beyond the nearby trees didn’t soothe your sudden nerves.

With a shake of your head, you went back inside. No one was there. You were just being paranoid.

Locking the door like Bucky instructed, you breathed a bit easier and wondered what you’d cook for him tomorrow. Something not too heavy since it was for lunch, but tasty. It was nice to have someone to cook for since the plan was to cook for two for the next two weeks.

You also thought about what Kenna said. Would there be any harm if anything transpired between you and Bucky? It would be nice to have some fun, but that wasn’t really your style. You were always a relationship kind of person. And Bucky, well, you had no clue what he wanted.

“Forget it,” you muttered.

Curling up on the sofa, your heart ached as you stared between the board games on the shelf and the small fireplace. There really wasn’t much to do by your lonesome, but there was reading. Television. And you wouldn’t put stock in Bucky spending lots of time with you while you were there. He wasn’t responsible for you.

Sniffling, you curled into yourself more. The cabin was meant to be filled with laughter, sounds of pleasure, and more. Not silence. But you’d still have a nice time. You owed it to yourself. And if anything, maybe you’d end the trip with a new friend.

You were in much better spirits when you headed to Bucky’s cabin the next day. The spring in your step was partially thanks to the good night's sleep you had after reading. The bed was extra comfortable, and you woke up bright and refreshed. You could get used to that feeling.

The other spring in your step was, well, because you were having lunch with Bucky. You didn’t want to admit how long you took to pick out an outfit in between making lunch and baking cookies. It wasn’t like you were trying to get his attention or impress him, but you still wanted to look nice and presentable. And you wouldn't allow the thought of loneliness to dampen your mood.

“Wow,” you whispered when his cabin came into sight. It was larger than the one you were in, simplistic and beautiful in design, and had a wraparound porch. You wondered how often he sat on the porch swing and if he brought Alpine out with him.

Taking a breath as you walked up the stairs, you gently knocked on the door. You didn’t know why you were nervous. It was just lunch with Bucky. A handsome, brooding-

You didn’t realize that Bucky had opened the door until you blinked, his blue eyes locked with yours. How many people cowered under his stare? He took up almost the entire door frame and a tiny sound escaped your lips when you noticed he was shirtless. The man had no shirt on.

You bit your lip involuntarily, trying your damnedest not to leer. Were you supposed to look at his massive chest? The scars on his left shoulder? The metal arm? Or was your gaze supposed to dip down past his torso to his jeans and… No. No. You weren’t supposed to stare at all.

“Right on time.” His voice was gruff, holding a hand out to take your bag. “Did you have a good night?”

“Um, yeah. Did a bit of reading and went to bed early.” His fingers touched yours when you handed the bag over and you let it linger longer than you should’ve. It wasn't like there was any tension between you two, right? “You?”

“Yeah. Uneventful,” he said before he deadpanned, “You staring at me?”

Your mouth fell open as he raised an eyebrow. Saying yes would make you look like a creep and saying no might hurt his feelings. “Well, you’re shirtless,” you answered, making a point to look away when you gestured to him. You felt kind of bad looking, but it also felt wrong to not look. As if that was an excuse. “You’re not cold?”

“It’s warm in here and I run warm as it is.” He didn’t look at all embarrassed when you snuck another glance at him. “It’s also more comfortable with the arm sometimes to go shirtless,” he explained, giving you just enough room to squeeze past him. You couldn’t stop your body from pressing against his since he didn’t provide much room and you hoped he didn’t notice the hitch in your breath. “If it bothers you-”

“This is your home and I want you comfortable,” you said, putting some distance between you once he shut the door. If he wanted to go shirtless, you wouldn’t stop him. You could deal with him and his sexiness for a short time and get through a meal.

“I appreciate that,” he said, taking your coat and purse. “Make yourself at home.”

You lingered in the living room. Rustic with the exposed wood beams, but cozy and inviting with the plush sofa and chairs. The large stone fireplace drew your attention, along with the rug in front of it. The perfect place to sit and gaze into a fire on a cold night.

You moved close to the mantle to look at the three photos that rested there. One was of the sun shining on a large body of water with trees on each side. It looked warm and peaceful.

The second was Bucky with two other men, all three of them in leather jackets. You recognized them after taking a closer look: Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, heroes just like Bucky. While they looked relaxed and happy, Bucky wasn’t smiling at all.

Was that photo taken before or after the tough mission?

But the third photo wasn’t a photo at all. It was an empty picture frame. Where was the picture?

“Wakanda.”

You jumped and spun around, nearly bumping the mantle with Bucky so close. Your racing heart didn’t go back to normal immediately. How did he move around so quietly? “Wakanda?” you repeated.

He nodded to the first picture frame. “Where that photo was taken. It was right outside of my hut, sometime after I started healing. I didn’t have any nightmares that day.” His smile was soft as he reminisced. “It was a peaceful time.”

You smiled softly, too. He deserved peace. “It’s a beautiful view,” you said. The view he had there was beautiful and peaceful, too.

“I assume you know who Steve and Sam are?” You nodded in confirmation. “That was Sam’s birthday. He made us take a picture together and insisted on framing it.” He rolled his eyes, but there was affection there that he couldn’t hide. “I only have it up here because Steve said it would hurt his feelings if I threw it out.”

You looked at the photo again. Bucky’s hair wasn’t as long as it was now and his stance wasn’t as stiff, but the brooding expression was there. “I think that’s nice,” you smiled. It was good that he had friends. “And what about that frame?”

His jaw clenched, his fingers grazing the glass. “It’ll be a family photo,” he whispered longingly. “One day.”

Your heart broke for him and the urge to soothe him skyrocketed. Before you could stop yourself you put a hand on his arm. His muscles tensed under your touch and you pulled away, regretting your action immediately. “I’m sorry I touched you.” You felt terrible. You should’ve asked. “I’m sure it’ll be a beautiful photo. A beautiful family photo for your beautiful home,” you assured him as he let out a breath. He’d have that one day like he wanted.

He leaned in close, his lips close to skimming your ear. “Your touch doesn’t bother me,” he whispered like it was a secret between you before he pulled away. If he caught you quivering, he didn’t say so. “If you think this room is beautiful, wait ‘til you see the rest of the place,” he said, leading you away and not mentioning the family photo again.

You gasped when he brought you to the kitchen, your eyes bright as you took in the room. The rustic and cozy theme continued and you wondered if Bucky built the cabinets. You envied the open concept and counterspace and you wanted to weep over the large stove. The kitchen was the heart of a home and it was very much true for Bucky’s place.

“You like it?” he asked.

“Are you kidding? I love it,” you said, running a hand along one of the counters. You didn’t miss the way his chest puffed out with pride. “My kitchen is so small, but a space like this…”

He unpacked the bag of food you brought, giving you a sideways glance. “Maybe you can cook here,” he casually stated.

Your eyes lit up. “Really?” you smiled, nearly throwing yourself into his arms. You refrained. “I can cook here?”

“Yeah, really,” he said, tucking his hair back. Standing in front of the counter, shirtless, his hair down, he looked like a wet dream. “Like I said, I’m not as good of a cook as you. It’ll be nice to get some better use out of it.”

You clapped your hands giddily and he actually smiled a full blown smile. “Thank you, Bucky. Really,” you said. You’d make something extra special. “I hope you like the sliders. I made cookies, too.”

He turned to face you, his muscles rippling as he stepped a little closer. This man really didn’t understand personal space, did he? “How did you know I wanted dessert?” he asked, that husky tone back in his voice. Was he implying… No.

It was like Kenna was both the angel and devil on your shoulders, one telling you to flirt a little, and the other telling you to play it safe. “Just a guess,” you said lightly, going for something in the middle.

You didn't feel like you could breathe properly until he stepped back. “I almost forgot…” he trailed off, sauntering from the room.

You swallowed as you stayed rooted to the spot. What did he forget about? That he was still walking around without a shirt on?

Bucky came back with a beautiful cat in his arms, and you were close to swooning. It was quite the sight seeing a shirtless Bucky Barnes holding a cat, who looked at you with a curious stare. You didn't blame her for staring. You were a stranger in her home.

“Al, this is the woman I was telling you about,” he said, making your heart flutter when he said your name. He actually talked about you to her? It didn't mean anything special. He probably told her that a new visitor was stopping by. “Can you say hi?”

Alpine gently meowed, bringing a smile to your face. Bucky smiled, too. They made quite the pair.

“You can hold out your hand for her,” he said.

You did so gently, not wanting to startle her. “Hey, Alpine,” you smiled.

Her nose tickled your fingers before she nuzzled it, urging you to pet her. You did so, which earned you a purr in response. It was nice to get her seal of approval since Bucky said she was particular with people.

“Wanna hold her?” Bucky offered.

“If she’ll let me,” you said.

As soon as you held out your arms, Alpine crawled into them. Bucky looked pleased when she got comfortable and continued to purr. “She really likes you.”

“I like her, too,” you smiled down at the feline. She was a sweetheart.

“Perfect…”

You glanced up to find Bucky holding up his phone. “Sorry. Just thought it would be a nice photo,” he said, his expression not at all apologetic as he showed you the picture he took of you holding Alpine. “You don't mind, do you?”

“Oh, no. That’s fine,” you said. Maybe he didn't have pictures of others holding her.

He glanced at the photo again and nodded. “I might have to frame this one,” he said, tucking his phone away.

Your smile wavered as he grabbed a couple of plates. That wasn't weird, was it? No. It was just a guy wanting a sweet photo of his cat.

“Let’s eat,” he said, rubbing his chiseled stomach. “I’m starving.”

We deserve a shirtless Bucky, don't we? Is that photo going in that empty frame? What do we think will happen next? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[cockkette]

meet the piastris

oscar piastri x reader

warnings - pregnancy, children (is this a warning idk maybe), this is disgustingly fluffy, insinuation of smut, mention of death (as a joke), i think that's it xoxo

face claim - girls on pinterest

oscarpiastri

liked by y/n.l/n, mclaren and 378,728 others

tagged: y/n.l/n

oscarpiastri: so excited to see what the future holds for our family and i'm incredibly lucky to share this with the love of my life

comments

y/n.l/n: how could you do this to me

oscarpiastri: ?

y/n.l/n: this is so sweet but now i'm crying and covered in snot

y/n.l/n: i love you (we have run out of tissues)

oscarpiastri: i love you too (i'll buy them on my way back home and some hot chocolate)

user1: i need someone that is as down bad for me as oscar is for y/n

user2: ikr man is whipped

oscarpiastri: have you seen her shes gorgeous?!?

user3: OSCAR JACK PIASTRI THE LAST PICTURE!!!

user4: the gasp i gusped

landonorris: my honest reaction 😋🥰😍

y/n.l/n: 🤔 please stop thirsting over my husband

landonorris: i'm so sorry queen it won't happen again 😔🙏

user5: what just happened

landonorris: she's scary pregnant ☹️

mclaren: we can't wait to meet the baby papayas! (zac does need to have a chat with you about what is appropriate to post on social media)

oscarpiastri: why?

user6: unbothered king

user7: served

mclaren: i give up

landonorris: warming up for my uncle duties

oscarpiastri: who told you, you can be their uncle?

landonorris: 😨😰😫🤢🤮😵

y/n.l/n: wait i feel bad

y/n.l/n: you can be their uncle ig 🙄

landonorris: yes! i'm going to buy them go karts

user8: y/n are you sure this is wise?

y/n.l/n: his emotional vulnerability got to me (also please don't buy my babies go karts)

logansargeant: i'll be their favorite uncle though right?

y/n.l/n: ofc 🩷

oscarpiastri: oh definitely

user9: uncle logiebear!!

landonorris: uncle lan*

logansargeant: you guys are going to be the best parents, i can't wait to meet the little ones

oscarpiastri: no please i've just stocked up on tissues

y/n.l/n: THANK YOU THIS IS SO SWEET I'M SOBBING I BET THEY CAN'T WAIT TO MEET YOU TOO

user10: i can't wait for dad oscar content

y/n.l/n: neither can i

user11: he's going to look so hot

y/n.l/n: HEY! he's mine

oscarpiastri: what she said!

user12: i love them

yourbestfriend: i hope they take after y/n looks wise xx

oscarpiastri: me too

y/n.l/n: they better do i've been the one carrying them around for nine months

y/n.l/n: but also osc is hella cute so its a win win

yourbestfriend: you two are disgustingly cute

y/n.l/n

liked by landonorris, yourbestfriend and 604,921 others

y/n.l/n: welcome to the world freya and ruby piastri you are already so loved

comments

user13: they are adorable

oscarpiastri: the most adorable ever actually

y/n.l/n: agreed

landonorris: wait they are so tiny are they meant to be that small?

oscarpiastri: mate.. they are babies but are you meant to be that small?

landonorris: 😔

user14: gagged

danielricciardo: congrats

liked by y/n.l/n and oscarpiastri

lilymhe: their names are so cute

lilymhe: and so are they

y/n.l/n: thank you bby

user15: i have such bad baby fever and you are not helping

y/n.l/n: you may want to avert your eyes because they are literally going to be my entire feed from now on soz

user16: i don't blame you queen they are too precious

liked by y/n.l/n and oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri: we make cute babies

y/n.l/n: we really do

oscarpiastri: we should have some more

user17: sir it has been 2 days

liked by y/n.l/n

mclaren: our future driver lineup

liked by oscarpiastri

y/n.l/n: oscar! unlike this i don't think my heart could take watching them race

lewishamilton: congratulations guys

liked by y/n.l/n and oscarpiastri

landonorris: have you got the clothes i sent them yet?

y/n.l/n: yes thank you it was so... thoughtful of you to buy them shirts with your face on

landonorris: they have to know who their favorite uncle is

oscarpiastri: and the best way to do this was through a shirt?

landonorris: correct

yourbestfriend: sending mine now

logansargeant: me too

user18: the whole grid is all so excited for them!!

user19: it's so sweet

oscarpiastri: i think they just want to see who will be the favorite

yourbestfriend: i’m going to spoil them so much

y/n.l/n: you already have

yourbestfriend: well i'm gonna spoil them even more

charles_leclerc: future ferrari fans

maxverstappen1: future redbull fans*

georgerussell63: future mercedes fans**

oscarpiastri: no 🧡

liked by mclaren

logansargeant: can't wait to meet them!!

y/n.l/n: they can't wait to meet you either!!

user20: they can't talk

y/n.l/n: a mother knows x

mclaren posted a story

liked by y/n.l/n, oscarpiastri and 24,218 others

caption- we send our congratulations to oscar and y/n as they welcome freya and ruby piastri to their family and as we welcome them to the papaya family

replies

y/n.l/n: papaya girls! 🧡

mclaren: the mclaren merch is on the way

y/n.l/n: only if it's 81 merch

user21: freya and ruby mclaren takeover when?

user22: looking forward the dad oscar content

y/n.l/n posted two stories

liked by mclaren, yourbestfriend and 14,801 others

caption- race day !!

replies

user23: manifesting an oscar win 🏆

y/n.l/n: vroom vroom

yourbestfriend: i'm coming over again (to see the girls)

y/n.l/n: aww i've missed you (so have the girls)

francisca.cgomes: missing you in the paddock

y/n.l/n: miss you too

liked by mclaren, lilymhe and 23,014 others

caption- i don't think the girls are as invested as me yet 🤔

replies

yourbestfriend: i'm speeding to get there they are so cute

y/n.l/n: omg be safe please

user24: i wish i was freya or ruby

mclaren: living their best life

oscarpiastri

liked by y/n.l/n, yourbestfriend and 418,329 others

tagged: y/n.l/n

oscarpiastri: babies day out

comments

user25: they are 6 months old and are literally living my dream life

liked by oscarpiastri and y/n.l/n

user26: don't mind me i'm just going to find a cliff to jump off x

y/n.l/n: the best type of days

oscarpiastri: especially with you

user27: he's so disgustingly in love

user28: y/n could make anyone act like that

user29: osc is his girl's personal photographer

user30: we love him for that though

user31: we need our y/n, ruby and freya content

yourbestfriend: all three of my girls are looking adorable 🥰

oscarpiastri: my girls

yourbestfriend: know your place x

liked by y/n.l/n

oscarpiastri: Y/N!?

landonorris: when are you letting me babysit 😠😠

oscarpiastri: ...soon

landonorris: YOU HAVE BEEN SAYING THIS FOR 2 MONTHS

landonorris: its never going to happen is it

user32: poor lando

lilymhe: hot mama 😘

y/n.l/n: stop i'm blushing and giggling rn

oscarpiastri: damn everyone is trying to steal my girl today 😔

user33: she is hot tho

liked by oscarpiastri

y/n.l/n

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 438,623 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

y/n.l/n: the dad oscar content you have all been waiting for xx

comments

y/n.l/n: my husband is so so hot 🥵🥵🥵

user34: no need to rub it in

user35: how does it feel to live my dream

y/n.l/n: it feels amazing 😘

user36: thank you y/n we all say in unison

user37: thank you y/n

user38: thank you y/n

landonorris: thank you y/n

y/n.l/n: get out of here 🤨

user39: never beating the twinkclaren accusations

user40: foaming at the mouth

user41: oscar with his babies i'm going to combust

oscarpiastri: i'm putting the second picture in my wallet

y/n.l/n: you're so cute i'm sobbing 🩷

user42: he's so girl dad

liked by y/n.l/n

user43: he's so daddy

y/n.l/n: well yes actually

oscarpiastri: oh-

landonorris: my eyes!!

oscarpiastri

liked by yourbestfriend, mclaren and 346,717 others

tagged: y/n.l/n

oscarpiastri: date night (thank you to logan for looking after the girls)

comments

user44: waiting patiently for lando's breakdown

y/n.l/n: my date is so fit 😍😍

liked by oscarpiastri

landonorris: WHAT

landonorris: HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME

landonorris: do you want me to cry

y/n.l/n: we texted you...

oscarpiastri: yeah we wanted 2 people to look after them since it was the first time leaving them without family

landonorris: what!?!??

user45: i can feel his devastation through the screen

georgerussell63: he's been bitching about this for so long and he didn't see the message 😂😂

landonorris: leave me alone 🖕

user46: my favs

logansargeant: the girls had so much fun with their favorite uncle

landonorris: 😢😢

carmenmmundt: you better have bought her the flowers

alexandrasaintmleux: you better have treated her like a princess

oscarpiastri: ofc only the best for my girl

oscarpiastri posted a story

liked by y/n.l/n, mclaren and 34,521 others

caption: one year of loving you two 🧡

replies

user47: i think i can finally tell who is who

user48: wait no

y/n.l/n: our babies are growing up

oscarpiastri: maybe we should have another then

y/n.l/n: when the girls turn 2 we can talk about it

oscarpiastri: i guess we will just have to practice until then

y/n.l/n: when do you get home?🤭

y/n.l/n

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren and 567,308 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

y/n.l/n: happy 1st birthday to my babies STOP GROWING THEY ARE GETTING SO BIG I CAN'T HANDLE THIS 😫😫

comments

user49: i'm so invested in the piastri twins i'm crying at their birthday post 🥲🥲

user50: we are witnessing piastri world domination 💪

yourbestfriend: where has the time gone

y/n.l/n: i swear they were born last week

oscarpiastri: they are growing up so fast 🩷

y/n.l/n: i've been crying about this all week

user51: she is all of us

user52: i just know their birthday party was banging

landonorris: the cake was amazing

mclaren: are ruby and freya enjoying their presents?

y/n.l/n: they love them!! thank you mclaren 🧡

a/n - thank you for reading i hope you enjoyed and as always any feedback is apppreciated <3

[pucksandpower]

Crash Course Correction

Lando Norris x Reader x Max Verstappen

Summary: the Austrian Grand Prix left your boyfriends less than pleased with each other, so you decide to do something about it

The tension in the air is palpable as you stride into the living room, your eyes darting between Max and Lando. They’re seated on opposite ends of the couch, arms crossed, deliberately avoiding each other’s gaze.

The aftermath of their crash at the Austrian Grand Prix still lingers, a cloud of unresolved anger and frustration hanging over them.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what’s to come. “Alright, boys,” you announce, your voice firm but tinged with exasperation. “This ends now.”

Max’s head snaps up, his blue eyes narrowing. “What are you on about?”

Lando, unable to resist, chimes in with a snort. “Probably about how you can’t drive for shit.”

“Me?” Max’s voice rises an octave. “You’re the one who-”

“Enough!” You cut them off, hands on your hips. “I’ve had it with this childish bickering. You two are going to sit here and work this out, or so help me, you’ll both be sleeping on this couch until you do.”

The threat hangs in the air for a moment before Lando breaks the silence. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” you reply, your tone leaving no room for argument. “I love you both, but I’m not dealing with this anymore. Sort it out.”

Max leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Y/N, come on. It’s not that simple. He-”

“No excuses,” you interrupt. “Talk to each other, not to me. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” With that, you turn on your heel and march out of the room, leaving the two drivers to face each other.

For a long moment, neither speaks. The ticking of the clock on the wall seems to grow louder with each passing second.

Finally, Lando breaks. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

Max grunts in agreement. “Yeah, well, welcome to life with Y/N. Stubborn as hell.”

“You’re one to talk,” Lando retorts, but there’s less heat in his words now.

Max sighs, leaning back into the couch. “Look, about the race ...”

