#recalling a beverage | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hopelesslygaysstuff · 4 months ago

Text

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐵𝑜��𝑘 𝐶𝑙𝑢𝑏

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: Your neighbor and friend, Wanda Maximoff, invites you to her book club. The book they're reading is, well, erotic. It sparks something in you, and you find yourself growing closer with your neighbor, in a surprising way.

content warnings: smut, improper use of a book, spanking, fingering, cunnilingus

word count: 6.2k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

The rose petals are soft beneath your fingertips, your mind adrift as you tend to the vibrant bushes near your door. The faint scent of lawn clippings hangs in the air, dulled slightly by the thick heat lazily wrapping around you, an occasional breeze brushing by to dry the back of your damp neck. You glance at the lemonade sitting on your front steps, your mouth watering slightly at the thought of drinking the refreshing beverage.

You clip a slightly dead branch of your rose bush, discarding it in the small, steadily growing pile nearby. There hasn’t been a rain shower in a few weeks, so you’ve been diligent about watering your bushes, but even you can’t beat the arid heat that settles on your town. It’s all anyone can talk about; the endless heat at the height of summer causing kids and adults alike to flock to the brand-new water park in the heart of town.

Ice clinks as you finally cave, reaching over to sip the lemonade through a straw. The taste explodes in your mouth, and you let out a soft sound of relief as the sugar perks you back up. Your fingers slip slightly on the condensation steadily sweating from the cold glass, and you begin to seriously consider retreating back inside to sit in front of your fan.

“Hey, neighbor,” a friendly voice calls out, and you recognize the honeyed tone immediately.

Your head jerks up, your cheeks flushing as you recall the dirt smeared on your knees, and you’re acutely aware of the loose strands of hair sticking to your forehead. You raise your free hand awkwardly, praying you’re not waving too enthusiastically at your neighbor.

Wanda had been your neighbor ever since you’d moved in a few months ago, and she’d immediately taken you under her care. It was endearing, really, to have someone care about you while you adjusted to a new city.

“Hi, Wanda,” you called out, your voice cracking slightly. You could see the older woman smile, her red hair cascading over her back as she walked around her bushes and towards you. You hide your nervousness, sucking on your straw like it is a lifeline, your pulse quickening as she draws nearer.

Oh god, you probably smell so bad. You’ve been out in the sun for hours, sweating under the sweltering sun, your deodorant having lost its potency ten minutes into your battle with the rose bushes. You’re acutely aware of the sweat dripping down your temple, your eyebags showing since you’d decided not to use concealer this morning, not wanting to have it melt right off your face in the heat.

“What on earth are you doing out in the heat on a day like this?” Wanda asks, smiling at you and shielding her face from the sun as she looks down at your still-kneeling form. The faint scent of vanilla drifts over to you, and you wet your lips slightly, your straw making a loud sound as you realize you’ve finished the last of your lemonade. You sense that she doesn’t want a response, her words more of a statement than an actual question, a subtle chide at your ability to make rational decisions in the summer heat.

Helplessly, you gesture towards your rose bushes, your eyes quickly spotting the petals that are slowly wilting, standing out against the vibrant colors.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Wanda says, tilting her head as she examines your rose bushes, “I think they look beautiful. Now, why don’t you invite me inside for a cup of that delicious-looking lemonade, hm?”

Flustered, you stand quickly, gripping your glass and muttering a quick, “Of course,” before holding the door open and ushering the woman inside.

Wanda walks straight into your kitchen, sighing slightly at the cool breeze from your AC unit working overtime. Her green eyes find yours, crinkling at the edges as she smiles at you. Smiling back slightly, you rush to the fridge, pulling out the pitcher of lemonade you’d made and pouring a generous amount into one of your fancy glasses.

“What is a sweet girl like you doing outside working in this heat?” Wanda asks, taking the cup from you. You can’t stop looking at the way her red-tinted lips wrap around the straw as she sips. “Shouldn’t that boy of yours be helping you?”

“Who?”