Lando tenses. “What about it?”

“I ... I might have been a bit aggressive in that turn,” Max admits grudgingly.

Lando’s eyebrows shoot up. “A bit?”

“Hey, you weren’t exactly backing off either,” Max counters, but his tone is more defensive than accusatory.

Lando opens his mouth to argue, then closes it, considering. “Fair point,” he concedes after a moment. “I guess we were both pushing pretty hard.”

The admission seems to ease some of the tension in the room. Max nods, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “It’s what we do, isn’t it? Push to the limit.”

“Yeah,” Lando agrees, a matching smile forming. “Sometimes we just ... overstep that limit.”

There’s another pause, but this one feels less strained. Max breaks it, his voice softer now. “I am sorry, you know. For how it ended up. It wasn’t what I wanted.”

Lando’s expression softens. “I know. Me too. It’s just ... frustrating, you know? We both lost out on a podium.”

Max nods emphatically. “Tell me about it. The team was not happy.”

“Christian give you an earful?” Lando asks, a hint of sympathy in his voice.

Max groans. “Like you wouldn’t believe. You?”

“Zak was ... not thrilled,” Lando admits with a grimace. “But I think Andrea was even worse.”

They share a look of mutual understanding, the shared experience of team disappointment bridging the gap between them.

“You know,” Max says slowly, “maybe we should ... I don’t know, talk more? In the paddock, I mean. Try to avoid these situations.”

Lando tilts his head, considering. “Yeah, that could help. Better communication, less ... assuming the other will back off.”

“Exactly,” Max agrees, warming to the idea. “We’re both competitive as hell, but maybe we can find a way to race hard without ... well, this.”

Lando nods, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “I’d like that. It’s more fun when we’re both actually finishing the race.”

Max chuckles. “Can’t argue with that logic.”

The atmosphere in the room has shifted dramatically, the earlier tension replaced by a tentative camaraderie. They’re both quiet for a moment, processing the change.

“So,” Lando ventures, “think this counts as making up? Because I really don’t fancy sleeping on this couch. It’s not exactly built for comfort.”

Max laughs outright at that. “God, no. My back would never forgive me.” He pauses, then calls out, “Schatje? You can come back now. We’ve sorted it.”

You poke your head around the corner, eyeing them suspiciously. “Have you really? Or are you just saying that to get out of couch duty?”

Lando holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Cross my heart. We’ve had a proper talk and everything.”

You step fully into the room, your gaze moving between them. “And? What did you decide?”

Max and Lando exchange a glance before Max speaks. “We’re going to work on communicating better about what happens on the track. Try to avoid these ... incidents.”

“And off track?” You prompt, not quite satisfied.

Lando jumps in. “We’re good, love. Really. Water under the bridge and all that.”

You study them for a moment longer before your posture relaxes. “Alright, I believe you. But if I hear one more word about that crash ...”

“You won’t,” Max assures you quickly. “Promise.”

You nod, finally allowing yourself to smile. “Good. Now, who wants dinner? I’m starving.”

As you turn to head back to the kitchen, Lando calls out, “Hey, Y/N?”

You pause, looking back. “Yeah?”

He grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Just for the record, if we had to sleep on the couch ... would it have been together, or ...”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help the laugh that escapes. “In your dreams, Norris.”

Max snorts. “As if I’d share a couch with you anyway. You kick in your sleep.”

“Oi!” Lando protests. “I’ll have you know I’m a perfect sleeping companion.”

“Sure you are,” Max teases. “That’s why Y/N always complains about your snoring.”

You decide to intervene before they can start bickering again, albeit more playfully this time. “Alright, children. Less arguing, more helping with dinner.”

They both groan dramatically but get up to follow you into the kitchen. As you start pulling out ingredients, you can’t help but smile at the easy banter now flowing between them.

“So,” Max says, leaning against the counter, “what’s for dinner?”

You shrug. “I was thinking pasta. Simple and quick.”

Lando perks up. “Ooh, can we have garlic bread too?”

“Only if you make it,” you counter, tossing him a loaf of Italian bread.

He catches it with a grin. “Challenge accepted.”

As Lando busies himself with the garlic bread and you start on the pasta sauce, Max hovers nearby, looking slightly lost.

“Don’t just stand there,” you chide gently. “Make yourself useful. Chop some vegetables or something.”

Max grimaces. “You know I’m useless in the kitchen.”

Lando laughs. “Come on, Max. Even you can’t mess up chopping vegetables. Here, I’ll show you.”

To your surprise, Max allows Lando to guide him through the process, their earlier animosity completely forgotten. You watch them with a warm feeling in your chest, grateful that your plan worked out better than you could have hoped.

As the kitchen fills with the aroma of garlic and herbs, the conversation flows easily between the three of you. Racing stories blend with personal anecdotes, punctuated by laughter and the occasional playful jab.

“Remember that time in Monaco,” Lando says between giggles, “when Daniel thought it’d be a good idea to-”

“Oh God,” Max groans, but he’s smiling. “Don’t remind me. I still can’t look at inflatable flamingos the same way.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do I even want to know?”

They exchange a look before answering in unison, “Probably not.”

The pasta is almost done when Max suddenly says, “You know, I’m glad we sorted this out.”

Lando nods, his expression sincere. “Me too. It’s ... nice, this. Being able to just be together without the pressure.”

“Yeah,” Max agrees softly. “Sometimes I forget we’re not just rivals, you know? We’re ... partners.”

The word hangs in the air for a moment, weighted with meaning. You hold your breath, waiting to see how Lando will respond.

A slow smile spreads across Lando’s face. “Yeah, we are. Even if you are a pain in the arse sometimes.”

Max laughs, the sound full and genuine. “Right back at you, mate.”

You can’t help but join in their laughter, relief and happiness bubbling up inside you. This is what you’d hoped for — not just a truce, but a real reconnection.

As you all sit down to eat, the conversation continues to flow. You find yourself content to just listen, watching the way Max and Lando interact. There’s a new ease between them, a understanding that goes beyond their shared profession.

“You know,” you say during a lull in the conversation, “I’m proud of you both. For working this out.”

They both look slightly embarrassed at the praise, but pleased nonetheless.

“Well,” Lando says, a teasing lilt to his voice, “we couldn’t very well let you win, could we? Threatening us with the couch, honestly.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”

Max chuckles. “She’s got us there.”

As the evening winds down, you find yourself curled up on the couch between them, a movie playing on the TV. It’s some action flick that none of you are really paying attention to, too content in each other’s company.

“Hey,” Max says softly, his arm draped around your shoulders. “Thanks for this. For ... pushing us to talk.”

Lando hums in agreement from your other side. “Yeah, we can be right idiots sometimes. It’s good to have someone to knock some sense into us.”

You smile, warmth spreading through you. “That’s what I’m here for. Someone has to keep you two in line.”

They both laugh at that, the sound harmonizing in a way that makes your heart swell.

As the credits roll on the forgotten movie, you realize that this — this moment of peace and companionship — is exactly what you’d been hoping for.

It’s not always easy loving two Formula 1 drivers. The competition, the pressure, the constant travel ... it can all take its toll.

But moments like this? They make it all worthwhile.

You snuggle deeper into the couch, surrounded by the warmth of the two men you love. “So,” you say, unable to resist one last tease, “I guess you’ve both earned your bed privileges back, huh?”

Max and Lando exchange a look over your head before Max speaks. “Actually ... I was thinking maybe we could all just stay here for a bit longer. This is ... nice.”

Lando nods in agreement. “Yeah, no rush to move. Unless you want to, of course,” he adds quickly.

You smile, touched by their reluctance to end the moment. “Here is perfect,” you assure them.

As you settle in for another movie, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, that crash was a blessing in disguise. It forced a confrontation that needed to happen, cleared the air in a way that casual interaction never could.

And now, curled up between Max and Lando, their earlier rivalry forgotten in favor of shared laughter and warm companionship, you know that whatever challenges come next, you’ll face them together.

As a team.

As a family.

[forchosangwoo]

Can you please write type of guy headcanons for front man and recruiter?

— typa guy ☆ hwang inho headcannons

paring(s) : frontman / hwang inho / oh youngil x reader (written with female in mind but all genders are welcome!!) warnings : manipulation, mdni, nsfw notes : doing frontman first if thats okay 😭😭ill try to do the recruiter and other requests soon i swear!! hope you like it n thank you so much for requesting!! i can not explain why this man is so attractive smh might be a bit ooc sorryy

SFW . . . !

inho is the type of guy who would fall in love with you and not be able to explain why at first. maybe it was the way you carried yourself or your aura. maybe it was the way you interacted with your surroundings or how pretty he found it when you are happy and smiling.

inho is the type of guy who would be WAY overprotective. whenever he could, he'd always want to be in the same room with you if not right next to you. he'd get anxious if you were out of his sight, especially because of how dangerous his job can be.

inho is the type of guy that would manipulate you to not leave him. if the two of you had an argument, big or small, he'd talk you back into his arms.

inho is the type of guy who would think of you every time he listens to his favorite jazz love song. fly me to the moon is inho and your relationship song.

inho is the type of guy who would be constantly be caught staring at you. after all, it's hard to not notice his never leaving gaze of love when looking at you. he'd be silently admiring you and daydreaming to himself.

inho is the type of guy to pay extra attention to what you like and dislike. he'd notice everything, from what type of jokes you find funny to what brands of water you dislike. it catches you off guard sometimes when he remembers so many little details about you.

inho is the type of guy who would set his passwords to your birthday. he'd smile like an idiot to himself when typing in his password, thinking of you.

inho is the type of guy to always to you to the most expensive and amazing dates. he never fails to make sure the 2 of you have the most enjoyable and memorable dates.

inho is the type of guy to take a flower out of the bouquet so he knows when to buy new a new one for you. when he notices the flower he kept starts to wither, he'll gift you a new arrangement of flowers.

inho is the type of guy to hold you super tight when cuddling. he'd love to be the bigger spoon and keep you as close to his body as possible.

NSFW . . . !

inho is the type of guy to give you both a mix of praise and degradation.

inho is the type of guy to love you cock warming him. every year during the first game, he'd have you cock warm him as he leans back on the couch, watching the players start to get shot down like flies.

inho is the type of guy who'd always be dom in bed. he'd love to look down at you beneath him as you writhe in the pleasure he's giving you.

inho is the type of guy to get turned on when you start to get vocal. he'd get even more horny knowing that he's also making you feel good.

inho is the type of guy to fuck you with his mask on. he'd find it really attractive when he looks down at you through the restrictive view of his mask.

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 8.2k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

“You look so handsome like this…” a sultry chuckle is followed by a warm kiss to the lips. The man with a receding hairline laughs in a slimy way, welcoming the woman into his lap. Arms settled around her midsection, indulging in her lips. 

The moment is quickly shut down when an intruding voice cuts in. “Haruka! Some guy is waiting for you at the door.”

With a huff, she pulls back. Lip curled up into a scowl, turning her head over her shoulder to face the man at the top of the stairs. “Tell ‘em I’m busy, damn it!” She snarls out. 

The man sighs and rubs his bald head. “I already did. He said he wants to speak to you, now hurry up here.”

When the door slams shut, she turns back to her customer. “I’ll be back.” She smiles and kisses his wrinkly cheek before getting up and off his lap. She fixes her clothing, a simple tank top and shorts. Looking at the small mirror, she frowns and straightens down her hair. She’s reminded to dye her hair black again to cover up the incoming gray hairs that always greet her nowadays. She applies her usual red lick back to her skin, perking them up with a small pop noise. Her eyes, beady and dark, fixate back up at the door while her feet drag her. 

Once she’s up in the main portion of the building, she rounds a corner and sees a neatly suited man standing at the front desk. The man who called her attention before gives her a certain look before walking off and letting her deal with it. She smiles, leaning against the hardwood. “Why, hello there, handsome. How may I help you today?”

The man, undeterred and stoic, regards her with barely any emotion. The dark sunglasses on his face obscuring his eyes and Haruka’s brow twitches for a moment in annoyance. She still keeps up her game, however. Resting her cheek against her palm. “Well? How can I—”

“Ms. Haruka, right?” 

The stranger’s voice is deep and defined, causing Haruka’s eyebrows to raise in interest. Her smile widens and she hums playfully. “Ah, well depends on who’s asking. If it’s you, then you can call me Candy.” She whispers the last part, leaning in like she told him a big secret; giggling to herself. 

The man spares a brief glance down at his wristwatch. Haruka notices its pristine gold, oh how valuable. An idea is already forming in her head when she looks back at the man’s black, circular shades. But what he says next causes her body to go into a temporary state of comatose. 

“Are you the mother of Y/N L/N? If so, please come with me. There are some things my bosses would like to discuss with you.”

It’s the day after Christmas. You luckily got the day off and you’ve just been lounging around your place with Koji. Eating some leftovers and cleaning up a bit, watching him rave about the new toys he got; it’s a pleasant sight. Satoru hasn’t texted you anything today, and while you’re not holding him to that expectation, there’s a part of you that worries he’s still angry. Or maybe even upset at the gift you got him. It probably brought up negative emotions for him. But it was a last minute thing and you assumed he would greatly appreciate it. 

Maybe your assumption was wrong. 

You shake off the thought, refusing to dwell on it. Satoru has always been hard to read, and overanalyzing his silence won’t do you any good. Instead, you focus on Koji, who’s currently making his action figures reenact some elaborate battle scene on the coffee table. His laughter echoes through the room, bright and infectious, pulling a small smile from you.

“Koji, don’t forget to put the smaller pieces back in the box when you’re done,” you remind him gently.

“Okay, Mama!” he chirps, not looking up from his imaginary world.

You take another bite of your leftovers, savoring the quiet domesticity of the moment. It’s not often you get a day to just relax like this. Still, that nagging thought about Satoru lingers in the back of your mind, no matter how much you try to ignore it. Your fingers reach up, feeling for the star pendant Suguru got you. Smiling to yourself as your fingertips graze over the metal. You’re suddenly reminded of the fact that you haven’t thanked him. 

You grab your phone, thumb hovering over his contact. It’s a small debate to call or text him, unsure of which is more…appropriate. Maybe he’s busy or maybe he wouldn’t mind a phone call at this time. You bite your lip, inhaling deeply then letting it go, deciding that your gratitude would feel more authentic if he actually heard you say it. 

You click the call button and within the second ring, his voice lightens up the other end. “Hello?”

You clear your throat before speaking. “Hey, Suguru,” you say softly, twirling the pendant between your fingers. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Not at all,” he replies warmly, a hint of curiosity in his tone. “What’s up?”

As you pause for a moment, your thoughts are being gathered. “I just wanted to thank you… for the gift. The pendant, it’s beautiful.” Your voice dips slightly, the sincerity in your words undeniable. “You didn’t have to, but… it means a lot to me.”

There’s a brief silence on his end before he chuckles softly. “I’m glad you like it. I figured it’d suit you.”

You can’t help but smile, your fingers still tracing the small, intricate patterns on the pendant. “It does. Koji said it makes me look pretty.”

Suguru laughs at that, the sound soft and familiar. “He’s not wrong. The kid’s got good taste.”

A small heat pools in your stomach, cheeks blushing a bit. When you glance over at Koji, you notice just how engrossed he still is in his action figures. “He’s been talking about that Spider-Man you got him nonstop. He even took it to bed with him last night.”

“Really? That’s adorable,” Suguru comments, his tone light but carrying an underlying fondness. “I’m glad he liked it. He’s a great kid.”

“He is,” you agree, your voice softening. “I’m lucky to have him.”

There’s a pause, the silence between you both comfortable yet loaded with things left unsaid. Finally, Suguru breaks it. “How are you doing? After last night, I mean. Satoru told me he was going over.”

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re unsure how to answer. “I’m… okay,” you eventually get out, though it feels like a half-truth. “It was just… a lot. But we did it. For Koji.” 

He hums from the other side. “Yeah, that’s good. I figured.” A moment of pause before he continues. “Satoru can be… intense, especially when it comes to you and Koji.”

You let out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

“But other than that, it was good?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

He smiles. “I’m glad, you two deserve a good Christmas.”

With one hand, you bring your dirty dishes to the sink, the other keeping your phone to your ear. “What about you? Was yours good too?”

Suguru’s voice sighs wistfully. “It was, yeah. My team and I spent it handing out some gifts and hot chocolate to the kids. Seeing their faces light up with joy like that, it makes you feel really good, you know?”

Your heart warms at his words, picturing Suguru in his element—kind, compassionate, always thinking of others. You’re reminded back to the time you saw him that day with Koji. “That sounds wonderful,” you speak softly, leaning against the counter. “You’re really amazing for doing that, Suguru. Those kids are lucky to have someone like you.”

He chuckles modestly, the sound low and comforting. “I don’t know about amazing, but thanks. It’s just something small I can do. Makes the holidays feel more meaningful.”

You smile, twirling the pendant again as you consider his words. “It’s more than small. It’s thoughtful. It’s... you.” The words slip out before you can stop them, and you feel your cheeks flush immediately. Embarrassment floods your insides. 

There’s a brief silence on his end, followed by a soft laugh. “You’re too kind. But coming from you, I’ll take it as a high compliment.”

You shake your head, grinning despite yourself. “It’s not kindness. It’s the truth.”  

Koji’s excited shout from the living room snaps you back to the moment. He’s discovered a new pose for his Spider-Man, proudly showing it off as he runs over. “Mama, look!”  

Suguru must hear the commotion, his tone lightening further. “Sounds like someone’s having a good time.”  

“He is,” you say, watching Koji’s eyes sparkle with joy. You nod in astonishment. When your son is satisfied with your praise, he rushes back to the coffee table. “He’s been nonstop since yesterday. I think this Spider-Man might be his new best friend.”  

“Then my mission was a success,” Suguru replies with a chuckle. “I’ll have to find something to top it next year.”  

You bite the inside of your cheek while his words bring a pang of guilt. It’s strange; how easy it is to talk to Suguru, how natural it feels to share these moments. And yet, there’s a part of you that wonders if you’re leaning on him too much, especially with everything unresolved with Satoru. You wonder if what you’re doing is wrong, and considering Satoru’s reaction to his friend’s gift to you, you feel like you’re almost…betraying Satoru. 

“Thank you again, Suguru,” you repeat, your voice calmer now. “For everything. You didn’t have to go out of your way for us, but you did, and it means a lot.”  

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says gently. “You and Koji... you guys are important to me too, you know?”  

The weight of his words settles over you, warm and steady. “That means a lot to me too.”  

There’s another comfortable pause before Suguru clears his throat. “Well, I should let you get back to your day. I’m glad you called, though. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”  

“Okay,” you promise, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Take care, Suguru.”  

“You too,” he says, his voice lingering for a moment before the call ends.  

As you set your phone down, you glance at Koji, who’s now back to his world of action figures. You can’t help but feel grateful for the people in your life now who care so deeply about you and your son.  

But even with that gratitude, your thoughts drift back to Satoru, the press, his parents. And you ponder over the idea of what he’s doing right now, whether he’s holding onto the photograph, if he set it up somewhere; and what it might mean for the three of you moving forward.

There’s no time to start drowning in your thoughts any longer. You’ve already done that yesterday and practically every other day before that. A bigger question has been gnawing at you, and now that you have some free time, you figure you should look into it now. Grabbing your laptop, turning it on and clicking on Google once the screen awakens. The small business card is placed to your right as you type away the company name in the search bar. 

You click on the first link. 

It takes you to an entire directory of the services of Carlisle & Harlow. 

The website loads quickly, its sleek design showcasing high-end properties and exclusive services. The polished images of luxurious estates, private jets, and lavish vacation homes scroll past as you navigate through the various tabs. The site is clearly designed to appeal to an elite audience—every detail is immaculate. You skim through the different services offered, including property management, concierge arrangements, personal assistants, and lifestyle coaching. It all feels a bit too polished, almost like an invitation into a world you’ve only ever seen from the outside.

You feel a slight unease in your stomach. Your mind races back to the business card Evelyn gave you—one that seemed so out of place given everything else you’ve seen in your life. You click through to the “About Us” section, hoping to find more answers about what the company actually does or who else is behind it. 

The page provides a brief history, detailing the company’s founding by the woman, Evelyn Carlisle and her now deceased husband, Noah Harlow—both of whom have since made a name for themselves in the luxury service industry. 

You click on the “Our Team” link. Several executives are listed, each with brief bios that read like glowing resumes. Next, you click on the “Contact Us” tab, staring at the address listed—an upscale location in the city’s financial district. It’s the kind of place where secrets are hidden behind high walls and the name on the door probably has a lot of power behind it.

Taking a deep breath, you mull over this instance. Maybe it’s time to investigate further, but you’re not sure how much deeper you want to dig—especially not without some sort of plan. But that Evelyn woman seemed a little strange to you. It’s just the fact that everything felt quite planned out to you, like someone told her to come to your workplace and offer a job interview. Your intuition has always been right and ever since you became a mother, that increased tenfold. But, this seems like it might have more of a good outcome than a bad one. 

You wouldn’t have to maintain the hard balance of working two jobs and a child. As you continue scrolling and clicking on multiple tabs within the website, one catches your interest. 

‘About Our Founders’

You’re met with pictures of Evelyn and her husband, posing with what you can only assume are other businesspeople, with paragraphs of their background to go along with it. Nothing looks out of the ordinary so far, until a particular picture. 

It’s Evelyn and her husband. Posing with Satoru and his father. 

Your heart stops for a moment, your breath catching in your throat as you stare at the screen. The four of them are dressed impeccably, their expressions polished with smiles that feel carefully rehearsed. The caption beneath the photo reads:  

“Celebrating five years of partnership between Carlisle & Harlow and the Gojo Group, fostering innovation and excellence in high-end luxury services.”

Your stomach churns. The idea of Satoru or his family being involved in this job offer. And it almost makes sense now—Evelyn showing up at your workplace, the too-perfect job offer, the strange sense of everything being orchestrated. It wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be. Unless it is?

Your fingers hover over the trackpad, trembling slightly as you click on the bio beneath Evelyn’s photo. Her background is as pristine as expected: Ivy League education, years of experience in luxury branding, and a reputation for impeccable taste. But it’s the section about her connections that catches your eye:  

"Evelyn Carlisle maintains close ties with prominent families, including the Gojo family, and has been instrumental in crafting tailored solutions for their elite clientele."

Your head spins. This isn’t just a job opportunity—it’s a calculated move. But why? Why now? And why through Evelyn instead of directly from Satoru or his family? You glance back at the business card on your table, its gold lettering gleaming in the soft light. It feels heavier now, like it’s carrying the weight of unseen motives.  

Koji’s laughter breaks through your swirling thoughts, grounding you momentarily. You look over at him, playing so innocently, so unaware of the tangled web you’re beginning to unravel. Taking a deep breath, you close the laptop and sit back. Whatever this is, it’s not just about you anymore. If Evelyn’s offer is part of some larger scheme, you’ll need to figure out the truth before you make any decisions.  

Maybe you’re overthinking this. The Gojo Group is huge and very obviously powerful, of course, they would have ties with Carlisle & Harlow. It’s not that far-fetched, right? It’s just a job opportunity, don’t think too much into it. 

It’s around the next day at work now. Walking to the café, phone in hand. Rereading Satoru’s first text to you since you last saw him, it’s not entirely underwhelming, you just hoped that he would have expressed his gratitude for your gift. 

Satoru:

Koji left his jacket here from last time, I’ll bring it over today

Your lips purse, thumbs going haywire over the bright screen. Should you ask if he enjoyed the gift? If he even opened it in the first place? Or maybe you’re dragging this out far too much. With a deep breath, entering the cafe, you type back:

You:

I thought you had work today 

Satoru’s response comes almost immediately, as if he was waiting for you to text back.

Satoru:

I do, but I can swing by during lunch. The place is a little far from me, can I come to your job and drop it off?

You hesitate, wanting to type back a ‘no’ as soon as he asked. It would feel a little weird if he came. Satoru and your workplace just don’t seem to mix—and you don’t want them to. If he came, it would only further solidify the fact that he’s integrating himself into your life. Again, you’re probably overthinking things, he’s just dropping off your son’s jacket. But the thought of seeing him right now feels oddly nerve-inducing. 

You:

Sure, I’m on lunch at 12

When you drop the pin of the café’s address, you pocket your phone and set your stuff down, tying the apron around your waist. Hana, on her phone texting, barely looks up when you enter. It’s becoming a bit more repetitive nowadays. Patting down the apron, you speak up. “Still talking to that Naoya guy?”

She hums and nods, giggling at something that was messaged before swiftly typing back a response. Your lips purse, brows knitting at her lack of acknowledgment for you. This guy must really be entrancing her. “He said he was coming today.”

“Oh, really?” You ask, offering a small smile. “I’ll finally meet the lucky guy.”

Hana’s eyes flick up at you briefly before returning to her phone, her cheeks slightly flushed. “Hm? Oh, yeah. but don’t embarrass me, okay?”  

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you grab a few boxes to refill the supplies up front behind the counter, cutting them open. “I’ll try not to. Just don’t expect me to be on my best behavior if he’s rude.”  

She scoffs, though her grin betrays her amusement. “He’s not rude. You’ll like him, I think. He’s… different.”  

You arch a brow, intrigued by her tone. “Different, huh? Guess we’ll see.”  

Hana waves you off, clearly too engrossed in her conversation to elaborate further.  

And so, the morning drags on, and you can’t help but notice Hana glancing at the door every few minutes, a mix of anticipation and nerves written all over her face. Meanwhile, you busy yourself with the usual flow of customers, though your own nerves begin to creep in as the clock inches closer to noon.  

When the bell above the café door finally chimes, you glance up instinctively. A tall man with sharp features and an air of confidence steps in, scanning the room briefly before his gaze lands on Hana. His hair is slicked back neatly, and he’s dressed in a tailored coat that screams wealth and status. The tips of his hair dipped black, his eyes are so cat-like that it almost freaks you out at first.  

Hana’s face lights up as she quickly puts the cleaning supplies that were in her hands down and waves him over. “Naoya!”  

He strides over, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leans in to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. “Hana,” he says smoothly, his voice low and self-assured. 

Your eyebrows raise at the blatant show of affection in front of not just you—but the rest of the customers. It’s slightly unlike Hana because you remember her telling you how much she despised PDA. Maybe Naoya is making her come out of her shell. That’s good, right? You watch the interaction from behind the counter, your initial impression of him forming almost immediately. There’s something about his demeanor—charming, yes, but also a little too smug for your liking. Your senses are telling you to be subtly on guard around this man. 

Hana glances over at you, her smile widening. “Naoya, this is my coworker—”  

“Friend,” you correct with a playful smile, giving her a tiny look. It’s strange how she was just going to introduce you as a coworker when she always calls you her friend. Not thinking too much of it, you step out from behind the counter to extend a hand. “Nice to meet you, Naoya. I’m Y/N.”

He takes your hand, his grip firm but calculated. His eyes flicker over you briefly, as if sizing you up. If possible, his grin widens, eyes growing more crescent-like. “Pleasure’s mine,” he says, though the smirk on his face doesn’t quite reach his eyes.  

“So, you’re the one who’s been keeping Hana so distracted lately,” you remark lightly, folding your arms.  

Naoya chuckles, his gaze shifting back to Hana. “She’s easy to talk to. Hard not to get distracted by her.”  

Hana blushes, clearly pleased by the compliment, but you can’t shake the nagging feeling that there’s something a little… off about him.  “Well,” you say, forcing a polite smile, “welcome to our humble abode. Let me know if you need anything.”  

Naoya nods, his smirk unwavering. “Will do.”  

As you step back behind the counter, you catch Hana giving you a warning glance, silently begging you not to say anything more. You just shrug, grabbing the rag Hana previously discarded to wipe down the counter, though you can’t help but keep an ear on their conversation. They convert over to a booth in the corner, seemingly for some privacy. 

Something about Naoya sets your instincts on edge. Maybe it’s the way he carries himself, or the way his smile feels more like a performance than genuine warmth. He’s reminding you of Satoru, just more insidious. It’s probably a little rude of you to have such a critical judgment of the man who’s making your friend swoon, but isn’t that what friends, do? Making sure the men or women that come into their lives are worthy of it? Whatever it is, you make a mental note to keep an eye on him—if only for Hana’s sake.  

You stop eavesdropping. Hana’s a grown woman, if anything, she knows what’s more right for her than you do. Besides, you’re one of the only ones working right now, so it’s better to focus on delivering customer service than ensuring the man in the corner (who has been keenly drifting his eyes towards your figure) is good enough for Hana. Hana, oblivious to your discomfort, continues chatting with Naoya, her smile wide as she laughs at something he says. Her back is turned to you, and all you can do is concentrate on the rising sense of unease in your gut. It’s the way Naoya’s posture remains open and confident, but there’s a hardness behind his eyes that doesn’t sit right with you. He seems like someone who expects to get what he wants, and the thought of him using his charm to manipulate Hana makes you clench your fists beneath the counter. You’re just trying to understand the strange energy he brings into the environment. Maybe it’s your overactive imagination, but you still can’t shake the perception that there’s more to this man than Hana is seeing.

As you refocus on your tasks, you can physically feel the weight of Naoya’s gaze lingering on you. It’s subtle, but unsettling—like he’s paying more attention to you than he is Hana. You shake it off, putting your mind into the register as a customer walks up to place an order. However, the uneasy feeling stays with you. You move through the motions of your shift. Every time you briefly glance over to the booth, his gaze is drawn to you. Not in the way you’d expect a person to look at someone they’ve just met, but with something more calculating. It’s almost as if he’s analyzing you, but why?

You don’t even know how long it has been, at least 15 orders later, when the two walk back up to the front. Hana grabs your attention. “Y/N, Naoya brought up a really good idea. His friend owns that new bar I was telling you about a few weeks ago! Do you want to go out tomorrow after your other job?”

You glance up, a bit surprised by the invitation. It’s not like you haven’t been out with Hana before, but something about tonight feels odd. Maybe it’s Naoya’s presence, or maybe it’s the weird sense of being observed earlier. Still, it’s a chance to unwind, and Hana seems genuinely excited.

You give a soft smile, though it feels a little strained. “I don’t know, Hana. I’ve got a lot on my plate. Plus, I’m not sure about the bar idea... not really in the mood for crowds.”

Her eyes widen, and she steps closer, lowering her voice. “Come on, you deserve a break. You’ve been working so hard lately. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

You meet her eyes, trying to gauge her sincerity. She’s always been good at getting you to loosen up when you're feeling overwhelmed. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go for just a little while, but you still have reservations about Naoya. “Alright, I’ll think about it. I’ll see if I can get out earlier,” you say, trying to keep your tone light. “But no promises.”

Hana’s face lights up. “Yay! I knew you’d come around.” She looks over her shoulder at Naoya, who’s standing a few feet away, reading the two of you with an unreadable expression. 

You suddenly feel like this moment might be the start of something unpredictable. As much as you want to just go with the flow for Hana, a part of you ponders if there’s more to Naoya’s invitation than just a night out. But, for now, you push the thought aside.

“Well, you don’t want to miss out,” Naoya speaks up, chuckling to himself. “Just try. It’s called No Man’s Land. I’ll be there around 10:30 tomorrow night, hopefully I'll see you both there.”

You nod slowly, still hesitant about the whole thing. Something about the way Naoya phrased it—so casual, so sure of himself—rubs you the wrong way. There’s an underlying expectation in his words like he’s already decided that you’ll both show up. You’re not sure if it’s just his personality or something more, but the thought of him controlling the situation leaves you with a strange feeling. Hana, though, looks delighted. “It’ll be so much fun, Y/N. Just relax. A drink or two won’t hurt.” She flashes you a grin before turning back to Naoya, all smiles as she talks about what they’ll do at the bar.

You’re like an outsider, watching as Hana becomes more entangled in Naoya’s charm. You wonder if she sees it too—the little things about him that don’t add up. The way he already seems like the type of man to be just one step ahead with a plan. But she’s excited, so you don’t want to rain on her parade. Besides, you can always back out later if it doesn’t feel right.

Luckily, she sees him out right after. 

And unluckily, you’re waiting outside on your break for Satoru sooner rather than later. 

You glance at your phone once more, watching the minutes tick by. Your break feels longer than it should, and the anticipation of seeing Satoru again only adds to the anxiety that’s been building ever since your last interaction. You tell yourself it’s just a quick exchange—Koji’s jacket, nothing more. But every moment feels charged as if something is on the verge of shifting.

The cool air outside offers a bit of relief, though the tension in your chest doesn’t quite let up. You stand near the corner of the café, eyes scanning the street for any sign of him. The sound of footsteps approaches, and you turn, only to find Satoru strolling toward you with his usual carefree aura.

“Hey,” he greets, his tone light, but there’s something different about the way his eyes stay on you—something that feels almost too familiar. He holds out the jacket. “Koji’s jacket. Didn’t want to leave him without it.”

You take the jacket from him, the weight of it making you more aware of the subtle intimacy of the moment. “Thanks,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I appreciate it.”

He doesn’t say anything immediately, just watches you for a beat too long. You shift on your feet, suddenly feeling acutely aware of the silence hanging between you.

“Is that all?” you ask, hoping the question doesn’t come off too abrupt.

Satoru tilts his head as if considering something. “What do you mean?”

God, you hate it when he plays stupid like this. It forces you to be outright with what you want to say. Standing up straighter, chin tilting high. “I mean…like—well I guess what I’m trying to say is that…did you open…the gift I gave you?”

Satoru’s gaze shifts slightly, his usual simmering confidence faltering just enough to make you second-guess yourself. He pauses like he’s weighing your question more carefully than he typically would. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve overstepped—if you’ve asked something too personal or too vulnerable. The silence stretches between you like a taut wire.

“Your gift?” he finally says, the corner of his mouth lifting just a bit. He sounds almost amused, but there’s a hint of something else in his voice, something you can’t quite pin down.

You feel a wave of heat rise in your cheeks, but you stand your ground. “Yeah. The one I gave you on Christmas.” The words feel clumsy as they leave your mouth, but you can’t take them back now.

Satoru’s expression shifts, the air tensing slightly. “I did,” he says simply, as though it’s nothing. “It was… nice.”

You want to push him further, to demand more of a response, but something about the way he says it makes you hesitate. Is that all? You want to ask again. Was it just “nice”? That’s all? After everything—the thought you put into the gift, the small but meaningful gesture—you wonder if maybe it didn’t even register with him the way it did with you. Maybe you were right, he didn’t even open it and is now coming up with a bullshit response because you put him on blast. 

But you don’t want to push too hard. You already feel like you’re treading on delicate ground. So you force yourself to smile, even though it feels a little stiff. “Well, I’m glad you liked it,” you reply, not entirely sure if you believe your own words.

There’s another beat of silence, and then Satoru shifts his weight slightly, signalling that he’s about to leave. “I should get going. Got some things to take care of,” he says, but he doesn’t immediately turn away.

Instead, his eyes flicker down to your hands, where you’re still holding Koji’s jacket. “Take care of yourself,” he adds, his tone softening just a bit.

You nod, trying to hide the strange pang in your chest. “You too,” you reply, though your voice is quieter now.

His lips thin into an awkward smile. It’s one you give a stranger or someone you barely know—but that’s how things feel between you now, isn’t it? It’s really not worth dwelling over the tiny things that further more prove the horrid line of connection between you two. But for some reason, it still hurts and picks at your heart. 

That moment is quickly splashed away when a familiar—but teeth-gritting voice squeals from behind Satoru. Your grip tightens on Koji’s jacket. Satoru’s shoulders tense up. 

“Satoru! Why’d you leave me in that boutique? It took forever to find you!”

She appears next to Satoru, her presence immediate and unmistakable. Her eyes flicker between you and Satoru with a mix of scrutiny and something else that you can’t quite place. She’s dressed in something designer, as usual, with that polished, effortless look that screams of wealth and status. Her gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than necessary, a quiet challenge in her eyes.

You feel a knot twist in your stomach, an all-too-familiar sense of discomfort settling into your chest. Satoru’s gaze meets yours for just a moment before he shifts his attention to Himari. “Sorry, didn’t mean to leave you hanging,” he says, his tone light but lacking its usual warmth.

Himari, not seeming to notice or care about the tension in the air, flashes you a tight-lipped smile that screams fake. “Oh, well look who it is. The leech.”

“Himari.” Satoru gruffs under his breath, giving his girlfriend a dirty side-eye. 

“What? One minute we're spending the day together and the next you’re here with…her.”

Your jaw clenches, noticing the tug Satoru gives the other woman to the back of her dress, lowly whispering something into her ear. But her facial expression doesn’t deter, and neither does her snaky persona. 

“I thought you had work.” You utter, eyes flickering back to Satoru. 

His brows tighten, huffing out an exasperated breath. Before he can respond, she does it for him. “If you consider being by my side and treating all my needs work, then yeah, he is working.” She giggles at her own joke, making a show of turning his head towards her and plopping a kiss on his pink lips. It lasts only a few seconds before he pulls away. 

But even those few seconds feel like a lifetime.

You feel the bite of Himari’s words, even if they’re clearly meant to dig into you. The word “leech” still stings, even though you know it’s not intended for anything other than a cruel jab. Satoru’s response, or lack thereof, makes the situation all the more uncomfortable. His eyes flick to you for a brief second before turning back to Himari, his expression more quiet and guarded

 One question sounds throughout your brain. Why are you even with her?

You stand there, the tension heavy in the air between the three of you, white-knuckling onto Koji’s jacket, as if it could anchor you through this awkward, uncomfortable moment. Himari’s gaze holds yours for a moment longer like she’s trying to read you, trying to see if you'll react. You want to say something, anything, but you can feel the weight of the situation hanging on your tongue, making it hard to even speak.

Satoru looks between the two of you, his jaw tightening slightly. "Let's go," he mutters, more to Himari than to you, though you can tell he’s trying to smooth things over. Himari, however, isn’t having it. She steps forward, a small smirk on her face as she eyes you again. 

“So,” she starts, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “you two still playing catch-up or is it ‘out of sight, out of mind’ now?” 

Her clipped tone is pointed, deliberately meant to prod, and the weight of them sinks in—her intent clear. Satoru doesn’t reply, simply glancing at you with a silent apology in his eyes—if you can even call it that. You want to scoff at his lousiness. It’s clear she’s trying to assert her dominance in the situation, but you’re not sure whether it’s her trying to put you in your place or if it’s something else entirely.

You force a tight smile, the words you're looking for escaping you. “No need to worry,” you manage to say, the words barely leaving your lips as you turn to look at Satoru one last time. “I’m sure you both have things to do. I’ll get back to work.”

Satoru doesn’t protest, and Himari just gives you another dismissive glance. "Whatever," she mutters under her breath, but you catch the taunt in her voice. She might be playing it off, but you sense otherwise. 

As they walk away, the weight of the encounter lingers in the air around you. You stand frozen for a moment, the jacket still in your hands, and then—almost instinctively—you turn on your heel and head back inside the café. Your heart still pounds in your chest, the sting of Himari’s words lingering long after they’ve both left.

You don’t even know what hurts more—the fact that Satoru’s dismissive attitude didn’t change, Himari’s words somehow managed to rattle you more than you care to admit, or the fact that he barely…stood up for you. It is selfish to at least hold him to a certain degree—a degree where he has the decency to protect you from the cruel shit his now girlfriend so nonchalantly delivers towards you? Maybe how he acted during that first unexpected encounter was all for show.

And of course, the pain in your chest feels more like a slow burn now, another brutal—unwanted reminder that things between you and Satoru, whatever they were…are long gone.

An Izakaya of this caliber is something Haruka would have only dreamed of sitting in. Warm lighting is stationed above them, inside their own private room while she drinks away and away—solely because the people before her are buying. There are dishes of food scattered around, some picked from and others haven’t been touched yet. “You know, I really appreciate you spoiling me for the past two days, it’s nicer than any man has ever treated me.” 

She laughs to herself, casually leaning back on her palms, holding her pitcher of beer back up to her lips and sipping like a madman. Emi and Kenji Nakamura regard the woman with equally disgusted faces. Beside them is their personal lawyer. 

“So,” Haruka starts, burping and leaning forward once more. “What’s this all about my precious daughter, huh?” Her lip quirks up in a sneer at the reminder of the child she had and practically threw to the wolves. “Is she acting up again? She’s always been a little troublemaker.”

“I’m sure you’ve seen the articles, yes?” Kenji’s firm voice replies. “Involving your daughter, Satoru Gojo, and their son.”

She chokes on her spit. “What?! Son?! No, I haven’t seen anything! I’m a free spirit and I don’t believe in social media, it’s the devil’s play!”

The couple show no further emotion to her outburst. 

Haruka’s face contorts with an expression of disbelief as she wipes her mouth hastily with the back of her hand, trying to regain some composure. The news about Satoru Gojo and her daughter having a child seems to rattle her more than anything else. She leans back again, almost toppling over from the force of her sudden shift in posture, eyes wild. “I—what do you mean, son?” Her voice cracks, and she shoots a glance at Emi and Kenji, her eyes narrowing. “Are you telling me that boy… and my daughter? They have a child?!”

Kenji’s lips curl into a slight frown, his eyes cold. “Yes, it seems your daughter has kept things a secret for years. The media and everyone else have only just found out.”

Haruka’s eyes flash with something venomous, but she quickly masks it with a laugh, the sound forced and hollow. “Ah, what a little dirty sneak. And, please. You know I’m not interested in all that family nonsense. And that son? How could they even think of bringing a kid into their… situation?” Her head shakes as she scoffs at the thought of you bearing a child of your own. And especially with…him. 

“You may not understand now,” Kenji mutters darkly, before leaning in slightly. “But I think it’s time you start paying attention. Because this situation concerns you more than you realize.”

Haruka’s face twitches, the words hitting her harder than she wants to admit. The weight of the sudden revelation was heavy. She glances down at her beer, swirling it absentmindedly, her mind clearly racing with thoughts she doesn’t want to process. “You’re telling me my daughter has a son with him?” she scoffs, shaking her head. “That’s rich. Really rich.” Her tone is bitter, but the realization of the reality around her seems to slowly sink in, and she takes another long sip from her pitcher to steady herself. “She’s such a goddamn fool, I almost feel bad for her. I provided a lot for her, you know? Then she threw it all away.”