“The boy with the long hair and the flannel,” Wanda says, her tone slightly off. You recall the other weekend when you’d invited your coworker to the neighborhood barbecue. Wanda had been more touchy with you that night for some reason, her eyes looking at your coworker with light suspicion; you didn’t really mind, assuming she was looking out for you. You can tell that she’s poking around with her words, a hidden question behind them, and you’re all too happy to set the record straight for her.

“Oh, Jared? No, he’s just a friend,” you say, hoping that your tone is casual. It sounds far too high-pitched, but Wanda relaxes slightly at your words, smiling brightly at you as her fingernails clink on the side of her glass.

“Ah,” she mutters, raising her eyebrows slightly, “A friend.”

The silence stretches for an awkward beat before you feel the urge to explain yourself. To get rid of the crushing feeling between your ribcage as Wanda studies you, her head tilted slightly. “No, truly, he is just a friend. We met at work and now we kind of hang out outside of work. I don’t know, it’s just… friends hanging out and stuff. I don’t like boys- or, I mean, him like that.” The words spew from you like a messy word vomit, the letters and syllables all jumbled together as you try to string together a coherent sentence.

Chuckling, Wanda reaches out, her fingers gently touching your cheek. Her fingertips are cold against your skin, and you realize that you’re flushed. You pop your straw back into your mouth, your teeth gnawing slightly on the plastic as you distract yourself.

“I know what boys want from a pretty girl like you,” Wanda says. It feels like an intimate sort of statement, but her tone is far too bright, an air of casualness forcing its way into the sentence as you awkwardly laugh at her words.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that,” you say, unsure of why you’re reassuring her. “I’m not interested in Jared, like that.”

“Hmm, good,” Wanda nods as she speaks, an air of finality in her words. You assume the conversation is over, your eyes trailing over her blouse, respectfully avoiding looking near her chest, as the fabric dipped quite low. You supposed it made sense, given the heat, but the last thing you wanted to do was make your neighbor uncomfortable.

Wanda didn’t mind. After all, she’d chosen this blouse with the low v-cut on purpose, watching you through the window while making finger sandwiches for Billy and Tommy. You’d been working so hard, your arm muscles showing as you pulled weeds and clipped your rose bush, that she couldn’t help but venture over to your lawn. After all, the boys enjoyed their cartoons on a lazy Saturday afternoon, and your muscles had looked quite striking as you worked in that sinfully thin tanktop of yours.

“Say,” Wanda exclaims suddenly, your eyes snapping up from where they’d been lingering around the exposed skin of her stomach. “You like reading, don’t you?”

Your eyes light up, and Wanda’s teeth gleam as she smiles brightly at you. She remembers you talking her ear off about a book you’d read, her mind wandering to the animated way your hands had moved while speaking. She’d nodded at all the right places, asking you questions occasionally, her attention focused on the way your face shifted into genuine enthusiasm as you spoke.

“I run this book club,” Wanda says, shrugging as though it was no big deal, her eyes flitting up to yours to gauge your reaction. “We meet on Friday at my house, when the boys leave for the weekend at their father’s place, if you’d be interested.”

It’s been a while since you’ve had a consistent friend group or even just a group of people to hang out with. Wanda knows this; you’ve talked about it a few times, when you’ve had a few too many glasses of wine, your face flushed and your eyes dark and wide as you lean into her friendly touch.

“I would love to come!” You bite your lip as you hide a wide smile, containing your obvious excitement at the idea. “What book are you reading?”

“Ah, well,” Wanda ducks her head, peeking up at you through her lashes. It’s the perfect picture of innocence. “I’m not sure if you’d be interested in this specific book.”

“Please tell me,” you beg, setting your lemonade aside as you lean closer to her. You’ve been searching for some new books, even asking Wanda for recommendations. It’s almost cruel, the way she hesitates before answering, her eyes focused solely on your reaction.

Wanda finally tells you, watching as you immediately pull out your phone to search for the name of the book. Her eyes are sharp, gauging your reaction as you quickly skim the description. She can’t tell if you’re blushing more than usual, the book is a lesbian romance, but you don’t seem to mind as you look up and smile at her.