Kenji and Emi watch on in disinterest. The lawyer beside them brings out a formal sheet of paper. “We’d like to offer you a deal, Ms. L/N,” Kenji states. 

Haruka looks back up, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Haruka’s eyes narrow, expression shifting from one of indifference to one of calculated curiosity. She shifts in place, wiping her mouth once more with the back of her palm. “A deal? What kind of deal?” she asks, her voice carrying a note of skepticism, but there's a flicker of interest behind her gaze. She leans in slightly, one hand still gripping the pitcher of beer as she lowers it to the table now.

“You see,” Emi starts. “Our only child—our precious daughter is dating Satoru. She probably felt the most disgruntled in this situation out of everyone else. With the suddenness, we fear that everything we have worked for will be put to waste.”

“And with the news of your daughter’s involvement with Satoru Gojo, it has thrown things into disarray for us. What we need is to ensure that this situation doesn’t jeopardize our family’s legacy—both our reputation and, more importantly, our fortune.” Kenji finishes. 

Haruka snorts softly. “I see. So, you’re telling me this little bastard of hers is a problem for you too? What does that have to do with me?” Her words come out sharper than she intends, but she quickly masks it with another bitter laugh.

Emi’s cold gaze sharpens, a glint of something unspoken flickering behind her eyes. “Everything, Haruka. Your daughter’s ties to Satoru Gojo are a direct threat to the family’s interests. And with a child in the picture now… it complicates things further. But we’ve come to a solution, one that involves you—if you’re willing to cooperate.”

Haruka tilts her head, eyes narrowing as she watches the lawyer slide the formal paper across the table toward her. The ink on it is neat, but her eyes flick over it quickly, scanning the contents before she lets out a quiet scoff. “What is this? Some kind of bribe?”

The lawyer, keeping a neutral expression, nods. “It’s an agreement that ensures your cooperation in smoothing over this… situation. If you agree, your involvement will not only secure your own future, but it will also protect the financial interests of both families. In exchange, you’ll receive a position of influence, a stake in the inheritance.”

Haruka’s laughter rings out again, more amused. “Influence? A stake? Do you think I’m some desperate fool who’ll fall for your little schemes? I don’t need your money. I have enough desperate fools willing to give me that already.” She sneers at the paper but then pauses, looking at Kenji and Emi, the weight of their gaze pressing down on her.

She takes another sip from her pitcher, her mind whirling as she weighs her options. A part of her wants to lash out, to dismiss them and their offer completely. But there’s something about the way they’re looking at her, something cold and calculating that makes her pause. The truth is, she’s always been a gambler, and she knows when to fold and when to play her hand. “You really think this is gonna work out?” she says, her voice quieter now, but still filled with an edge of disbelief. “This… deal?” She hesitates, eyes flicking over the paper again, the signature line staring her down. “What exactly are you asking of me?”

Emi leans forward slightly, her posture unyielding. “We need you to leverage your relationship with your daughter. Influence her decisions, guide her actions—anything you can to help steer her away from Satoru. We want to ensure that the child and his existence don’t affect our plans. In return, we offer you protection, money, and a place at the table. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Kenji watches her closely, his expression hard, but there’s a glimmer of expectation in his eyes.

Haruka’s mind races, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her beer glass as she processes the offer laid out before her. The temptation of power, of influence, is hard to ignore, even for someone who prides herself on being a free spirit. But she’s also no fool. She knows this is a high-stakes game—one where the risks outweigh the rewards if she misplays her cards. And the amount of 0’s she’s staring down at is inexplicably thrilling. She’s already imagining what she can buy with it. 

For a long moment, the room is silent, the tension thick. Emi and Kenji both stare at her intently, their eyes cold and calculating, watching her every move. The lawyer remains as neutral as ever, the formality of his expression only adding to the weight of the situation.

Haruka's lips curl into a smirk, the edges of her mouth twitching slightly as she leans back in her chair. “Leverage my relationship with my daughter, huh? You really think I can do that?” Her voice is laced with a mix of amusement and disdain. “You must think I’m a puppet master or something. But I’m not interested in some petty manipulation games.”

Kenji’s eyes flash for a brief second, a flicker of something darker crossing his features. "You know the consequences of doing nothing. You’ve been avoiding your daughter long enough, Haruka. But she’s not the same girl anymore. She's tied to Satoru Gojo now, and that complicates things. We need you to make sure she doesn’t forget her place. The family’s future is on the line."

Haruka’s hand freezes in mid-air, her gaze locking with Kenji's. She can feel the weight of her daughter’s past mistakes bearing down on her, the consequences that could affect everything she’s tried to distance herself from. Her jaw ticks, her eye twitching. What a stupid little girl, I tried warning you, didn’t I? “I don’t care about your legacy or your fortune,” Haruka mutters, her tone turning colder, sharper. “But I’m not stupid. I can see what you’re offering me.” Her fingers curl around the edges of the paper, her nails digging into the surface. “I have one question for you, though. What happens if I refuse?”

Emi doesn’t blink, her gaze unflinching as she answers. “If you refuse, Haruka, you’ll be left in the same position you’ve always been—irrelevant. Your daughter’s problems will escalate, and your connections, your influence, will be stay meaningless. You will never succeed and you’ll lose the tiniest amount of leverage you have. You’ll watch as everything you’ve ever taken for granted crumbles.” She pauses, the words hanging in the air. “But if you cooperate, we can guarantee your future. Your daughter’s involvement with Gojo doesn’t need to ruin you.”

Haruka’s eyes flick over the paper again, the signature line now feeling like an anchor, pulling her down into a world of obligations and consequences. She takes a deep breath, feeling the familiar rush of excitement that always comes when she’s faced with a gamble. It’s the thrill of uncertainty, the pull of what could be hers if she plays her cards right. Her bottom lip is worried between her teeth. 

“So, what you’re saying is... I’m supposed to ruin my own daughter’s happiness for the sake of your precious family’s legacy,” Haruka says, her voice low, almost contemplative. She stares at the paper one more time before meeting Emi’s gaze. "Fine. You’ve made your offer. But just so you know, I’m no one's pawn. I’ll make this work for me too. You’re not the only ones with something to gain."

Emi gives a small, satisfied nod, and Kenji’s lips tighten, but there’s a small shift in his demeanor—one that signals the deal has been struck. "Good," Kenji replies, his voice firm. "We’re glad we could come to an agreement. We will contact you if necessary and when your action is needed.”

Haruka, for the first time, sets the pitcher of beer down, her fingers now gently grasping the edge of the paper. She grins maniacally and signs it with a flourish. The ink is dark and permanent, sealing the agreement.

With the ink dry, she sits back, a smirk curling on her lips. “This will be fun.”

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[moonstruckme]

im literally in lovee with your writing of sirius black id love love love more of him x reader pleasee [my favourite is friends to lovers or just being super domestic but tbh I'd read anything u write with him in lmaoo]

Thank you for requesting lovely! It worked out that I'd just written this when I got your ask, so I hope it fits what you're wanting!

cw: reader has hair long enough to tie back

Sirius Black x whimsical!reader ♡ 833 words

Sirius finds you out behind Remus’ house, sitting in the grass and, by all appearances, playing with mud. 

“Hey there,” he says, “did you manage to find the bathroom?” 

You have a tendency to wander off. Sometimes it’s intentional, sometimes you get lost, and Sirius can never tell which is happening at any given time. As much as he’d like to tie a string between you so you’re never very far, he’s learned to let you go where you will; you always end up where you want to be anyways. 

“You were talking about football,” you say by way of answer, the slightest hint of sheepishness in your sweet voice. “I thought you wouldn’t mind if I went off for a bit.” 

Sirius hums and lowers himself onto the grass beside you, stretching his legs out. The sun is warm and welcome on his face, just enough breeze to keep it from getting too hot. 

It’s a beautiful day, you’d noted upon waking up this morning, already opening the windows in his bedroom. 

Looks like it, Sirius said from bed. He smiled wryly. It’ll probably be the last decent one we have all year.

You’d frowned. That’s not a very nice way to manifest the weather. 

While Sirius is upturned, you’re bent over, messing with something in your hands and dipping your fingers occasionally into a pail of water. 

“What’ve you got there, pretty girl?” 

“A mug,” you say simply. You thumb concentratedly at the slimy thing in your hands, lips pursing. “Or, a soon-to-be-mug.” 

“And you’re making it out of…mud?” 

“No,” you laugh, looking up at your boyfriend in that fond, indulgent way you have. Like he can be so silly sometimes. “Remember how Remus said there was clay by the stream back that way? I’m using some of that.” 

“Ah.” Sirius tilts his head, studying the misshapen lump in your hands. “I see. And this is going to be a drinking mug?” 

You hum in affirmation, and he leaves it at that. He’s not terribly sure whatever you end up with will be able to hold water, but he knows better than to try and dissuade you once you’ve set your mind to something. Maybe he can sign the both of you up for a pottery class sometime. 

A piece of hair falls from behind your ear, and you blow at it, trying to keep it out of your face with your hands occupied.

“Here,” Sirius offers. He takes an elastic off his wrist, gathering the hair away from your face and tying it back loosely the way you like it. 

You gift him a sideways smile in return. A bit of dried clay on your cheek cracks with the movement. Evidently, this isn’t the first time you’ve had to push your hair back. “Thank you.” 

“Baby,” he says, voice laden with fondness. He steadies your face with one hand, swiping at the clay with the other. “You’ve got it all over you.” 

It’s true. It covers your hands up past your wrists, and several places on your legs have pale gray tracks where you’ve wiped your fingers off on them. 

“It’s a messy business,” you say matter-of-factly, “but it dries sort of pretty, I think. Do you want some?” 

He cocks an eyebrow. “How do you mean?” 

You set your soon-to-be-mug down gingerly, extending a hand to him. “Give me your arm.” 

Sirius suppresses a sigh. He didn’t really plan on getting dirty today, but he’s hardly in the habit of denying you anything you ask for. He sets his forearm in your hand. 

You dip a finger into the wettest part of your clay, setting it to the skin above his wrist. Your touch is cool and slick on his sun-warmed skin. You draw a little star like you’re fingerpainting, the clay a funny contrast to the dark tattoos surrounding it. 

You look so pleased with your work that Sirius can’t help himself. He leans forward, giving you a drawn-out, amorous kiss. 

“Thank you,” he says in his most saccharine voice. 

Your lashes flutter prettily as you blink, a rare shy smile taking you. “You’re welcome.” 

Sirius dips two fingers into your pail of water, using them to wipe the remaining clay off your cheek more thoroughly. When he’s done, he spots another smudge on your shoulder, inexplicable. He tsks. “When you’re done with your mug, we might have to ask Remus if you can use his shower, lovely girl. You really do have it all over you.” 

“Oh, there’s no need to trouble him,” you say airily. “The stream’s not very far, and it’s flowing rather quickly with all the rain we’ve been having.” 

He blinks. “Did you bring your swimsuit?”

You look at him bemusedly. “No. Why?” 

Sirius bends his head, letting his hair fall like a curtain to conceal his smile as he kisses the clean part of your shoulder. “I think it’d be better if you used Remus’ shower, sweetheart. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

[msgexymunson]

The Ink Shop Part 2

Description: After your encounter with Eddie, things are beginning to get a bit more complicated; especially when you ask him for another little favour. But, will Eddie go for it? 

Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI this ain't for you, angst, tiny bit of fluff, smut, fem oral receiving, male masturbation.

A/N: OK when I said this will be in 3 parts I lied, it's totally going to be at least 4, maybe 5! Thank you for the love you've shown the first part, it's incredible! You're superstars. 

❤️ If you like it please comment and reblog, it really makes my day!❤️

7k words 

Masterlist Part 1

For some reason, the shop seems more welcoming today than ever. It might be the fact that the sun is shining, it might be the radio seemingly playing all your favourite songs, or it might be last night. Either way, you feel loose and free, laughing at jokes, smiling at everyone, and genuinely just happier. 

Eddie saunters in thirty minutes late and you barely notice, apart from flashing him a bashful smile. 

“Well hello there sweetheart, you seem chipper today.”

You roll your eyes at the obvious insinuation, but your smile is warm. “I had a good night's sleep, that's all.” 

“Bet you did,” he grins, “you look real pretty.” 

Looking down, you consider your outfit; you'd decided enough of the corporate clothes, this is a tattoo shop after all. So, you'd paired a roll neck sweater with a short jean skirt and sneakers. A more relaxed outfit to go with a more relaxed attitude. Before you can say anything in reply he strolls over to his station. 

Right, so a few jabs, but he's being nonchalant. So put it out of your mind.

The morning moves quickly, a messy blur of clients and phone calls. After a fast lunch, the shop finally calms down a little. When you're focusing on sorting the mess of the heavy bookings tome in front of you, Eddie approaches, mischief glinting in his eyes. 

“I see London, I see France…” 

You follow his bowed head and cross your legs in sheer embarrassment, realising a sliver of your panties must be on display. 

“Eddie!” 

He simply laughs, throwing his head back far enough that your gaze drifts to his Adam's apple. 

“Sorry, I couldn't resist, I'm a big fan of this skirt,” he says, drinking you in with his eyes, “anyway I wanted to ask-” 

His sentence is stopped however by the loud ringing of the old corded phone. You and Eddie share a look, yours begging and his smug. Before you can grab it, he picks up the phone, putting on a ridiculous British accent. 

“Good Afternoon, London Underground Airways, this is your captain speaking- Oh shit Mac- Yeah she's- I know I'm not supposed to answer- Sorry I- Fine, here.” He brandishes the phone at you. 

“Hello? Oh, of course I'll let them know- I understand- It'd be my pleasure- see you soon.” replacing the receiver, you make a note on the pad at your side. 

“What'd he say?” Eddie asks, hovering over you. 

Not giving him the satisfaction of a look, you continue to make your note, however perfunctory it may be. “Mac's going to be a little late, he told me to tell his next client.” 

“He said my name, I heard it. What'd he say?” 

Placing your pen down with a loud click, you turn to him. 

You tell him as you smile smugly. “He told me to hit you for answering the phone.”

If anything, his grin grows broader. “Oh? Go on then princess, I'd hate for you to break the rules.” He turns his face, no doubt expecting a cuff to the back of the head.

Spinning on your stool, you slap him right across the cheek; not with all your strength, but certainly hard enough to remember. Eddie's face is a picture of shock, pink handprint already flushing his cheek. 

But that just makes his smile wider. 

“Harder.” He asks, eyes flashing arousal at you. 

“Eddie!” you shout, pushing him away, but his laugh echoes through the shop. Before he has a chance to continue, a burly biker type walks right in the door. 

“Good afternoon, can I help you?” 

“Yeah, It's Jimmy, I'm here for Mac?” 

“He's running a little late, but he'll be with you as soon as possible. Can I get you a coffee or something while you wait?” 

You can't help but hear a huff from Eddie, but before you can question it he's drawing in his book, entirely oblivious to the outside world. 

At the end of the day, you're tired, but still in fairly high spirits. It's the first time you've seen everyone in the shop at once. There's an edge to the air though, as if an expectation hangs over everyone. 

So… bar?” Mac asks in a defeated tone, although he's smiling. Everyone reacts; Eddie woops, pumping his fist, even the usually reserved Miranda is clapping quietly. You smile and nod, finally understanding what the atmosphere was about. 

As you all enter the dimly lit bar, chatting and laughing, you hear a low huff. 

“What did I do to deserve this?” John is standing behind the bar. An imposing figure, his arms crossed and face surly, but there's a kindness in his eyes. Mac leans straight over and hands him a card.  

“Easy John, I got this,” he chuckles. The card is accepted gratefully, the gruff demeanour lessening with the promise of payment. 

You accept a bottle of beer and slide into a nearby booth, the rest of the group filtering in. Mac walks over, eyes the space next to you, then grabs a stool to sit at the head of the table. It throws you for a minute; surely he knows he can sit there? Before you can tell him so, Eddie waltzes across the room with a tray of tequila shots and all the fixings with a cheeky look in his eyes. He slides right in next to you, tray and all, and places it on the table with exaggerated care. 

“Ladies, gentlemen.” He says, gesturing to the tiny glasses like an old timey butler. There's a succession of groans from the party, but despite this they all grab a shot. All except you. 

“I don't think I-” you begin, but he's waving a hand in the air. 

“Come on, you drink. It's a shot. Never had tequila before?” 

Fixing him with a sharp look, your cheeks begin to redden of their own accord. Eddie smirks and tosses his head back, hiding his eyes with one hand. 

“Shit princess, what did you do at college?” 

“Study.” You say primly, but take a glass tentatively and place it in front of you. 

“Right, so for the new guys…“ Eddie smiles right at you and licks his hand between his thumb and pointer finger. That hint of silver mesmerises you, the ball of his tongue piercing catching the light. It's almost sensual the way he does it, your eyes automatically following the movement of his tongue. “salt right here…” he sprinkles some on the spot he moistened, “then, lick, shoot, suck.” 

In a few fluid movements he licks the salt from his hand, downs the shot, and sticks a wedge of lime in his mouth. As your brain finally engages after that display, the little show that shouldn't have heated your insides up, you follow along, and take your shot with everyone else. It's easier than you would have thought, the lime easing the burn somewhat. 

Eddie squeezes your thigh under the table and whispers low enough for you to hear. 

“Good girl.” 

Shooting daggers with a simple look, he just smirks, leaving his hand on your bare leg as if challenging you. Dimly, you hear the echoes of a conversation in front of you; it's Julio, arguing about good tequila not needing salt and lime, but you're lost in the deep pools of Eddie's chocolate eyes.

For a moment, your body flashes red hot and you regret your choice of the high necked sweater. Tearing your eyes away you look at something, anything, but Eddie. 

The conversation drifts between all manner of subjects and you start to relax, the beer and tequila swimming in your belly loosening your tongue. It's nice, having a chance to chat and giggle with your coworkers in a setting not interrupted by the constant buzzing of tattoo machines. 

Julio and Chloe end up in a full scale argument about the karaoke machine in the corner. Before you're subjected to the horror of having to sing in public, you get up to grab another beer. Perching on a stool by the bar with your purse in hand, you're waiting patiently to be served. 

Eddie strolls over. You see him in your periphery; that confident walk as if he owns the very ground he walks on. Casually he hops up on the stool next to you, making no effort to hide the way he undresses you with his eyes. 

“Quit staring Eddie,” you say testily as you knock the bar with your bank card. 

“Now I can't look at you?” He asks with an amused grin. 

“I said quit staring, not quit looking,” you huff out. 

“What's the difference?” He asks, shrugging his shoulders and scrunching his nose at you.

You groan, turning on your stool to face him. “You are impossible,” 

He sticks his long tongue out childishly, flashing his piercing at you. 

Thankfully, John's voice cuts through the squabble. “What can I get you?”

“May I have a beer, please?” 

“You certainly may.” John cocks his thumb in your direction, addressing Eddie, “I like this one, she's polite. Don't scare her off.” 

Eddie dramatically holds his chest. “You wound me, sir!” 

Two beers are placed on the bar and John waves your card away. “Don't worry about it, Mac's treating you guys tonight.” 

As you swig your beer, you contemplate for a moment, trying to work out something.

“You're staring, sweetheart.” Eddie grins, as he gulps his drink. 

“I wasn't staring, I was thinking! I know that's a foreign concept to you.” It's catty, you know that, but he just seems to bring it out in you. No one else has annoyed you so much in your life just by… being. 

“That was rude. I thought we were playing nice?” he pouts playfully. 

“Sorry. I- Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, shoot.” 

Turning to him, you speak what's on your mind. “Why do people get their tongues pierced? No one really sees it. I get like, nose and eyebrow piercings and stuff, but the tongue one I don't understand.” 

Eddie's grin is wide as he bites his bottom lip and stares at you. Well, you couldn't call it a grin. It's a flash of teeth, almost wolfish in its delivery. 

“Oh princess, you are too cute.” 

Staring at him with your brow furrowed, you try to work out what he means, but the longer you take, the more amused he looks. 

“What? What is it?” 

Sighing, he leans closer, the scent of aftershave, cigarettes and man clouding around you. “It's got a purpose, sweetheart.” 

“What, like, kissing?” 

Shaking his head, he looks you up and down. “Kinda. Kissing somewhere… specific.” 

Realisation breaks across your face, followed by a fierce blush that you can feel to the roots of your hair. Laughing, Eddie pulls away a little and takes a mouthful of beer. 

Voice an airy whisper, you lean over to him as you speak. “And girls like that?” 

His laugh is so loud it reverberates around the bar. 

“Yeah, a lot, in my experience.” 

“Oh.”

Well, the thought is there now, and you're pretty sure it won't ever go away, not without some sort of mind bleach. Eddie's head between your legs, his long tongue exploring your sex. The image is burned into the back of your brain, playing on a loop.

“You're looking a little hot there,” he says, as if he can read your thoughts. It's fair to say it wouldn't take a psychic to know what's rattling around your head right now. 

“I'm fine, this sweater is too warm,” you shake out, pressing your thighs together. 

“Liar.” 

Mouth opening and closing like a fish, you finally snap it shut with a crunch. Curiosity is eating away at you, and it's too easy to say what's on your mind after a couple of drinks. 

“Eddie, could you… tell me, what- what it's like?” 