“Can I borrow your book for the meeting on Friday?”

And that’s that. Wanda agrees, of course, her mind racing as she watches you smile and talk about how much you’ve been looking forward to reading books with other people, your words jumbling together in your excitement. You’re leaning closer to her as you speak, your eyes sparkling and lips moving a mile a minute. Wanda takes another sip of the sugary lemonade, glancing at your lips as she wonders if you taste just as sweet.

God, she can’t wait until Friday.

—

You’re nervous, your hands fiddling with the loose threads of your shirt as you walk up the pristine walkway to Wanda’s front door. God, you’ve knocked plenty of times before, but this time it feels… nervewracking.

Truly, you aren’t used to meeting new people. Most of the time, others approach you, starting conversations and inviting you into their lives. It had never been the other way around, and the mere thought of putting yourself out there made your palms sweat and your feet develop an urge to run.

Before you can give yourself a pep talk, your fingers trembling as you reach for the doorbell, the door unlocks, startling you. The first thing Wanda sees when she swings the door open is your wide eyes, her eyes softening when she takes in your tense form. She can tell you’re a few wrong words away from bolting back to your house with a poorly mumbled excuse.

“Oh, sweetheart, I didn't mean to startle you,” she says, and suddenly her hands are all over you, distracting you from the nervousness building steadily within you. Wanda’s hands pull you inside, gently squeezing your arms before wrapping slightly around your waist, her touch insistent as heat spreads through your body wherever her fingers make contact. She can feel you relaxing slightly, your expression opening up as she talks your ear off, telling you that their book club is quite small, but you’ll help grow their numbers as she ushers you into the living room.

“Is that a rabbit?” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them, your face going slightly red as your eyes widen. There’s a white rabbit munching on some cucumbers, its nose twitching and ears swiveling towards you as you shuffle in your socks on the carpet. Your eyes catch the long fingers gently stroking its fur, moving up to land on the face of a striking brunette.

“This is Señor Scratchy,” the woman says, her blue eyes glinting slightly as she looks you up and down. “You must be Wanda’s new pe-”

“Agatha,” Wanda interrupts, smiling tightly for a moment before she glances at you. “Be nice to our newest member.”

Smirking, Agatha just wiggles her fingers at you, her eyes crinkling at the corners. You wonder what she was going to say that caused Wanda to speak so abruptly, but she turns her head before you can ask. Following her eyeline, you smile awkwardly at the woman who enters through the doorway, her hands full as she balances four mugs on a tray.

“Oh good, coffee,” Wanda says, ushering you onto the couch and slipping her copy of this week's book into your hands.

A steaming mug is placed before you, Wanda pouring a bit of milk and dropping three sugar cubes into your coffee, just the way you like it. You would blush at the attentiveness, but you’re too focused on the way the woman with the tray settles down next to Agatha, her hands caressing her shoulders for a moment. Agatha’s blue eyes are locked on you as she pulls the other woman’s legs onto her lap.

“Nice to meet you, fresh meat,” the woman says, her smile sharp. She does not offer her name.

Agatha cackles slightly, patting the woman’s legs as she takes in your wide-eyed look. “Rio, my love, you’ve scared Wanda’s… friend.”

They’re testing you, that much is obvious. Wanda’s hand is hovering near her mug, her eyes cutting towards the women on the couch opposite from you. Agatha is peering at you from under her lashes, her hands still massaging Rio’s legs, the rabbit having jumped to the floor the moment the other woman entered the room. You can hear him munching in the silence.

Rio, well, she stares at you openly, her eyes a bit too wide.

“Well,” you say, clearing your throat as you take a sip of your coffee to give your hands something to do. “It’s very nice to meet you, Agatha and Rio.” You nod at each of them as you say their name. Hopefully, they don’t hear your voice wavering. “This seems like a fun group for a book club.”

“Oooh, I like her,” Rio murmurs, smiling widely at you. It sends goosebumps crawling down the back of your neck, but you bravely smile back, feeling your lips tremble.