He chuckles lightly and scoots closer to you. “you know I can't, I've not exactly had the pleasure.” 

“I know that, I mean…” 

For a second he just gapes at you. 

“Wait, princess, are you asking me to tell you or… show you?” 

Flustered, you turn away a little. “Sorry that's- that's too much isn't it. It's just you… did such a good job with the, you know, the other thing, I was just curious.” 

Eddie bites his lip, puffing out a little breath. “You know, flattery works with me. I did a good job, huh?” 

“Well, yeah. I can imagine you'd be really good at… that too. I could, owe you a favour?” It's bold, especially from you, but the way he's looking at you, the slight flush to his cheeks, you'd put money on him agreeing. 

Eddie stares at you incredulously. “Wait, you're saying you want me to stick my tongue in the holiest of holes and then you owe me a favour?” 

“Yeah? Like a little… arrangement.” 

He rubs his face with his hand, his voice muffled as he speaks. “I'd feel like I was taking advantage of you.” 

That confuses you for a moment. Surely you were the one who asked him? Hesitantly you reach out and touch soft fingertips to the back of his hand. 

“Please?” 

“Fuck.” He looks around, and turns to you, gazing into your eyes for a moment. 

“Fine. Right now.” 

“Oh I didn't-” 

“Listen, before I change my mind. Meet me out back. I'll tell the guys you're not feeling well and I'm taking you home.” 

Wordlessly, you grab your purse and head to the back door, heart hammering in your ears. It's a little dank out here, with the sound of a dripping pipe and moss covering the cement. Eddie comes out a moment later looking more serious than you've ever seen him. 

“You sure about this?” He asks, searching your eyes. 

‘Yeah, but…” you look around the small yard, gesturing vaguely. 

“Oh. Oh! You thought- oh Christ no, not here. I'm not a complete asshole. Come with me.”

Letting out a relieved breath, you follow him. He walks over to a gate in the fence and opens it, which leads down a narrow alleyway, a little shortcut between yards. That eventually opens up to another road with a couple of apartment blocks. The one he moves towards looks mostly clean, if a bit lifeless, with a creepy looking van parked out the front.

“This way sweetheart,” he says, leading you through the courtyard and to the stairs. 

For a second you stop in sheer surprise. 

“Wait, you live this close and you still manage to be late for work?” 

He chuckles, looking at you over his shoulder. “I have a condition, you know. Chronic tardiness; I'm afraid there's no cure.” 

You bat him on the arm playfully and he grasps your wrist, stopping on the stairs briefly, giving you a look that is wickedness personified. 

“If you're gonna hit me, do it properly.” 

“Eddie!” 

He laughs loud and grabs your hand, holding it in his until he reaches his door. That alone is enough to shut you up. It's warm and rough, and the feeling of his skin on yours, no matter how tiny, sends bolts of sensation through you. 

“Right, here is my castle,” he says as he opens the door and lets you inside. 

Chaos. That's the first word that crosses your mind. It doesn't look dirty, there's just things everywhere. A bookshelf stuffed with books and weird little trinkets placed any which way dominates one wall, and another on the other side with a huge music collection. There's a poky little kitchen with a couple of pots still in the sink, and a big couch with mismatched cushions takes up the remaining space. A tower of board games is precariously leaning next to it, and on the wall over the TV is an honest to goodness sword.

“It's nice,” you say as you walk in, as if you're not mentally organising it in your head. 

“You hate it.” He scoffs, pulling his boots off and dumping them by the door. 

“No, no, it's very… you.” 

“I stand by my previous statement.” He grins at you, clearly indicating he wasn't being entirely serious. 

“This is the bedroom.” He walks over and nudges the door open with his foot. Surprisingly, apart from an open clothes rail, an overflowing laundry hamper, and an enormous bed, there's not much in it. The wallpaper is a pretty purple colour, and looks oddly familiar. 

“Eddie isn't that the same wallpaper-” 

“-As the shop? Yeah. Mac let me have the leftovers. I was broke and this room was fucking pink.” 

You snort out a laugh; the thought of Eddie with a pretty pink bedroom was rather unbelievable.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I can live with purple.” He roots around and grabs a pair of sweats. “Make yourself comfortable, I'm gonna change real quick.” 

Then he walks out into another doorway, you assume the bathroom. The urge to snoop is real, but you resist. It looks like he spends less time here anyway. 

The question is, how comfortable are you supposed to make yourself? Nerves start settling in, the thought of what you've asked him to do is finally sinking its way into your mind and down your jangling spine. What if he doesn't like the underwear you're wearing? God, you've been at work all day, what if you smell bad? Or taste bad? What if- 

“You can sit down, princess.” 

Eddie saunters back in, shirtless, a pair of grey sweatpants hanging so low on his hips you see his cut groin. A little squeak hiccups out of your throat at the sight. You stay standing, ready to make your excuses and leave, but the signal hasn't reached your legs just yet. 

“What's wrong?” his eyes are brimming with concern as he steps toward you. 

“No I- I was- maybe this-” 

“Hey, look at me,” he says, grabbing both of your hands. You stare up at him, his face gentle. 

“Whatever you're worried about, I'm sure it's nothing.” 

“But i haven't showered-” 

“When did you last?” 

“Well… this morning.” 

“You're fine. Trust me.” 

He backs you up onto the bed, your knees folding as you flop down. The air around you feels full, humid with anticipation. He's so close, your bodies almost pressed together. 

“I wanna kiss you.” He says softly, stroking a lock of your hair out of your face. Heart leaping into your throat, you try to suppress the urge to lean forward. The last thing you need is to fall for this man. Chloe's words echo in your head; he's not boyfriend material.

He'll break your heart. 

“That's not part of our deal, Eddie.” 

A frown flickers across his face. It's just for a second, a flash of vulnerability, before his usual cocky smile returns. 

“That's not where I wanna kiss you.” He winks and tugs at your top, “can I take this off?” 

Nodding wordlessly, you help him and wriggle it up and over your head. 

“God damn.” Eddie props up on an elbow, running a finger between your breasts, before following the edge of your black cotton bra. 

He looks up at your face, grinning wide, and points at your neck; little purple marks adorn it. “That why you wore that sweater today?” 

Flushing crimson, you run fingers across your neck. 

“Yeah, you marked me Eddie. Not exactly discreet.” 

He chuckles, stroking the side of your neck. “Sorry sweetheart, I won't do it again. Well, not anywhere that anyone can see.” 

Heat floods your stomach, the stark realisation that you want him to mark you clings to your insides. If he notices your reaction he doesn't say, instead he leans toward you pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. 

“You're really pretty. I don't know if I said that before.” 

Awash with a new heat in your cheeks, you smile bashfully. “Thanks, I don't get told that very much.” 

Staring at you, he shakes his head.

“You should. You should be told every fucking day.” 

You open your mouth, but before you can reply he kisses your jaw, running his tongue down your neck, before he presses his mouth to the top of your breast, sucking roughly. A gasp flies out, and your hand makes a decision entirely on its own to grab his hair. 

It seems it was the right thing to do, judging by the deep groan that comes from him. It seems to spur him on, and he yanks the cup of your bra down, taking your nipple into his mouth. His tongue teases it, rubbing his piercing over the pebbled nub.

“Oh Holy fuck!” Back arching with the foreign sensation, you revel in it, wriggling underneath him. He smirks against your skin, and takes your nipple between his teeth. Moaning loudly, you pull his hair. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” He looks up at you, pupils blown to black, “can’t hold back if you do that.” 

It's not a dare, but it tastes like one, and before you can think you're tugging at it again. Eddie's eyes roll back, and a hard look crosses underneath his eyes. 

His actions turn a little feral, pulling you up so he can unhook your bra, practically ripping it off you before his mouth is all over your chest, firm fingers digging into the flesh of your hip. 

“Fuck, Eddie” you stutter it out, voice laced with need. 

“Yeah?” He whispers out breathlessly between urgent kisses, making his way down your stomach. Suddenly he takes the flesh of your hip in his mouth and bites down little before sucking a bruise as you writhe under him. 

He reaches your skirt, hooking fingers into the waistband as he looks up at you, his tone urgent. “Can I?” 

As you nod frantically, he reacts immediately, yanking it down along with your underwear. 

“Fuck, look at you.” 

The urge to close your legs is real, embarrassed at the way he's ogling you right between your thighs. They quiver with tension, but Eddie forces them open with his large palms. 

“Don't hide from me. You still want this?” 

You nod, and his head snaps up to look at you. His voice is hard, swirling around your insides with an intensity you're not used to from him. 

“Say it. You need to say it.” 

‘Yes, please Eddie.” 

That satisfies him. He leans forward, breath ghosting over your clit. You're waiting for his mouth, his tongue, but that's not what happens. He inhales you, nose so close it's almost touching your sex. 

“Jesus Christ, you smell so fucking good.” 

“Eddie!” you cry it out, cringing at his words as you bury your face in your hands. 

“Relax princess, it's a compliment.” 

Before you can retort that it's not a compliment, it's weird, and he's a freak for saying it, it no longer matters. He's licking a fat stripe up the length of your pussy, long tongue pushing against you hard in an animal-like gesture. 

The noise that expels from your chest is inhuman, a choked, guttural breath that belongs in a cave somewhere, not a bedroom. 

He doesn't relent, his mouth exploring every inch of you with a ferality that has you tingling all the way to your toes. His fierce movements, accentuated by the bump of his piercing, have you nearly leaving the mattress. You're not sure if you're trying to get more, or move away. Not that it matters. His hands are holding you so firmly that all you can do is wriggle helplessly like a fish on a line. 

Fingers trace the outside of your entrance before they slide in, beckoning your release. Whimpering, you grasp the bedsheets in a need to keep contact with something real. 

“Talk to me,” he says between mind numbing messy kisses to your clit, “good, yeah?” 

“Eddie, f-fuck, its incredible, please, oh God, k-keep going!” 

You can practically feel the smirk on his face as he dives back in, suckling at your clit with an unmatched fervour, his tongue piercing flicking expertly as he does so. Suddenly, you're not creeping toward your release, you're being hurtled toward it, thrown into the depths of absolute pleasure. 

Hands finding their way into Eddie's hair again, you hold on tight, buckling up for the ride. It's almost violent the way he pulls your climax from you, and you scream loudly, almost folding in half before you fall back onto the bed. 

Eddie sits up, hands placed on your thighs, as he grins proudly, face shining with your slick. 

“You OK princess?” 

OK doesn't seem to cover it. You're panting wildly, each breath shallow and ragged, brain melted into soup. 

“Think you can go again?” 

That gets your attention. You sit up, gaping at him. “Again?” 

Chuckling, he runs a finger up your slit and circles your clit in a teasing manner. The slight touch has your thighs trembling. 

“I think you've got at least one more in you.” 

Without a further word he presses his tongue against you. On instinct you grip his hair once more, bucking your hips up. 

“Fuck, that's it sweetheart, ride my face.” 

This time he slips his tongue inside as his nose nudges at your clit, the thick muscle curling and writhing. Holding on tight, your hips know what to do, your body reacting and rolling to meet him. 

You're yanking his hair hard as you grind against his face, pulling deep grunts and moans from him which vibrate inside of you. It feels primal, sheer need clouding your mind, a fog that rolls into every limb and leaves no part untouched. 

“Eddie, fuck!” You moan loudly as your walls clench around his tongue, another climax bubbling its way to the surface. He doubles down with his efforts almost as if he needs this as much as you do. 

With one final thrust of his tongue you whine out your orgasm, back finally touching the bed once more. There are no thoughts, only your heavy breath and beating heart keeping you in the moment. 

After a few seconds that seem to stretch on for a year, he hovers over your face. He's wiped off your release, but nothing could wipe that smug grin. 

“So? Good?” 

It's not like he doesn't know. You pat blindly at his arm, words stuck in a puddle on your tongue. In an unexpected tender gesture, he swipes his thumb over your chin, his gaze pensive. You stare back, fingers reaching out to gently touch his cheek. 

“Are you going to kiss me?” You whisper, the words pooling from you unbidden. 

For a split second you think he's going to lean in and close the gap, but he flashes his teeth at you and flicks the tip of your nose. 

“That's not part of the deal.” 

Disappointment leaks into your stomach. Which is entirely unfair. He's using your words after all. Fighting the feeling, you force a smile. 

“I think I'll need a wheelchair to get home.” You chuckle, indicating to your still twitching legs. 

“Stay here. I'll take the couch.” 

“Oh, no, Eddie, I couldn't kick you out of your own bed thats-” 

“Hey, it's fine, honestly. I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it.” He shrugs and rolls off the bed and onto his feet in one quick movement like a cat. “Here. If you want something to sleep in.” He hands you a faded t-shirt. Hesitating for a moment, your hand hovers over it, but he stuffs it into your grip. 

“Honestly, it's fine. I can drop you home before work so you can get changed and stuff. No big deal.” 

“What about your chronic tardiness?” You joke, smiling softly at him. 

“You're here, I'm sure you'll whip me into shape.” 

“You'd probably like that,” you tease. 

“More than you know.” He winks again, and walks to the doorway. “Night, princess.” 

“Night Eddie.” 

When he's gone you shrug the shirt on. It's clean, but there's an undercurrent of pure Eddie still there that's more comforting than you'll care to admit. Then, you lay there, staring at the ceiling. 

Well. You certainly weren't expecting to end up in Eddie's room, in his bed, but here you are. You're not sure what this all means just yet and processing it is just hurting your brain. A part of you is saying that you should get out now whilst you can. Another, louder part is telling you this is where you should be. The only problem: is this message coming from your heart, or much lower down? 

Chloe drifts into your mind whilst you lay there. Did they hook up in this bed? Are you in the same place she was? And how did that end? Clearly it was on good terms, considering how friendly they are, but how many girls have been where you are right now? A few? A dozen? A hundred?

After a while your thoughts just start to ache, leaving a migraine behind your eyes. Shifting on the bed, you try to get comfortable, but it's no use. You wonder if Eddie is still awake. After all, he's the only one that can answer your questions. 

Sitting up a little, you listen intently for any signs of life from the next room, but no matter how hard you strain your ears, you can't hear anything. 

As you quietly get up and creep to the door, you press your ear to it. Maybe that was a word you heard, a loud breath, or the signs of an overactive imagination. Turning the doorknob like a safecracker, you inch the door open ever so slightly to peek beyond. 

There he is, laying on the couch, eyes tight shut and face contorted in concentration. Odd. You slowly guide the door open a little more and your eyes nearly bug out of your head. 

Eddie's laying there, hand down his sweats, tugging at himself like there's no tomorrow.

You almost cry out in shock but manage to swallow the noise just in time. For what feels like a full minute you stand and stare, mouth gaping open. It's like you're hypnotised, unable to tear away from his urgent movements. 

A particularly good stroke has him bucking into his hand, and he lets out this strained whimper that shoots directly between your legs. 

Right, stop. This is wrong. How would you feel if he caught you? …OK, bad example. 

Reluctantly, you close the door again as quietly as you can before climbing back into his bed to stare at the ceiling once more. 

It looks like it's going to be a long night. 

********************

“You look really great,” Chloe says as she strolls into the shop, handing you a coffee, “like, happier, more relaxed.” 

It's a few days after your impromptu sleepover at Eddie's place, and she's absolutely right. You do look more relaxed, even you've noticed the change. There's more confidence in you, and a smile that was once a little forced is warm and genuine. 

“Thanks, I think I'm getting more comfortable here.” It's not a lie, exactly, but it's certainly not the whole truth. 

“Good, glad to hear it!” She beams at you and heads to her table. 

The bell over the door chimes once again startling you. Miranda and Mac are already here and it couldn't possibly be Eddie this early. 

“Um… Hi.” A gangly youth walks in, all arms and legs and bright blonde hair. He shuffles over to the counter awkwardly. 

“Morning, can I help you?” 

“Y-yeah, you do walk-ins today, right?” He asks, brandishing a crumpled flyer at you. 

Face lighting up, you fix your best smile. 

“Why yes we do, it's walk-in Wednesday. It's a little early though. Can I see some ID? 

He hands it over. The guy's freshly 21 and knows it, puffing out his little pigeon chest with pride. 

“Excellent. It's about 10 minutes until we open, but Miranda will be with you. Miranda, you got a book for this guy?” 

Confusion paints Mirandas's face, but then she smiles. 

“A walk in? Wow.” She strolls over and hands him her portfolio of designs, introducing herself. 

When Eddie finally turns up, there's another guy waiting. 

“You're not my 10:30.” 

The poor boy looks at him nervously like he did something wrong. 

“Eddie, he's a walk-in.” Mac says, calling over his shoulder. 

Eddie smirks at you and leans over the counter. 

“Well well, bet you're happy. Atta girl.” 

Blushing profusely, you move to tap him on the arm in warning, but he grabs your hand and kisses it. Heat flies straight to your belly at the gesture.

“Let me know when my 10:30 is here, alright sweetheart?” 

He's still holding your hand, brushing his fingers over your knuckles. Weakly you nod, gazing at him as your toes curl in your shoes. 

Shooting you a wink, he ambles over to his station as you watch him, eyes drawn to the way he moves. 

There's three more clients asking about Wednesdays; granted, one didn't have an ID, but the other two were seen and inked, and one even booked a follow up with Miranda. 

Buzzing with job satisfaction, you're grinning when you nip to the restroom, walking through the narrow corridor. As you exit, you're immediately accosted by Eddie. He stands close, a hand loosely holding your wrist to keep you there as he bends to whisper in your ear. 

“Now, you're not supposed to touch fine art, but someone's gotta pin you against the wall and nail you right.” 

“Eddie!” You whisper shout at him, only serving to make him chuckle low in his throat. 

“Sorry, couldn't resist. I have an idea, for that favour you owe me?” 

Body tensing of its own accord, you look up at him, your cheeks flushed and mouth slightly parted. Before you can ask what it is, a voice cuts through the tension. 

“Hey, keep it at home guys.” 

Mac's standing at the other end of the corridor with his arms crossed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Pursing your lips, you wriggle from Eddie's grip. 

“It's not what it looks like Mac, I promise.” You say, shouldering past Eddie. 

“Come on sweetheart, don't get all shy on me now!” He shouts, walking after you.

You ignore him, giving Mac an apologetic look, and sit back down at the counter. God, that was embarrassing. Seems like professional and discreet are out the window. 

“So, as I was saying-” 

“Eddie, stop, not now.” you say, cheeks bright red. 

“I was only-” 

“Eddie please! I don't want to get into trouble!” 

Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes, but backs off finally. 

You make a very clear point of being busy until the rest of the day, completing any ad hoc tasks you can think of. Tidying the stock cupboards, refreshing the consent sheets, and even organising the sparse counter. Anything to avoid further comment from Mac. 

When six rolls around you turn to talk to Eddie, but he's already leaving without a glance at you. 

Sighing, you make your way outside and home, trying to ignore the little sting in your chest. 

********************

It's Saturday before you see him again. Your day off was mostly spent worrying about how you upset him and thinking about everything you could have done differently. 

By the morning you're an emotional wreck, anxiety having done her job and left you a bubbling mass of maybes. When Eddie storms in the shop with a proverbial rain cloud over his head your heart pangs in your chest. 

He's such a big character, and you didn't realise until now the influence this has on this place. Usually he's energetic and upbeat; however, with this melancholy energy coming from him, everyone seems to stoop a little more, eyes a touch downcast, movements more shuffled and broken. It's like a black hole has descended on the shop, pulling joy from your soul and sucking everything into its gravity.

The tattoo shop is quiet for a Saturday. Not from lack of customers; it's just a more hushed and sullen atmosphere. By the afternoon you decide enough is enough and you grab Eddie's arm between clients.

“Eddie, can I talk to you?” 

He gets up, stretching his back in a feline movement, and walks with you slowly to the stockroom. 

“Listen, I'm really sorry about what happened on Wednesday, I didn't want to upset you and I can't stand seeing you like this and-” 

“Woah, sweetheart, slow down. You been worrying? About me?” He tilts his head, giving you a small lopsided smile. 

“Yeah? I thought you were mad at me.” You mumble out. 

“Oh, princess, come here.” He wraps you in his arms, holding your head close to his chest. A relieved breath puffs from your chest as you melt into the hug. 

“That's not what I'm upset about, I promise.” 

You pull from the embrace to look at him, a hopeful smile tugging at your lips. 

“Really?” 

Stroking your cheek softly, he presses his lips together. “You're adorable,” he moves his hand away and starts waving his arm about as he tells you what's wrong. 

“You know I'm in a band? Well we've got this regular gig at Hatters, which is great and all, but I found out they're looking for more bands at The Pit. That big rock club on Main? I've been trying to get hold of the damn owner but he's ignoring all my calls and I'm pissed off.” 

Grinning, you grab his arm. “Eddie, I can totally help you with that.” 

His gaze is soft and warm as he asks “Really? You'd do that for me?” 

“Of course I would. You got their number?” 

He digs around in his pocket and passes you a wedge of shiny paper. Unfolding it, you look at the details, smiling even wider when you see they're attempting a ladies night. There's a telephone number at the bottom, the contact listed as William. 

“I gotta idea. Just roll with it, OK?” 

He looks confused but nods at you. Skipping to the counter, you pick up the phone and dial the number. When it's answered by a young woman, you speak with a nasal voice, sounding almost bored. 