Wanda claps her hands once, letting out a breath of air as she brings attention back to the topic at hand. “We’ve started the book, but we’re only a few chapters in so far. Agatha, why don’t you catch her up?”

Suffice to say, Agatha is excellent at summarizing. You understand the first few chapters well enough, and you blush when she mentions the hot older lesbian the main character is pining over, winking at Rio. You begin to wonder about the nature of their relationship, but decide that it’s none of your business.

“I’m looking forward to the next few chapters,” Rio says offhandedly. “I’ve heard they get steamy, just the way I like my books.”

“Naughty girl,” Agatha murmurs, then most of your previous questions are cleared up as Rio grabs the back of her neck and kisses the woman solidly.

You can feel Wanda looking at you from the corner of your eye, and you hope she doesn’t take your awkward fidgeting the wrong way. After all, it’s not like you could easily explain the warm feeling spreading through your body at the sight of them kissing, your nose hyper-aware of Wanda’s warm vanilla perfume wafting over to you.

“So, do they do this often?” You ask, smiling slightly and injecting sarcasm into your tone as you bravely turn to face Wanda. She looks slightly relieved, an easy smile curling her lips at the corners as you both hear a scoff from the other couch.

“Got a problem with it, sweetheart?” Agatha drawls, her blue eyes piercing. Rio is wrapped around her, reminding you of a large snake coiling around their prey, and you shake your head.

“Of course not, I’m just questioning if you actually talk about the book during these meetings, or if you just make out. That can’t be productive, and I truly do like talking about books…”

Wanda laughs beside you, one of her hands landing on your knee as she does so. You don’t mind, needing the extra support as your bravery fades slightly once you’ve said your piece. Agatha is chuckling and when you risk looking at Rio’s face, she’s smirking slightly at you.

“I bet you’d like that,” Rio mutters, falling silent when Agatha shoots her a stern look.

“Don’t start, besides, she’s right. This is a book club, after all,” Agatha nods at you, picking up her book. “So, should we dive deeper into the chapters then? I’d like to discuss the hints they’re dropping about the more kinky aspects that are to come.”

Oh god, you don’t think your blush will go away for the rest of the club meeting. Wanda’s hand remains on your knee, and you don’t mind when it slowly moves up your thigh. Is it the coffee making you jittery, or something else? You don’t know, but your heart is racing and your face feels practically aflame with every word that Agatha and Rio speak.

It’s the best book club you’ve ever attended.

—

“So,” Wanda says, trailing off. Her fingers run along the edges of the book, and you watch them for a moment before meeting her eyes.

Agatha and Rio have already left with their hands hot around each other's waists, a sight you’ve grown accustomed to seeing. It’s been a few weeks, your cheeks still reddening every time someone makes a joke about the smut in the book, but you’ve grown used to the comments and the way Wanda’s hand feels on your thigh.

At first, you were worried about the implications of her actions. But, Agatha and Rio never commented on it or even looked twice at you and Wanda, their eyes were only made for each other. You’d grown comfortable with the touch, even leaning up against your neighbor at times when the discussion became passionate. Occasionally, your hand would brush against hers, your chin hovering near her shoulder as you read the passages.

Each touch felt charged, and you were glad you could explain the blush away by gesturing to the book.

“Yeah,” you say, your head ducking slightly as the silence stretches on. “So.”

“Today was interesting,” Wanda smiles, her cheeks slightly pink as her fingers spread the pages of her book. She’s referencing the smut, of course. Agatha had taken great delight in teasing you, asking you which scene was your favorite, or if you’d related strongly with one of the kinks introduced.

Forcing a chuckle, you nod. In all honesty, you’d rather not let Wanda know that you’d pictured yourself as the main character while reading the book before the meeting. Your fingers had rubbed furiously at your throbbing clit under the sheets as you read the characters making out, your thighs tightening when the older woman in the book whispered degrading things in the main character’s ear.

“I-” You begin, ducking your head and smiling. “I didn’t mind reading it but… actually discussing it?”

“What?” Wanda asks, her voice teasing. There’s a forced sort of lightness to her tone, her eyes sharp as she looks at you. “I thought it was adorable… how flustered you get.”

A chuckle escapes you, awkwardness flooding you as you think about the kinky acts the group had discussed. Rio had been bored, claiming she wanted more out of a self-proclaimed kinky book, but Agatha had shushed her as Wanda launched into an analysis of each character’s psyche.

You loved it when Wanda talked. She always had the best insights, her words well crafted. She was smart, everything she said was well thought out, and you often found yourself nodding along.

“I’m glad you think so,” you say, the words feeling thick around your tongue. Your heart is beating quickly, and you take a deep breath as you look back down at your fingers, nervously twisting together.

“Would you like to read the next chapter together?” Wanda asks, her tone light. One of her hands reaches out, resting gently on your knee. “I’m looking forward to this one.”

“Isn’t this chapter the one Rio said was really… you know,” you whisper, your knee tensing under Wanda’s touch.

“What?”

“The really dirty chapter,” you mumble, your cheeks aflame as you peer up at Wanda through your lashes. She’s smiling gently at you, her fingers still splayed out on the pages.

There’s something in her eyes that you can’t quite decipher. The hand on your knee tightens for a moment, before sliding up further as Wanda leans in. You barely hear her words, focused on how soft her hair looks and awkwardly trying not to glance at her lips as her vanilla perfume wafts under your nose. God, she smells so nice and her touch is so firm and warm and-

“I want to see your reactions when we read it,” Wanda murmurs, her lips grazing your cheek as she leans closer to whisper in your ear. “That blush of yours is just too adorable to resist.”

You force your lungs to breathe, your knuckles white from how hard you’re gripping the couch cushion. Wanda pulls back, smiling sweetly at you and patting the spot next to her. “Come, darling. Let’s read the next chapter together.”

Mindlessly, you nod as you move to sit next to her. You try to leave some space, your mind racing while also being somewhat blank at the same time. Wanda simply moves closer until her thigh is pressed against yours, her hand firmly on your thigh as she begins to read out loud in that perfect, low voice of hers.

It takes everything in you not to squirm, your bottom lip sore from how hard you’re biting it. Wanda doesn’t seem to notice, her voice calm as she reads the scene. Her hand is slowly inching up your thigh, and you feel your heart rate increasing at the thought of her feeling the heat that is surely emanating from the apex of your thighs.

“The cane whistles through the air, hitting me solidly. My body jerks forward, pain erupting on my bruised ass, but Eliza’s hand grips my hair, her voice hissing that I should be still. I listen, my brain screaming at me to comply while my body is brought closer to an orgasm, the pain turning into pleasure with each strike of the cane.”

You rest your chin on Wanda’s shoulder, your attention split between her hand squeezing your thigh and the scene she’s reading. Ignoring the wetness between your thighs, you pray that you don’t leak through your pants.

“I begin to crave the pain,” Wanda’s voice is steady as she reads, with only a slight breathiness to her tone. “I needed to submit, to let Eliza control every aspect of my pain, and with it, my pleasure.”

“I’ve always wondered how that feels,” you interrupt, your mind still thinking about the cane. You wondered if it really could cause pleasure.

Wanda pauses, her fingers squeezing your thigh for a moment before she turns toward you, lowering the book slightly. “How… what feels?”

“Oh,” you blush, clearing your throat. “The impact play. I just assume that a cane would hurt. I’ve never- well. You know.”

There’s a lingering silence, a sort of tension in the air as Wanda considers your words. She seems to be choosing her next words carefully, her fingers gripping your thigh as she sets the book down.

“Would you like to try?”

Fuck.

Wanda’s eyes are on you, and you can feel them as you stare at the book for a few moments. Working up your courage, you glance up, blinking at how dilated her pupils are, her green irises barely noticeable.

“We- I… where would we get a cane?” You ask, the words feeling a bit thick in your mouth.

Chuckling, Wanda closes the book fully and reaches up to cup your cheek. “Oh, my sweet girl, we don’t need a cane for impact play, anything will do.”