“Is Bill there?- Tell him it's Barb- oh trust me he's gonna wanna take this call honey.” 

Eddie's staring at you with an amused expression; you look back at him, flashing a smile while you wait. 

“Bill! How long has it been! Oh, don't say you don't remember me… oh, you do!- I'm good, I'm good- I'm managing this band, yeah, you've gotta book them- Corroded Coffin- yeah, yeah- They are hot right now, selling out their shows- look I know you're struggling getting the ladies in, but that's about to change. Their lead singer is-  well lemme tell you, if I were a younger woman- haha yes, sounds great! Next Saturday?- Nine- Great stuff- I'll speak to you soon.” 

Placing the phone down with a little click, you cross your legs and look at Eddie smugly. 

His jaw may as well be on the floor, eyebrows so high that he resembles a cartoon character. 

“Barb? Selling out their shows? If I were a younger woman? Where the fuck did that come from?” 

You giggle, “I thought he'd listen if he thought I was a business connection. I took a shot, a little bullshit can take you far.” 

He swoops over to you and grabs you in his arms, lifting you bodily from your seat and swinging you around as you squeal helplessly. 

“Saturday? Not even midweek? Princess I owe you big time.” 

“Eddie I already owe-” 

He's not listening, running over to Mac and bouncing on the spot like a child. “Mac, Mac, did you hear? I'm playing at The Pit!!” 

You watch as he explains what just happened; he's so animated, gesticulating wildly as loose locks of hair fly from his bun. Mac beams at him and hugs him in a fatherly motion before Eddie springs back over to you. 

“Who the fuck is Barb?”

“I dunno, she sounded worldly.” 

He grins, shaking his head, “I can't believe you lied for me. You seem… different lately. More confident. It suits you.” 

Blushing, you thank him. For a second you stare at each other, both lost in the other. 

Eddie shakes his head, and looks at the time. 

“Fuck, right, I got 20 minutes, I'll be back!” He grabs his coat and runs out of the shop shouting “personal errand!” 

Chuckling, you sit back down at the counter. Mac approaches, smiling softly. 

“You did good Miss, he's really happy.” 

“Thanks, I couldn't bear the sulking.” 

He laughs and touches your shoulder, “he cares about you. In case you didn't notice.” 

He walks away nonchalantly as if he didn't just drop a bomb at your feet. Eddie cares about you? You're still pondering it when he returns a half hour later looking sweaty and dishevelled. 

“Princess, I got you a present,” he whispers, brandishing a nondescript black bag at you. You peek inside and shut it immediately. 

“Eddie what the fuck!” You whisper, face flooding with blood at the sight as you hide it under the counter. There's a sex toy in the bag, well at least one, but you were so shocked at the sight you didn't get a good look. 

He chuckles and leans in close. “Thought you'd like it.” 

“Eddie I don't know how to- to use this stuff,” you mumble quietly, looking around to make sure no one's listening. 

He smirks at you in response.

“You free tonight? I can show you.” 

Taglist

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[hyukascampfire]

𝓜ILK WITH YOUR COOKIES? ､. c.sb

too excited to sleep on christmas night, the last thing you might've expected was to find a very tall, very handsome man with arms full of gifts broken into your home. also, for him to claim himself to be santa claus. ࣪˒ ࿔

゛◞͈ ⧼ 🧦 ⧽ ･ 5.8k

𝓹airings ˒ santa!soobin x reader

𝑔 ; smut

𝔀arnings ˒ general smut, cum eating, breast worship, mentions of titty fucking, soobin watches reader play with themselves without their knowledge, fem!reader, cumming on belly, whiny soobin kinda, soobin is... well, santa, possessiveness, usage of the word whore

✎୭ ashlynn's note guys. please promise me you won't imagine an old man when you read this. LMAOO. this is the first day of the event! tell me how you guys feel abt it :3

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

All wrapped up in the covers, you try to close your eyes and just let it happen. You really do. The mattress beneath you is soft and embraces you with warm, oh-so-welcoming arms, and the fireplace crackles from the living room. You’d left the door cracked, only a little bit, just so that the sounds might lull you to sleep. 

Despite all the efforts you’d put into a perfectly cozy, perfectly sleepy, night, your mind wanders each time you let your lashes fall to your cheeks. You try and soothe it over with fuzzy visions of waking up in the morning to the world outside your window dusted white and your tree, all alight and sparkling, made full with gifts wrapped in swirling red paper.

Well, if you were sleepy before, you’d lost it now. 

Perhaps you’re far too excited for Christmas. Especially for your age—a full grown woman too giddy to sleep on Christmas eve? It’s ridiculous. But those warm, flickering memories of Christmas mornings with your family are close to your heart. Bounding down the stairs on bare feet to go stick them by the fireplace to defrost, pulling woolen, knitted stockings off the mantle when your parents told you to check for coal, and then after it all, finally sitting crisscrossed around the tree. The smell of whatever spiced thing your mother would be warming over the fire and the sharpness of the pine needles—you think that there is nothing better. It was such a simple time. 

You push yourself up off the bed, hair mussed with relentless tossing and turning. Slipping out from the covers, you don’t even bother fixing it. The wood flooring creaks beneath your weight. Through your woolen stockings, the ones you’d pulled on just before bed so that you might stay toasty should the fire die out, it greets you nice and pleasantly warmed. 

Down the hallway you shuffle, smoothing over your cotton sleep dress and tugging your fingers through tangles of hair. Three hours; three hours you’d been curled up in your bed, alternating between inspecting your ceiling and walls as if you’d never seen them before and trying to think sleepy thoughts. You can really only handle so much of that. 

Starting in the afternoon, as soon as the sun began yawning and blinking bleary eyes to give way to the moon, you had worked dutifully on whipping up some Christmas desserts. Baking platterfuls of warm goodies was something your mother did for your family every Christmas eve. Bowl in hand, and wafts of gingerbread and fruit cakes twirling sweet and warm up to your nose, those memories were all you could think of. Your heart aches in your chest. This day doesn’t feel the same celebrating by yourself. You’d hung garlands down from doorframes and done such a beautiful job on the tree, but you’d done it all. Alone. You’d done all your baking alone, too. 

So, though you don’t have the faces of family around, not even a boyfriend, to eat them with... You’ll eat tbe excess alone. You’d always been the type to go all tired with a full belly, anyway. Maybe it’ll help you get to sleep. 

The counters are a beautiful spread of your day’s work. Cinnamon cakes made even sweeter with a warm, sugary drizzling, fruitcakes of raisin and dates, glazed fruits all fat and ready to make your fingers sticky as you enjoy them, all on silver filigree platters. Beside it all, you place your candle, the lengths of it decorated with rivulets of wax melted down and then gone solid once more. You sift between them, fingers itching for something hearty. 

From behind you, there’s a shuffling. It’s slight. Firewood burnt down to nothing shifting and falling, most likely. You peruse the platters—the glimmering, glazed nuts, or mahogany cakes? You almost decide, but, with another rustle, you cannot pretend it was nothing this time. You turn on your heel. 

There, in your living room, stands a man.  

A very tall, very frozen man. With features soft, he looks as though the warmth and coldness of Christmas personified both. Wide, brown eyes return a look very similar to what you assume yours might be. In his hands, he holds a box wrapped in papers—one that looks as though it would belong so well beneath your tree. 

Frozen way down to your bone, you don’t really know what to do. Do you scream? Would the family in the home across from yours hear you? As a young, unwedded woman, and their neighbor, you think they might help you. They’d always seemed to like you well enough. How’d he even find his way into your home anyway? You don’t leave doors unlocked. 

For a few more long moments, the two of you stare at each other. Strangely, he seems just as rattled as you.

“Who are you?” you say, voice wavered in just the way someone’s might if they found an unknown man in their home. He doesn’t look scary. Not by a long shot. With warm eyes of hot chocolate and hair the fluffy brown of any girl’s dreams, he does not look scary at all. You might even say he looks delicious. 

The stranger opens his mouth and closes it a few times. When he finally goes to speak, in a rounded cheek you spy the twitching of a dimple. It’s soft in his face, just like the rest of him. His ears burn red. “You’re not supposed to be awake,” he says, a waterfall of nervous laughs falling out along with it. 

You, just as frozen as you’d been when you’d first turned around to find him there, frown. Not supposed to be awake? What is that even supposed to mean? You tug at the hem of your night dress. You’d pulled it on thinking that nobody would see you in it, and especially not a man. An intruding man, at that. It’s thin and comfortable, falling at a spot on your thigh that’s good for movement, but not for wearing in front of a strange man. Definitely not. 

“What do you mean?” you say, stricken in place. As much as your heart beats like a wild, caught animal in your chest, sending liquid energy right through your veins, you cannot move. It’s no different from the deer that, instead of darting between the trees to escape a pouncing predator, sits utterly still hoping that maybe they’ll go unnoticed. But this is not the wild, and that does not work here. You probably look more like you’re a blinking, stupid mess than anything. You say, “Get out of my house, or I am going to scream. Get out.” 

Who wants to deal with this on Christmas eve night? Somebody breaking into your home, hoping to get lucky with the presents littered under the tree? Of all the evil things, that might just be the worst. You could not imagine rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and scurrying over to the tree, just to find it utterly bare. 

He laughs again, waving a hand in the air fast and nervous. “I—don’t worry! I’m not going to hurt you! I just... uh, well, you see...” His words twist and tumble over each other, each racing to come out before the next. “This... usually doesn’t happen, and... Nobody ever wakes up,” he says. “You’ll forget about this in a moment.” 

You look him up and down. The Christmas-red suit, all suede and heavy, the heavy black boots, the cuffs of white tufted fur—you’re not stupid. Maybe shaken, but not stupid. Taking a step back, you say him with measured words, “What are you, some kind of freak that breaks in to people’s homes on Christmas to pretend you’re Santa, or something? A thief?”

Over his soft eyes, his brows shoot up. Still holding the present, he steps toward you with his free hand up to show he means no harm. “No—no, really, you don’t need to be scared. I’m... okay, you might know me as something different, but my name is Soobin. I’m just supposed to be dropping these gifts off, and I’ll be on my way. You won’t even remember you saw me.” 

And, there he goes again, saying that you’ll forget you saw him. Whatever that means. You might be alarmed by his words, and really, you ought to be. But you feel more intrigued than anything. He’s got kind, playful eyes. Maybe the kind that are meant to disarm you before stealing from right under your nose, though.  

What really gets you is that he thinks you might know him. By some other name, or whatever. You’ve never seen him, or another face like him, anywhere in or around your village. The people here do not look like that. Their faces are marred by a life spent working for their upkeep, hands flecked with the weight of their professions. This man? He looks as though he’s never lived a hard day in his life. No wrinkle or scarring—his face is beautifully smooth. You’d know any face, you know everybody here. And you do not know him. 

“I don’t think I believe you,” you say. “And, won’t remember? What’s that supposed to mean?” You hover somewhere between the kitchen and the tree, all lit up with flickering candles.

He closes his eyes, a resigned puff of a laugh falling from his mouth. Soobin shakes his head as he tells you, “Guess it doesn’t matter if I tell you. I’m Santa. Claus. Santa Claus. That’s what you’d know me by.” He pushes his brown, horn-rimmed glasses up his nose. “I don’t get caught. Usually. I don’t know why you were still awake.” Hot cocoa strands of brown hair dust just about his eyes as he takes your form in. 

Right from your chest, a scoff like a laugh comes tumbling. Santa Claus. Seriously, this guy is weird. And, he’s in your home. However he’d gotten in. Shuffling back a few steps for good measure, you say, “Santa Claus. You’re Santa Claus.” 

Brows knitted, he nods his head. As if it were obvious that he was Santa Claus. 

Yeah, okay.

It’s ridiculous. So ridiculous that you have to laugh again, full-chested and in his face this time. “If you don’t leave my home, I’m...” You trail off. You’re not sure what you’ll do this time, but you’ll do something. Maybe laugh a little more at him. 

His eyes drink your form in once more, lingering over the softer parts for a few long moments. Your chest, to be more specific, where you’re sure your nipples peek through where your dress moves over it. When his eyes snap back up to your face, he says, “There’s no need for that. Would you like proof?” 

You arch an inviting brow at him. You’d like to see him try to give you any sort of proof that he’s Santa Claus. That might just be entertaining.

“Well,” he says, setting a present down beside the tree. “If it’s down to that, I know that earlier this year, you and that boy slipped into the barn when you thought nobody was looking. But of course, I knew. That was the first naughty tick you gave yourself this year.” 

Stood only perhaps a step or two ahead of you now, you have to crane your neck to meet his gaze. Slowly, talking to him, you’d started loosening up. But now, you go all rigid again, your face paling. There’s absolutely no way he’d know that—considering the fact that you’d not seen him before this very moment, and that you had done a very thorough scan of the area at the time. You go to answer him, but he’s quick to continue. 

“Are those cookies set out for me?” he says, tilting his head up in a pointing gesture. “If you’re such a believer, why do you not believe that I am him?” 

There a number of thoughts and curiosities clogging rational thought in your mind. This time, instead of brushing him off with a patronizing, sneering laugh, you say, “Well. I... They weren’t... for you. I don’t believe in Santa.” 

“You don’t?” he says, brows furrowed as he looks down at you. “Not even as he stands right in front of you? Tell me: how would I know that you touch yourself in the middle of the night, when you think nobody might know, and you’re in your bed all alone? How would I know exactly how you sound while you do?”  

A strange, strangling fog curls over your thoughts and renders them gone. You don’t even know what you would say to that. Maybe he could just say that about anybody, and it might be true, but the conviction and truth hanging heavy in his gaze as he looks at you with it... You think he means it. You don’t know what that makes you—stupid, or so incredibly screwed.  

The counter at your back gives your heart a startle. Suddenly, you’ve got nowhere to escape his serious eyes. “I don’t... I didn’t...” 

His smile goes taunting. “No cookies, and lying...” he hums. “I don’t think this is the best way to behave when I’m here, dropping off your presents. I even made exceptions this year, just so I could stop by here. I don’t stop for naughty listers.” 

Your face burns. Your skin burns, under that look he’s giving you. The space between you burns, too.  

“I don’t think I was bad,” you say. It’s out before you can really even rationalize it, or any of this. All you can contend with are the furious, fiery butterflies that twist your belly up into knots. The ebbing of something consumptive and hungry between your thighs should concern you, too.  

His big, warm hands find perch on your hips. There’s not much between his touch and your skin—just your flimsy little dress. It feels just as though if he were kneading the bare flesh there, fingers digging crescents into the soft fat. Your breath does a few skips. He smells sweet like spiced musk.

“I think you know perfectly how naughty you were,” Soobin says, his face shedding every last bit of lightheartedness in exchange for something ravenous. His eyes fall on your mouth for just a blink, and then he’s looking right into you. Challenging. 

“Oh, please,” you say, pinching your brows into something falsely sweet and innocent. “I don’t think I do. Won’t you tell me, Santa?” You let the last part, his supposed title, twist out like accustion. Whether he’s Santa or not, you don’t care. Your blood whispers and begs for those hands to venture further in, right to the gnawing want that’s come alive deep in your core. It’s insane, you know that. Still, you follow its pleading.

For a short, lucid moment, his face twitches. And then he’s got your ass in his hands, swallowing it up in needy grabs, and then the cool surface of the counter is biting into the heat of your skin, and then his mouth falls over yours like the most fiery, most carnal Christmas gift. 

He eats up your gasps. His mouth is sure, but his hands are frantic and unmeasured all over you. Feeling up the lengths of your sides, sliding up the smooth of your back, cupping the back of your neck to pull you into licks and bites harder. His hands find your breasts the most, though. You can hardly even make sounds as he rolls his thumbs over your nipples and under the swell of them. He takes the weight of your tits into his hands.  

The dance of your mouths breaks off into panted, hot breaths fanning over faces. He readjusts you upon the surface without a care for the clattering of the platters. Fast and as though he’d been waiting for this, he moves down your neck in blazing licks and suckles. One of his hands takes the back of your head, and the other worships your chest. 

Against your skin, strained, he pants, “I waited just to come to your fucking house. Watched you playing around with those idiots—God, I hated to watch, but I couldn’t look away. Wanted to show you how much better you deserved to be treated. Even naughty girls deserve to cum, don’t they?” 

You’re a mewling, hazy mess, hardly able to register words. Especially ones as hard to wrap around as that. All you do is arch your chest into his hand, cheeks all flushed pink. All you want is for him to make good on that promise. Under his touches, you fully believe him. Not once had your escapades gotten you off correctly. His desperate touch brushes right over that tight ball of sexual frustration, unwinding it slowly. With each bit that he unravels you, you shudder. 

“You are a naughty girl, aren’t you? You sound so sweet when you cum. Can’t I hear it again?” he continues, each word hotter in your neck than the last.  

Your head is all light and floaty. Letting it dangle, you give him a meek and pleading, “Yes.” Every last square inch of you beats alive at the prospect of being watched in on as you desperately squirmed against your bed. By him, at that. And, that it had him all pent up like this. 

His hands fumble at the hem of your dress. Pulling it up and over of your thighs and then past your hips and then up your belly, he says, “My pretty baby deserves it. Gonna make you feel so good—wanna make you feel good.” When your dress is all bunched up over your chest, and the soft swells of your breasts are freed to the air and his eyes, a chill rakes over your blazing skin. Goosebumps raise up and down the entirety of you. 

Brown eyes gone different, his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He rests a palm right at your ribcage, so eager to touch but also so eager to just... gawk. 

Pushing your posture to better display your tits for him, you say, “You… wanna touch them?” 

His gaze flickers up to yours and then back down, tracing over the sight of your hardened nipples against the soft, smooth mounds. “Fuck. Yes, I wanna touch them. Please?” he says, voice wavering. He brushes a thumb up under one. It’s an admiring, impatient touch. 

“Yes,” you whisper. A strange little secret between the two of you. “Please, Soobin.” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He bends just enough to take a pebbled nipple into his mouth. The hot wetness against your eager skin—it douses you in oil and then sets you on fire. Your mouth drops open to allow a long, wavering whine passage. It tapers off into just open-mouthed, quiet gasps as he rolls his tongue around it, peppering kisses into the soft flesh of your breast. Below it, in the valley between, and then he kisses a path right back to your nipple. 

It’s so simple. His touch is reverent—not overwhelming. Just underneath your skin, it all tingles. It pleads for him to continue, to do more. 

Much to your dismay, he is pleased right where he is. With soft bites and drags of his nose, he ravishes your chest. And when he’s finally done and pulls away from your skin, you shiver at the brushing of cool air against the wet mess he’s left there. 

Heavy-lidded eyes find yours. Running his thumb over your bottom lip, he husks, “No cookies out for me...” He delivers a quick nip at your jawline.  

Under a brush of his fingertips along the expanse of your lower belly, you jolt with a tremor. You will your mouth into movement. “I don’t believe in Santa. Why would I set out cookies?” you say; an echo of what you’d said to him before. But this time, his hands are on you. You want to see how that might change things. 

With an abrasive scoff, he doesn’t disappoint. The corns of his lips twitch. “Let me put my hands on you. Fuck you. You’ll believe in him then,” he says, curling his fingers like bites finally into your bare, moldable hips. They receive the shape of his hands willingly. “Are you gonna thank me for making an exception? For stopping by your house, even though you’re filthy?” 

He brushes lower and lower. Keeping your voice on a tight leash, you tell him, “Please, touch me...” 

He laughs, nose crinkling in tease. “If that’s how you want to say thank you,” he says, “I’ll touch you. You’d like that, huh?” 

With that, he finally brushes over your cunt. Profanities spill out from his lips with the wetness that greets him there. Your body does a start at the touch. 

“Yes, please. I love it—for Christmas, please.” Your voice is thin and pleading. 

It’s all Soobin needs to hear to be sliding you off the counter. The world spins around you in a fuzzy, nonsensical blur of warm light. Against your chest, melded against it, the counter top bites cold.

“Fuck,” he curses, the sound coming from behind you. You can feel his gaze searing a trail down the arch of your back. For the nth time, your skin breaks out into a chill. Warm, tracing fingers smooth down the length of it, starting at the center of your shoulders, until he finds the swell of your ass. “Look at you, arching your back like a well-used slut. You really are needy, aren’t you? I knew it. I knew you’d be perfect. And you’re gonna let me fuck you straight, aren’t you?” The words come out hot on your skin, now. Right into the curve your shoulder. “Maybe fuck you so straight, you’ll be at the top of the nice list next year. A pretty little saint. Huh?” 

All you muster is a stupid, pathetic nod. You want nothing more. 

On your clit, the center of your pulsating need, there’s a chaste pinch. Your body revolts, hips twitching violently in escape. The squeak that it rugs from you is equally violent.

“I’m not sure I want that, though.” There’s a rustling behind you, a clinking of silvery metal and then a brushing of thick fabric. Hot and angry and heavy against you, he presses his cock to your clit. “I think I want you on the top of the naughty list, so I can come here and have this every year.” The mushroom tip of him swirling against your needy bud—it’s so much. So much. 

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll be bad for you, Soobin. Please. I want it so much...” You push your back further into a suggestive curve; begging. He’s led you all the way to the water. Won’t he just indulge you with a taste? You don’t care how stupid or ridiculous you sound. 