“Oh, right,” you say, feeling stupid. Your brain is full of fuzz, your thoughts muffled slightly. The only thing you can think about is the scene from the book, Wanda’s hand on your thigh moving up further and further until it’s gliding over your hips and pressing on your upper back.

You gasp slightly as Wanda bends you over her lap, her hand gentle but firm between your shoulder blades. You willingly follow her lead, your chest heaving slightly as you try to calm your racing heartbeat, resisting the urge to squirm when you feel how wet you are, the change in position thrilling.

“Is this alright?” Wanda asks, her voice warm. Her hand is gently rubbing your back, the other playing with the hair on top of your head, petting you somewhat. You don’t mind.

“Yes, I just…” you bite your lip. Wanda’s hand pauses, and you quickly speak, your chest tight and full of nerves. “You’re a really good friend and my neighbor and I don’t want to mess anything up or-”

Wanda‘s hand moves from the top of your head to cover your mouth, and you hear a shushing sound. Her other hand is slowly moving down your back, warmth spreading through your backside as she moves to caress your ass, your back arching into the touch. “Don’t worry about that sweetheart, don’t you want this?”

You stutter, nodding against her hand as your words are muffled.

“Good, because I want this too,” Wanda murmurs, and you feel a smile forming on your lips as your heart soars. She wants this too? You’ve felt so much guilt over the past few weeks, blushing when you catch her gaze and then going home to read the book and pretend you’re not imagining Wanda as the dominatrix while you read.

“Say it,” Wanda commands, her voice different. Her hand finally moves away from your lips, returning to your upper back, keeping you in place. She sounds strict, and you squirm at the words.

“I want this,” you whisper.

“Louder.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, grinding your hips into her thighs before you freeze, your eyes wide.

Wanda chuckles lowly. “You must really want this if you’re chasing your pleasure while bent over my lap. Say it, darling. I need to hear the words before I continue.”

You can’t speak, your heartbeat pounding in your ears as you listen to her. It’s already too much, your heart is overjoyed and relieved at the same time. Your thighs are slightly slick, your arousal leaking through your underwear and smearing over your sensitive skin. You pray that Wanda can't smell it.

“I want this.” A part of you hopes that your voice is strong, your conviction shining through your evident arousal. Instead, the words are shaky, your voice trembling with need.

“Good girl.”

Before you can react to the praise, a moan slipping past your lips, the air behind you changes. The book hits your ass, the solid hardcover sending an ache of pain directly to your throbbing pussy.

Your body jolts forward, your thoughts quieting in an instant. Wanda brings the book down again and again, hitting the backs of your thighs gently before increasing her force as she watches your ass jiggle from the impact. You’re a squirming, whining mess on her lap, your upper body restrained by her hand between your shoulder blades, the couch leaving indents in your cheek as you arch your back further into her touch.

It’s everything Wanda had imagined. She wants more. She wants you to beg her, to present yourself to her, to… to take everything she gives you without complaint. Your submission, your pleasure, your pain. She wants it all.

“Look at me,” Wanda says, her voice low as she tugs on your hair.

Gasping, you feel pain radiating into your skull, her fingers unrelenting as she wrenches your head back. You let out a small whimper as you meet her gaze, and she loosens her hold slightly, her fingers scratching your head in an almost apology.

“What do you want?” Wanda asks, her voice soft. She drops the book behind you, the hardcover landing with a thud. Your ass is on fire, and she begins to knead her hand into it, squeezing as you whine.

“Um,” you pant out, arching your back and pressing your ass further into her hand. You feel shame coursing through you in tandem with your burning arousal. The humiliation only sends your mind further into the vanilla-tinged fuzziness you’ve slowly been sinking into. “I want you to… fuck. Um, I want you-”

“Speak up.”

Wanda’s voice is hard, and her hand comes down on your ass harshly. Your body jolts forward at the unexpected impact, and you suppress a moan. You weren’t used to this, the image of Wanda as your nice, friendly neighbor clashing with this new, dominant persona of hers. It’s not that you didn’t like it, but your pussy was uncomfortably wet, and the ache between your thighs could only be soothed by one thing. Wanda.