His hand ventures up the outside of your thigh, smoothing over warm skin, and then around the curve of your hip, and then across your lower belly. It settles and presses there. “Do you hear yourself?” he sneers, voice in your hair. “I’ve got you, baby.” 

The suggestive, almost-there weight of his cock at your hole gives way to the delicious slide of him into you. Each inch is easy and slick. Perhaps you might worry over how utterly drenched you are, but not when all you can feel echoing through your bones and your veins is him finally filling your emptiness. It feels like mercy, more than a gift or present. 

He pulls out of you before even bottoming out. You spin as best you can to see him, brows furrowed. The look you find on his face as you do tells you everything you need to know about how intentional that was. "Soobin, please.” You look up at him through your lashes, trying to goad him with pretty bats of your eyes. Your cheeks flush pink and hot—your whole body is hot. 

“Begging for cock,” he says, a saccharine grin over his mouth. “Such a nasty whore. Whores don’t get Christmas presents. Shouldn’t you thank me for giving you this?” 

You should feel offended. Scandalized, even. No man has ever spoken to you like this, and you wouldn’t have allowed it. But, coming from his mouth, it’s a strange thing. It lays over you heavy, twisted your inhibitions to naught. “Thank you,” you say, pressing your cheek into the cool counter top to combat the burn. “Thank you, so much. Please.” 

When he starts pushing back into you, the gates of heaven materialize in the black behind your eyelids. Curling your fingers around the edge, you savor each and every inch of him once more until you can practically taste it. And then some. He’s big; bigger than anything you’d ever had from the guys around here. How are you ever supposed to go back to that? 

Finally, his hips meet your ass. He takes a moment to shift, taking a handful of your hip to pin it right into the counter. So, you do too; you grip at the edge of the counter. And then he pulls out of you. For a brief moment, you forget how endowed he is. But, of course, he reminds you with a roll. His cock drags along your walls in a way you’ve never known: full. You are full. 

“Gonna ruin you, so that no matter how many times you let them in your bed, all you’ll want is me,” he says. His hips move slow, just so that he can make sure you hear and internalize every word. “And you’ll wait all year just for this, and you’ll think of my touch when you touch yourself.” 

You can’t answer, or say anything really, around your whimpers. His hips stutter, and then he begins thrusting into you with unabated vigor. Each collision of your dancing bodies is punctuated by the hollow smacking of skin. Those sounds and others, such as your whines as his cock nudges right up against that spot that’s got your thighs quaking, and his tense pants, consume the air where the serene crackling of fire had once ruled. 

Though you do try to reel it in, you really do, his hips find a certain angle that makes it all null. You claw at the hand he’s got pressed firmly to your belly. Beneath you, your legs tremble and shake where they dangle down, and your poor abused hip bones ache against the hard surface of the counter as he fucks you into it. The cabinets clatter with it. “Soobin,” you choke. 

With his cheek pressed to the top of your head as he sloppily pounds stars into your vision, he half growls, half whines, “So—so good around me. So good. I couldn’t wait...to help you out. Thank you, baby.” 

The tremor in it, and the absolute neediness, pierces through the haze and does something to you. His free hand runs over you frantically, and his thrusts turn to something less controlled and more bare. More raw. He’d been hitting that sweet, sweet spot before, but this is more insistent. His hand presses harder into your belly to hold you through it, the other one mapping every last square inch of your skin until he’s intimately familiar with it all, and then some. “Fuck,” he grits out. 

All of it, the flame and the blinding touches, go away for a moment. He pulls out from your heat. You go to push off the counter to complain, and you make it half off, but he’s spinning you around and has you hoisted, ass-to-tabletop before you can. Where your front had been, the surface is already body warmed beneath your ass and thighs. 

“Show me your tits,” he says, nudging your thighs open. “Fuck. Will you let me fuck them next time? They're my tits, right? They fit so well in my hands.” 

Between his panted whines and the slide of his cock back into you, you just let your head fall back and obey. Your legs cascade down, twitching and threatening to snap around his waist each time he brushes against that deep, gummy spot. You arch your back into his face and pull your teeth into your mouth, watching him.

He dives into your chest without ceremony. With a hand on one of your hips to steady you against his fucking, he takes a nipple into his mouth. Soobin rolls his tongue and nips with his teeth, all while working the knot in your belly tighter. Each time your chest jumps or concaves against a bite, he pushes you deeper into it with a hand at your back. 

Your voice is hoarse. Though your moans are sweet and whiny, you sound nasty. Deep in your stomach, rumbling and threatening in a way you are not familiar with, something dangerous swirls. Goosebumps usurp smooth skin at the presence of it. As much as you chase it with your hips, your fingers thread through the strands of his hair to brace for it—readying for it to both ruin and fix you.

The sight of him, face deep in your chest, only feeds more fuel into the fire. His lashes flutter against his pink cheeks. 

“You...” you start, cupping the back of his head into you. “H—fuck... Like my tits? Want them to be yours?” 

You’re not quite sure what you’re saying. Around his waist, the muscles in your thighs are taut and your spine tingles. Your head floats. The barrier between spoken word and true thought is eroded down by it all. What is left is utterly bare. 

He releases your nipple, so hard that it tingles, in a wet pop. Pressing his cheek to it as his hips stutter, he says, all nasally, “Yes. Yes, h—oh fuck, yes, baby.” 

His pathetic whines, fallen into the air all tense like the tightness you’re sure he feels in his belly, as you do in yours, have you digging your heels into the bottom of his spine. Urging him in deeper. Closer. 

Hands finding your hips like iron against the softness of powdery snow, his voice cracks. “Wait—no, shit! Baby, I’m gonna.... Holy shit, let me cum on your belly, baby...” 

So, so very close to both exploding and imploding into violent, consuming bliss, you’re not one to deny him that. You let your thighs fall open, bracing against his biceps, and then just the slightest brush of his groin up into your throbbing clit has the world smearing into nothing around you. 

All of you, every last muscle, goes rigid in the wake of it. And then, with a brilliant, incandescent crashing of symbols and release, you cum. Deep in your thighs and up your back and right in your core, where you clamp down on him hard, you are wracked with twisting muscles. Alternating between desperate whines and being able to get no sounds out, you fight through the blistering presence of your orgasm. 

He watches you, eyes on every micro expression falling over your face, with blown eyes. And then, his hips stutter for the final time. In a frantic hurry, he slips out of you with an obscene pop. He holds his cock over you, fist working up and down it in slick, wet rolls. He lets his head loll back, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard.

You watch his belly go all tight, and his sweet face screw up tight. Then, from his weeping pink tip, he shoots sparkling, hot white spurts all down on your belly. It pools heavy and warm against your skin. 

Finally, he collapses boneless into your front. With his face notched into your neck, he slides his hand up and down his cock a few more times. You two pant into each other’s skin for a few long, exhausted moments. 

He finally pulls back to look you in the eyes, cheeks tinted pink and twitching with a dimple. He releases your hip with one hand, reaching behind you in search of something. When his hand reappears, he’s holding one of those cookies you’d baked hours ago.  

You go to ask him something snarky, like fucked yourself hungry? but you’re interrupted when he runs the cookie up your belly, scooping up ribbons of his cum like dipping cookies in milk. He brings it to your mouth. 

“Open up,” he says, a cheeky, lazy grin smeared over his mouth. “You like milk with your cookies, don’t you?”  

You gape at him, dumbstruck. Still, beside yourself, you open your mouth and take a generous chunk out of it. The musk of him melts down against the cinnamon and ginger snap in your mouth. You savor it on your tongue before making a show of swallowing it all down, holding his eyes. Soobin watches, hawklike, until you’ve got it down.  

“Still don’t believe in Santa?” he says, running a hand through your mess of hair.  

You’d believed in Santa the whole way through. But, he doesn’t need to know that. As he presses one chaste, parting kiss to your neck, you can only hope that Santa might make a generous stop by your place next year too. No matter how naughty you are.  

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

✎୭ ashlynn's note LIKE?? come back next yr pls, soobin.

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[unknownati]

v. retwist

a/n: boomshakalaka u give ekko a retwist n help him sweat it out after! sorry i have like 2 fluff fics and an angst fic lined up for him too. god knows if i'll post them tho

for the record, i don't rlly like (I HATE IT SO BAD HELP) this fic, but i saw a few people excited for it and i feel bad so 💔 come get ur dinner

christmas fic otw too maybe sumn with au claggor...

warnings/tags: lowercase intended, no use of y/n, no description of reader's physical features, fluff to smut, modern!ekko, implied black!reader (just a bit of aave lol), fem!reader, oral (reader and ekko receiving), hair pulling (minor but if you've gotten your hair pulled after a fresh retwist/braids...yk.), switchy reader and ekko, ekko's a munch 😕, whiny ekko, prolly a little ooc, this was written at night guys please cut me some slack

______________________________________________

"ow!"

"now you know that shit didn't hurt. stop moving."

"baby, i'm tenderheaded--oww!"

you scoff, your thighs pressing into the sides of ekko's head to keep him in place. every movement you made was met with a small wince, and every wince was met with a scoff and a roll of your eyes. his hands, littered with calloused scars, flew up to meet the meat of your thighs. the tips of his fingers sunk in, making small dips in your skin.

"you're dramatic. hold still, 'm almost done."

your fingers and wrists have been aching from the repeated motions made on the thick locs. the throbbing between your fingers didn't help, either. your legs cross over his shoulders, your ankles meeting at his sternum.

thoughts wandered, and your eyes eventually lost the thoughtful gleam in them as you zoned out in the soporific task of parting the last few locs.

part, gel, twist, clip. part, gel, twist, clip. part, gel, twist--ekkostopmoving--clip. part, gel, twist, clip.

eventually, you were done, and you stared down at the simple maze of white squares atop deep skin. "all done. that wasn't so bad, was it?"

ekko keens, touching his fingers to his raw scalp.

"mmh..."

you press a kiss to his temple, twisting open the greasy bottle of braiding foam and pumping it atop his head. a shaky exhale pushes through his nose upon the cooling sensation, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in four hours when your fingertips massage the mousse throughout his scalp.

your rigid thighs finally release his head from their grasp and you sit back on the bed. ekko excitedly propels himself off the ground and into the vanity, craning his neck down to inspect you work.

"wow, 's beautiful, firefly. thank you."

"mmhm, i know. you're welcome. your girl comes in to save the day, yet again!"

he faces you with his soft eyes and dopey grin, walking back over towards you. quietly, he moves the comb, clips, gel, and mousse onto the floor and grips your ankles, spreading your legs.

your face makes the quickest change, your stomach twitching as you start to sit up, but your movements falter when he just kneels between your legs and lays himself down on your body, head cradled on your shoudler.

"oh." you mutter, shaky fingers reaching up to caress his cheek. the oils you used to moisturize his hair crept down the side of his ears and cheeks, leaving them greasy.

his automatic reaction was to tease you. you could feel his smirk against your chest. "what? did you expect some type of payment?"

"no!..." a beat. "...maybe. i did sit there for four hours."

warm breath blows against your collar bone, a small laugh. smooth and silky. plump lips meet your clavicle, his fingers walking their way up your side. you shifted away from his hand with a breathy giggle, the act feeling like a tickle. his mouth pulled into a smile as he trailed up your neck, his hand following the same direction up your shirt.

before you know it, his lips are on yours, and his palm is kneading at your breast which he gained access to by pushing the cup of your bra up.

the kiss quickly turned desperate, from slow and sensual to greedy and messy. your tongues were practically fighting with each other, your breaths growing heavy.

he pulled away for what felt like a agonizing eternity to shrug his wife-pleaser off and pull your (his) t-shirt off of you. his eyes fell on your figure, an enticing sight that made his sweatpants grow uncomfortably tight.

"quit staring." you whisper, though you're staring equally as much as him. from his broad shoulders down to the small trail of hairs that ran into the peeking band of his boxers.

"sorry, 's hard not to. you look so good."

your ears heat up at his words as you watch him get off the bed, kneeling on the same pillow he sat on while you did his hair. his hands grabbed your around your ankles and pulled you toward the edge of the bed, smooching your waist as his hands swiftly tugged down your shorts.

he pushes your legs open by your knees, his kisses getting tantalizingly close to your throbbing heat.

"ekko," you whine, just to be met with a shit-eating grin. his arms wrap around your thighs so his hand can easily reach your clothed clit, his thumb pressing into it, rubbing feather-light circles.

"hey, maybe i should just do this since you were so mean while doing my hair. you think this'll be enough to make you cum?"

you groan, a sound rooted so deep within your core that it sounds like a growl. your hips shakily push against his thumb.

"ekko please don't play with me right now—"

he readjusts you quick, laying your hips flat against the mattress again.

"stop moving."

your eye twitches and you couldn't stop your hand from flying down into the neatly array of locs and metal clips in his head, tugging lightly. but to a tender head, that slight tug was like a lash.

"ow!--☆, that—"

"s-stick your tongue out."

ekko hesitates, but doesn't waste any time after you tilt your head expectantly. his tongue lays against his bottom lip, glossy brown orbs watching as your free hand pulls your panties to the side. before you even push his head down, his tongue is flat against your clit.

your head falls back against the sheets, a blissful sob reverberating through the walls and calling back to you, ringing in your ears.

his lips wrap around your clit, sucking lasciviously at the bud. he quickly started to remember why he fucking loved eating you out, your wetness like a sweet liquor that got him drunk every single time.

it almost felt perverted, the way his eyes squeezed shut and his brows furrowed upon tasting an acidic nectar on his tongue. he got off on your noises alone, the way you writhed above him, the way you cried out in pleasure, he drank it all in, too quickly. it filled his brain with a buzz, all his thoughts coming to a halt until all he could focus on was you.

well, kind of. he wasn't focused enough to hear your multiple pleads for him to slow down because you were close already. he was too busy devouring you like you were his first and last meal.

"c-cumming, fuck, ekko—i-i'm cumming, slow down," you moaned, white knuckling the sheets below you in attempt to keep yourself physically grounded.

his eyes squeezed shut as you shivered, your orgasm crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

you had to physically push him away from you because you were already overstimulated, pressing the ball of your palm into his forehead to push him away.

"f-fuck. holy shit." you gasp, barely able to catch your breath.

after a few moments of speechless panting, he looks up at you and sighs. "y'didn't have to pull my hair." though he was joking, you couldn't help but feel bad.

"i know, sorry baby. c'mere."

he stands up and lays down next to you, his lips and chin coated in a thick, clear layer of your arousal. you giggle, thumbing it off before kissing him.

"your turn?" you ask with lidded eyes. you can see his face light up, though he tries to play it off. he fails.

"yes. please."

__________________

"f-fuck, oh m'god, firefly please.."

you've switched positions, with you kneeling between his legs. you've been stroking his length and taking inches of him in your mouth for what has felt like a decade, taking your torturously sweet time with him.

the image was beautiful, a thin veil of sweat coating his mahogany skin, his tip angrily crying every time you slowly pump up and squeeze around the base of the head. his eyes were glossed over, looking down at you with pleading eyes. every movement you made had him twitching, his muscles pulsing with each wave of pleasure that crashed within his core.

"shhh, hol' still, y'know it'll feel good when i'm done. can you do that for me, ekko? stay nice and patient and pretty for me, like you..." you tightly gripped the base of his dick, hearing his breathy whine being ripped from his throat, "aaallllways..." you stroked upwards, watching how he struggled to keep his eyes locked with yours. "do."

he nods, but you can tell he's struggling because he's really fucking close, but you're proud of him for listening.

"words?"

"shit, y-yes, i can. i can baby."

"good."

you only give him a couple seconds to relax before his tip is touching your uvula, a shocked gasp tearing from him. it only takes 4 seconds before he's spilling down your throat, apologizing profusely through restrained moans.

"fuck, h-holy shit," he gasps. you smile.

"that's what i said earlier!"

he rolls his eyes, pulling you up to lay next to him.

"thanks baby."

"...i dunno why you thankin' me yet, i ain't done with you."

[vikasmama]

✮ thinkin’ of vi being so sensitive…

cw. — (minors + men dni!) afab!reader, sub!vi, softdom!reader, overstimulation, pussy eating, scissoring, nipple play, crying (from pleasure), use of “baby”, “sweet girl”, & “sweetheart”

“please…p-pleease!” vi whines out, your tongue lazily lapping at her throbbing clit. how pathetic is it to admit her vision is starting to spot when you’ve just connected your mouth to her? she doesn’t even have the will to roll her hips against your face, just pressing her head so far into the pillow she feels like she could melt through the mattress, letting you do the work for her. you hum, flattening your tongue and licking up, collecting her wetness. vi writhes, and you swear you can feel her erratic heartbeat through her puffy nerve.

“you’re so sensitive, baby, ‘m barely doin’ anything.” you tease lightly. you love how easy it is to rile vi up. one suggestive furrow of your brow and she was already feeling her knees buckle. a hand on the back of her neck as you’re making out and she’s helplessly rutting against your thigh as best as she can, murmuring “more” against your lips. when you lay her down and smooth your hands over her strong thighs, blowing a little cool air onto her clit, and she yelps and feebly pleads for you to “stop fuckin’ around”.

vi moans out beautifully, strings of your name accompanied by curses you’ve never heard used in such an order. it’s been maybe… four minutes? you haven’t even started going faster yet and she’s fighting with her own strength to not crush your skull between her thighs.

“feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart, shit..” she speaks, the sound strangled coming out of her throat.

the praise spurs you on, applying a bit more pressure with your tongue. you circle her clit, zeroing in on it without a second of delay. vi arches her back off the bed, pushing your face impossibly closer into her soaked pussy with another disgruntled string of moans. you vaguely hear her start to blabber nonsense, panicked hands entangling into your hair. every single flick of your tongue brings her closer, the warm coil of her pleasure reaching its peak unfathomably quick.

“‘m gonna cum, fuckfuckfuck-”

and you hold her down, summoning all the strength in your arms to keep her in place and fuck her through it. vi all but screams, feeling like her soul is detaching from her body. she cums hard, the aftershocks persisting with each continued ministration of yours. her mind muddled and fucked out, she starts clawing at your shoulders, whimpering.

“s’too much, caan’t- aah…”

you place a sloppy kiss to her folds before you sit up and grant her rest. you climb her body, and she cages you in with welcome arms as you meet her lips. vi sighs into your mouth at the taste of her own cum, and sighs again when you disconnect your lips to strip in front of her. she shamelessly watches your body move, her clit rising to attention once again at taking in your beauty.

“you think you can give me a few more, baby?” you coo at her, watching the lust cloud over her pretty blue eyes. vi nods eagerly, though the tiredness from her last orgasm still lingers a bit. you position yourself between her legs, lining up your own glistening cunt with hers. she bites her lip, holding her breath in anticipation watching you spread yourself open before sitting your clit right on top of hers. there’s almost nothing vi loves more than seeing your expression twist so gorgeously from how good you feel. she briefly thinks she could cum just from watching you, until the delicious feeling of you grinding on top her brings her back to earth.

“my god,” she whimpers. “s-so good, please…”

you smile down at her, watching her eyes screw shut as she lets you fuck her. knowing how good you make her feel makes you feel amazing. you feel her gush against you, a new wave of her juices making your grinding so much more fluid. you both moan at the feeling. vi starts to approach her limit fast once again, her nails digging into your hips harder with each move. you look forward to the ache it’ll bring. she looks so beautiful, long hair splayed out so unruly under her, mouth permanently open releasing a crescendo of cries, pierced tits bouncing with each of your thrusts; you recall how sensitive her nipples are, immediately gripping onto her tits for leverage on top.

“you’re so fuckin’ pretty, my sweet girl,” you say as you gaze down at her. you start losing yourself to the pleasure a bit, speeding up your hips and chasing both of your highs. fuck, she really does look stunning. her eyes shoot wide open at your hands on her chest, brows pinched to oblivion as you roll her nipples between your fingers. she can’t take it. it wasn’t even that aggressive of a touch, and she feels her hips begin to stutter under you. vi whines loud, and tears prick at her eyes from how overwhelming the buildup feels. her sweet pussy starts to cry with her, making obscene sounds as you both reach your ends.

“y’gonna cum, baby, yeah? fuck- let me feel it, vi.”

the two of you moan in unison, though vi’s come out more strained than yours. you feel her shaking, quickly looping your fingers through hers and holding her hand as you keep grinding, albeit slower than before. you jolt at the overstimulation on your own clit, though your drive returns remarkably quick at vi’s insatiable nods. her nose and cheeks red, face puffy with glittering tears, yet she meets your eyes and nods. her overly sensitive clit pulses, and when you finally move, she feels herself go dumb once again. probably another thirty seconds max.

“‘mkay, one more, baby. i got you.”

— ♱*.ﾟvikasmama.

[shouyuus]

okay so what about vi as a parent…

send me vi thirsts and i'll give u my hand in marriage

OKAYYYYYYYY LOOK. we are tryna hURT today huh. no alright tho like it would depend on the kid. i deeply believe that vi as a girl!mom vs a boy!mom would be SO dif. (girl!mom vi under the cut)

bc like consider. boy!mom vi - always down to toss a ball around, always down to play wrestle and get down and dirty, gets too carried away playing all the time, youve DEF come home to the house just like an absolute WRECK of feathers and cut up paper and like the bedsheets stripped and flung over the dining chairs, ur son standing on top of the dining table as vi pretends to be "breaching the fortress" and they both freeze when you clear ur throat like "uhm... what's this now?"

vi looks at you with those big athena eyes of hers like "oH! welcome back baby! uh this is --" and ur son leaps down and throws himself at ur waist like, "momma said that if we take the bedsheets we can make a castle and a mote!" and vi glares but withers a little when you hitch an eyebrow in her direction "she DID, did she?"

"she also said that REAL knights definitely use rolling pins as -"

"OKAY kiddo -- ahaha, what did i say about spilling national secrets hm?"

ur son just looks confused for a second, swinging off your arm, "but -- but you said mummy's the princess and all this is for her!"

vi sputters for a solid three seconds before sighing and you laugh, picking up your son and pressing a kiss to his cheek, "aww, so this is all for me?" he giggles, nodding, throwing his arms around your neck.

vi chuckles, looking sheepish and rubbing the back of her neck.

"yep!" your son pulls back with a bright grin, "momma said that because we both love you most, we have to protect you with all our mights!"

you laugh, softening as you put your son down. "she said that, did she?" he nods fervently even as vi groans, running a hand over her face, her cheeks a deep maroon.

"well, since you both love me so much -- you wouldn't mind helping clean up the castle before the evening feast, would you?"

"feast?" they both look up, eyes bright.

you hold up the large bag of takeout and they both whoop, vi tugging you in for a long kiss, laughing when she pulls away.

"y'know. you really are... everything."

---

BUT NOW CONSIDER. girl!mom vi. who would be sweetest, most protective, bc you've seen her as a big sister to basically all the kids in zaun, and her own daughter???? she'd do anything for her. to the point where you sometimes have to remind her not to be too much, to let your daughter stumble sometimes, to make mistakes bc that's how you learn.

"but -- god. i'm just so terrified --"

"yeah, welcome to being a parent," you say, nosing into her cheek one night as you watch your daughter sleep, curled up on the bed between the pair of you, snoring slightly as she sleeps.

vi reaches down to run a hand through her hair, curling a strand around a finger, her eyes so soft it almost breaks your heart.

"yeah i know but..." vi's voice is tender, " thought having a little sister was bad..."

you laugh softly, pressing a kiss to vi's cheek.

"let's not jinx this."

vi's lips twitch, but her gaze stays warm. she pulls you into her side.

"you're gonna have to tie me up in the basement once she starts dating."

you snort, "tie you up? please. i'll have to call in favors with both jayce and mel -- maybe they've got something stocked up that'll keep you restrained but i know ropes aren't gonna do jack shit."

vi chuckles before her expression changes.

"promise me... things will be okay."

"hey -- look at me." you cup her cheek; she turns, her eyes a thunder-struck sea, the edge of the world on a rainy day.

"it'll be okay," you say, pressing your foreheads.

"thanks, cupcake. i love you."

you smile, tugging vi in for a kiss.

"yeah. i know. i love you too."

[unconventional-lawnchair]

“You can’t just…kiss me to win a fucking argument, [NAME]!” “You’re right…but did it work?” With Sirius pretty please 🙏🏽

Kiss And Make-Up

Sirius Black x Reader

WC: ~1.3k

Summary: Pool side at the Potters, Sirius takes you for a swim.

The summer sun hung lazily in the sky above the sprawling Potter Manor, casting long, warm shadows over the garden. The large pool glistened invitingly, its clear waters sparkling under the light. You and Lily had spent most of the afternoon lounging by the pool, watching as James and Sirius made a fool of themselves, attempting to play an American sport, touch football. Perhaps it was your playful comments you made about your home country being a bit too intense for the British boys that drove them to the down right sad display.

Especially with just two of them, Peter inside helping Euphemia in the kitchen and Remus actually enjoying the pool, talking to you.

Remus was in the shallow end, leaning against the edge of the pool, his arms resting casually on the ledge as he looked over at you and Lily. His hair was damp, and a gentle smile played on his lips as he listened to the banter happening poolside. Every now and then, he would glance over to where James and Sirius were, both of them attempting to toss a football back and forth, their movements clumsy and completely lacking coordination.

Lily shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips as she watched James scramble to catch the ball, only for it to slip through his fingers yet again. "Honestly, it's like watching a pair of toddlers learning how to walk," She said with a laugh, her sunglasses perched on her nose as she leaned back on her lounge chair.

You grinned, nodding in agreement as you glanced over at Remus, who gave you a knowing smile. "I don't think I've ever seen two people so determined to be so bad at something.” You added, shaking your head, the laughter bubbling up in your chest.

Remus chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You know, I think they're convinced that if they just keep at it long enough, they'll somehow master it," He mused, his voice carrying that warmth and dry humor he always had.

You shook your head, unable to hide your grin as James let out a frustrated groan, turning to Sirius. "Pads, you've got to catch it properly!" He complained, hands on his hips, the football lying at his feet.

Sirius, ever the dramatic, threw his hands up in the air. "Prongs, I’m not built for this! Give me a broomstick any day of the week- this is madness!" He shot you a look, his eyes narrowing playfully. "You Yanks and your weird sports."

"Excuses, excuses," You tutted, lifting your drink to your lips, the cold condensation a welcome relief against the summer heat. "Maybe I should go over there and show you how it's done, Black."

Remus let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Now that's something I'd pay to see."

Lily giggled, nodding in agreement. "Yes, please. Put them out of their misery."

Sirius shot you a wicked grin, his eyes alight with that familiar mischief. "Oh, yeah? You think you could take me, love?" He called out, jogging over to the poolside, his hair tousled from running around. He put his hands on his hips, giving you a challenging look.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "You can't even catch a football, Sirius. I don't think I'd need to try very hard."

His grin widened, that playful glint turning into something more dangerous, something that had your heart skipping a beat. He took a step closer, leaning down towards you, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "You know, you talk a big game... but I don't think you'd have the guts to get in that pool."

You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep your cool. "Is that a dare, Black?"

His eyes twinkled, and he gave you a slow nod. "It is, actually. I dare you to get in that pool right now."

You leaned back in your chair, shaking your head with a laugh. "Not a chance, pretty boy. I'm not oblivious, I know you just want to see me cold and wet.” You smirked and his pale cheeks flushed a slight red. You rolled your eyes as his smirk grew wolffish.

Sirius grinned, straightening up, the mischief dancing in his eyes. "Oh, is that it?" He asked, voice dripping with playful challenge. "You think I won't actually make you get in that pool?"

You crossed your arms, tilting your head up at him defiantly. "I think you can't," You shot back. "You may talk big, but you're all bark and no bite, Black."

His eyes narrowed slightly, and you could almost see the wheels turning in his head. "You know what, darling?" He took a step closer, a hint of something daring in his gaze. "You just made a very dangerous dare."

You blinked, your smile faltering slightly as he lunged towards you, grabbing you around the waist. You let out a startled shriek, scrambling against his grip, but Sirius was strong and determined, his laughter filling your ears as he hoisted you off the lounge chair.

"Sirius!" You yelled, your laughter mingling with your protests as you tried to wriggle free. He ignored your struggling, carrying you towards the edge of the pool, his grin growing wider as he approached the water.

Lily and Remus both burst into laughter, Lily clapping her hands in delight as she watched the scene unfold. "Oh, there she goes!" Lily exclaimed, shaking her head. Remus leaned forward on the edge of the pool, his smile wide and eyes filled with amusement.

"Sirius, don't you dare-" You started, but it was too late. With one swift motion, Sirius dropped you into the pool. You hit the water with a splash, the cold enveloping you instantly. You resurfaced, gasping and sputtering, your hair plastered to your face.

"You absolute git!" You shouted, but the laughter bubbled up despite the shock. Sirius, still fully clothed, gave you a mock bow from the pool's edge.

"And now," He said, winking, "I’m an equal-opportunity swimmer." With that, he jumped in right after you, landing beside you with a splash.

You turned to him, eyes narrowed. "You’re impossible, you know that?" You muttered, but there was a smile tugging at your lips.

Sirius grinned, his dark hair now dripping wet, his eyes glistening with a mix of triumph and warmth. He swam closer to you, his face softening as he looked at you. "And yet, you still love me, don't you?" He teased, though there was a genuine question in his eyes, a vulnerability he rarely showed.

You sighed, rolling your eyes dramatically, but there was no hiding the affection in your voice. "Maybe. But if you ever throw me in again, I swear I'll hex you."

He smirked, inching even closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “I think I could get you to forgive me, though.” Before you could reply, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, a kiss that was both gentle and full of intensity.

When he finally pulled away, you glared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “You can’t just… kiss me to win a fucking argument, Sirius!” You sputtered, your voice filled with exasperation.

Sirius grinned, his eyes twinkling as he shrugged. “You’re right,” He said, not even trying to hide his smugness, “but did it work?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the warmth in his eyes and the curve of his smile made your words falter. A reluctant smile tugged at your lips, and you huffed, shoving him lightly. “You’re such a prat.”

Sirius laughed, his arm coming around your waist, pulling you close in the water. "Maybe. But I'm your prat," He murmured, his forehead resting against yours.

You huffed, splashing him with the water, but you didn’t pull away. The sun continued to shine above you, the sound of Lily and Remus's laughter mingling with yours, and for a moment, everything felt light, simple, and blissfully free- just two people lost in the warmth of summer and each other.

You wished it could stay like this forever.

[pucksandpower]

Under the Mistletoe

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando really wants you to kiss him under the mistletoe. Sounds normal enough, right? Wrong! So wrong

Warnings: 18+ content and description of an allergic reaction

The apartment is finally quiet. The muffled thrum of conversation and laughter that had filled every corner just hours ago has faded, leaving only the faint crackle of the fireplace in the living room. It smells like pine needles, spiced cider, and the faint citrus tang of your new body wash. You pad softly down the hallway in your slippers, the wooden floor cool beneath your feet.

“Lando?” You call, peeking into the dimly lit bedroom.

He’s there, of course, but the sight that greets you isn’t what you expect.

Lando is lying on his back, smack in the middle of the bed, arms folded behind his head like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s wearing nothing. Absolutely nothing … except for a single, strategic adornment. Tied with what looks like a strip of red ribbon, a sprig of mistletoe dangles provocatively from his dick.

“Seriously?” You stop in the doorway, blinking. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Happy Christmas,” he says, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s an invitation.” He tilts his head slightly, his curls a messy halo against the pillow. “You’ve got to kiss me.”

“Oh, I’ve got to, have I?” You fold your arms, biting back a smile.

“Under the mistletoe,” he clarifies, as if that makes it any less ridiculous. “It’s the rules. I don’t make them.”

“You absolutely made this up.”

Lando shrugs, utterly unrepentant. “Does it matter?”

You stand there for a moment, torn between amusement and disbelief. “You know, normal people just leave cookies for Santa. Not …” You gesture vaguely at him, at the ribbon, at everything.

“Not everything has to be normal,” he says, his grin softening slightly. There’s something teasing in his tone, but there’s sincerity, too. “Come on, it’s Christmas. Don’t leave me hanging.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love me for it.”

There’s no point denying it. You do love him — ridiculous, over-the-top antics and all. With a sigh that’s more for show than anything else, you take a few steps closer to the bed.

“Alright,” you say, pretending to consider. “Where exactly am I supposed to kiss you? The mistletoe’s not even …” You trail off, waving a hand vaguely in the air.

Lando smirks, his eyes dancing. “Where do you think?”

“You’re unbelievable,” you say again, but you’re already climbing onto the bed. The mattress dips under your weight, and Lando watches, clearly pleased with himself.

“You’re not protesting much,” he points out.

“Shut up.”

“You could have just stayed in the doorway, you know. Told me off or something. But no, here you are-”

“Lando,” you cut in, leaning over him.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

Your lips are on his before he can say anything else, cutting off whatever smug reply he had planned. His hands slide instinctively to your waist, pulling you closer as you kiss him.

It’s not rushed. The night has been long, full of people and noise and obligations, and this moment feels like a welcome reprieve. Lando’s mouth is warm, insistent but unhurried, and you let yourself get lost in it for a while, your fingers tangling in his hair.

When you finally pull back, he looks up at you, flushed and grinning.

“Good start,” he says, his voice a little breathless.

“Don’t push your luck.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. “Really?”

“Okay, maybe a little,” he admits, his grin widening.

Shaking your head, you shift your attention downward. The ribbon, the mistletoe — it’s so absurd you have to laugh.

“Did you seriously tie this yourself?” You ask, running a finger lightly along the edge of the ribbon.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Fine, yes. Took me a solid twenty minutes, too. Those stupid YouTube tutorials make it look way easier than it is.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” he says, his voice dropping slightly, “you’re still here.”

You meet his gaze, your laughter fading. The teasing, playful look in his eyes hasn’t disappeared, but there’s something else there now — something softer, more vulnerable. It’s the look he gets when he’s reminding you, without words, just how much you mean to him.

“Well,” you say quietly, “it is Christmas.”

“And you’ve got to follow the rules,” he murmurs.

“Right.”

The bed creaks slightly as you shift again, positioning yourself more comfortably. You lean down, pressing another kiss to his lips — gentler this time, more lingering. Then you trail kisses along his jaw, his collarbone, the faint dusting of freckles across his chest.

Lando lets out a soft, contented sigh, his hands finding your hips again. “You’re taking this very seriously,” he says, his voice tinged with amusement.

“I’m nothing if not thorough.”

“Lucky me.”

You glance up at him briefly, smirking. “You’ve no idea.”

When you finally reach the ribbon, you pause, your lips hovering just above it. Lando’s breathing hitches slightly, his grip on your waist tightening.

“Merry Christmas, Lando,” you murmur.

“Best Christmas ever,” he replies, his voice low and fervent.

And then, with deliberate slowness, you kiss him under the mistletoe.

You pause for a beat, the mistletoe brushing lightly against your cheek. Lando’s breathing is heavier now, his chest rising and falling beneath you. He’s trying to stay still, but his fingers dig into your skin, betraying how much control he’s losing.

“You alright up there?” You ask, teasing, your voice low.

“You know I’m not,” he mutters, his words strained.

“Good.”

And with that, you continue. Deliberate. Unhurried. Every movement of your mouth is purposeful, every touch designed to unravel him. Lando groans, low and broken, the sound rumbling through the quiet room like a storm on the horizon.

“Fuck, you’re …” He cuts himself off, his head tipping back into the pillow. His hands flex against your hips, as if holding you steady is the only thing grounding him.

“Say it,” you murmur, barely pulling away for a second.

He glances down at you, his hazel eyes dark and glassy. “You’re killing me,” he manages, his voice hoarse.

You smile, the corners of your mouth curving just slightly before you return to your task. Lando’s hands slip from your shoulders, clutching the sheets instead. He’s completely undone now — his breathing ragged, his head thrown back, his body trembling beneath you.

“F-fuck … close,” he stammers, his words tumbling out like he’s barely holding them together.

You hum softly in acknowledgment, the vibration of it drawing a sharp, involuntary gasp from him. It’s all he can take.

He breaks.

A strangled sound escapes his throat as his body tenses, and you taste the telltale musky warmth on your tongue. You stay where you are for a moment, letting him ride out the high, his grip on the sheets going slack.

When it’s over, you pull back slowly, swallowing before wiping at the corner of your mouth. One drop clings stubbornly to your lip, and you swipe it away with your thumb, catching Lando’s hazy, satisfied gaze as you do.

“You alright there?” You ask softly, your tone light but full of affection.

“Barely,” he mutters, his voice thick. He exhales sharply, his chest still heaving as he lets his head fall to the side, watching you with a dazed grin. “You’re-”

“What?” You tilt your head innocently, wiping your hand on a tissue before tossing it onto the nightstand.

“Perfect,” he finishes, his voice soft and full of something deeper than just the moment.

You laugh quietly, crawling up the bed to lie beside him. He pulls you close immediately, one arm draped over your waist, the other brushing back a strand of hair from your face.

“Was this your master plan all along?” You tease, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Maybe,” he admits, still catching his breath.

“And?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” He grins, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

You roll your eyes but smile against his skin. “Merry Christmas, Lando.”

“Happy Christmas,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with exhaustion and contentment.

For a moment, neither of you says anything more. The only sound is the quiet crackle of the fire in the distance, and the world beyond the bedroom feels miles away.

Eventually, Lando breaks the silence. “So … same thing next year?”

You shove him playfully, laughing as his grin widens. “Go to sleep.”

And with him wrapped around you, the warmth of his love settling over you like a blanket, you do.

***

The morning light creeps through the curtains, warm and soft, a stark contrast to the frantic energy in the room. You stir awake first, stretching lazily until you feel Lando shift beside you, letting out a low, uncomfortable groan.

“Ugh,” he mutters, his voice muffled by the pillow. “Something’s wrong.”

“What do you mean, wrong?” You mumble sleepily, rolling over to look at him.

He doesn’t respond immediately, just shifts again, his body stiff and tense. Then he sits up abruptly, wincing as if every movement hurts.

“Lando?” You ask, more alert now.

“It … hurts,” he says, glancing down at himself. “Like, bad.”

You follow his gaze, and that’s when you see it. The redness. The swelling.

“Oh my God,” you say, your voice shooting up an octave. You sit up fully, the sleepiness disappearing in an instant. “What happened?”

“I don’t know!” He exclaims, his face a mixture of panic and embarrassment. “It was fine last night!”

“Well, it’s not fine now!” You scoot closer, carefully inspecting the irritated skin. It’s blotchy, bright red, and looks alarmingly angry.

“It’s swollen,” he groans.

“No kidding.”

“What do we do?” He asks, his voice bordering on frantic.

“First, calm down,” you say, though your own voice isn’t exactly steady. “Second … oh my God, Lando, do you think it’s the mistletoe?”

His eyes widen as the realization hits. “You think I’m allergic?”

“Do you have any idea where that stuff’s been stored? It’s probably coated in dust or pollen or something. Or-” Your voice catches. “Do you think you’ve always been allergic?”

“I’ve never, uh … put it on my cock before, so how would I know?”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, panic simmering between you.

“We need help,” Lando says finally.

“Like … a doctor?”

“No!” He yelps. “We’re not going to a doctor for this!”

“Then what-”

“Call Jon,” he blurts out, cutting you off.

“What?” You ask, incredulous. “Your performance coach?”

“Yeah! He knows, like, medical stuff. And he won’t make it weird.”

You raise a skeptical eyebrow but grab your phone anyway, scrolling to Jon’s number. “Oh, this isn’t going to be awkward at all,” you mutter as it rings.

“Hello?” Jon answers, sounding far too chipper for the situation.

“Uh, hi, Jon,” you begin, exchanging a look with Lando. “It’s Y/N. Lando and I have … a bit of a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Jon asks, his voice immediately shifting to professional concern.

“Well …” You trail off, glancing at Lando, who gestures frantically for you to continue. “It’s kind of … personal.”

“Y/N,” Jon says patiently, “you’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

You let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Okay, fine. Lando’s … area is swollen and covered in a rash.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“… Come again?” Jon finally says, and you can practically hear him trying not to laugh.

“It’s not funny!” Lando shouts from the bed. “It’s serious!”

“Oh, it’s serious?” Jon repeats, his voice full of barely concealed amusement. “Alright. How did this happen?”

You hesitate, then mumble, “He … tied mistletoe to it last night.”

Jon doesn’t reply immediately, but the faint sound of him choking back laughter comes through the line.

“Can you help or not?” Lando snaps, his cheeks flushing red — whether from anger or embarrassment, you’re not sure.

“Okay, okay,” Jon says, his tone softening. “It’s probably an allergic reaction. Clean the area thoroughly, apply a topical antihistamine if you have one, and keep it elevated to reduce swelling.”

“Elevated?” You echo, frowning. “How are we supposed to-”

“Just do your best,” Jon says, clearly suppressing a laugh again. “And if it doesn’t improve in a few hours, you might need to, uh … consult a professional.”

“Thanks, Jon,” you say quickly, hanging up before Lando can yell again.

Lando groans, flopping back onto the bed. “This is the worst Christmas ever.”

“You’ll survive,” you say, grabbing the first-aid kit from the bathroom. “Now, let me see.”

“This is humiliating,” he mutters, but he doesn’t resist as you sit beside him, carefully applying the ointment Jon suggested.

“Hold still,” you say gently, your touch careful.

He winces but doesn’t complain further, watching you with a mix of gratitude and lingering embarrassment. After a few minutes, the redness looks slightly less angry, though the swelling is still noticeable.

Once you’re done, you sit back with a sigh, your hands on your knees. “Well, that was a bonding experience.”

Lando lets out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, not exactly what I had planned.”

You glance at him, your lips twitching upward despite everything. “So … was it worth it?”

He grins, some of his usual confidence returning. “Next year, I’ll make sure to have an epipen ready.”

You laugh, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Next year, maybe let’s stick to normal traditions. Like cookies. Or matching pajamas.”

“We’ll see,” he says, smirking as he leans back against the pillows. “I’ve still got a whole year to think of something even better.”

“God help us all,” you mutter, but there’s affection in your voice.

And despite the chaos, as you settle back into bed beside him, you can’t help but think it’s still a Christmas to remember.