“I need you, Wanda, please make me feel good,” you say, the words spewing from you as you grind your hips down against her thighs. It sounds more like a whine, your voice high-pitched as you plead, but it satisfies Wanda.

“Well,” Wanda is smiling as she releases your head, your chin hitting the couch as you suck in deep breaths. “Since you asked so politely…”

Her hands both move to your waistband, one curling under your stomach to undo the button and pull your zipper down while the other drags the fabric down your legs. She doesn’t bother to pull them fully off you, bunching them halfway down your calves.

Your skin burns where she touches you, your arousal thick in the air as her fingers roughly cup you. “Oh sweetheart, you needed this, didn’t you?”

Nodding, you bury your face in your arms, bucking back against her hand in search of some sort of relief. You’ve never felt this sort of burning need before, every fiber of your being focused on the way she feels against you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you,” Wanda murmurs, your brain processing the words as she peels the damp fabric of your panties down your thighs.

Holy fuck, you can feel the cool air against your throbbing center. Wanda’s fingers massage the area around your glistening sex, teasing you even while her chest heaves. She sucks in a few deep breaths, her fingers inching closer to your throbbing clit.

“You sound so pretty,” Wanda murmurs, seemingly lost in a sort of trance as she watches her fingers collect your arousal. You’re whining beneath her, your hips squirming and bucking into her touch, and she feels her head spin with the rush of power she feels. This is everything she wanted from the moment she saw you, and now, she’s finally taking what’s hers.

When her fingers finally slide into you, it feels like absolute heaven. They curl perfectly, hitting your most sensitive spot as you moan into the couch cushion. Your clit throbs needily as Wanda slowly pumps her fingers deeper, your arousal coating her fingers.

“I have an idea,” Wanda says, her words slightly jarring.

“Mmmphhh,” you manage, forcing your brain to focus on her words while her fingers curl deep inside you. It’s humiliating to feel your pleasure rising as she fucks you, her fingers working you up while she speaks in a casual, conversational tone.

“We’re going to read every chapter together from now on,” Wanda begins, smiling as she watches your body. Your hips are bucking against her, your back arched. “And I’m going to demonstrate everything that happens, just so you’re able to truly understand the text.”

Wanda bends down, her lips against your ear as she speaks. “That means, darling, if Eliza fucks our main character until she passes out, I’ll be fucking you until you pass out. Understand?”

You wish you could explain the sound that tore from your lips at her words. It was something between a moan and an animalistic growl, but either way, Wanda moaned in response as she moved her fingers faster.

It was rough, her fingers pulling all the way out before slamming back into you. This side of Wanda is nothing you’ve ever seen before, and it makes you wetter than you’ve ever been. The image of your perfect neighbor and her warm smiles clashes with the harsh, unforgiving pace Wanda sets as she fucks you.

“Please,” you gasp out finally finding your voice as your fingers scrabble for purchase on the couch. You need leverage, your body limp and pliable over Wanda’s lap as she manipulates your pleasure to her satisfaction.

“Not yet,” Wanda mutters, her other hand grasping the back of your neck tightly. Before you can properly understand what’s happening, her fingers pull out roughly as she tightens her hold on the back of your neck, pulling you backward.

Your head hits the arm of the couch, Wanda’s frame looking over you before she adjusts your body, nudging your legs open with her shoulders and settling between your legs. It’s overwhelming, your hands finding purchase on her head and tangling with her hair as she sucks hickeys around your hips.

One of Wanda’s hands creeps up your stomach, sliding under your shirt and bra to grasp your breast tightly, her fingers brushing over your hard nipple.

That is the moment that you lose all sense of dignity.

“Fuck me, Wanda,” you plead, gripping her hair tightly as she moans. Her lips are near your belly button, her green eyes dark as she looks up at your wanton expression. Her fingers cruelly twist your nipple, your hips jerking up against her at the action.

“A masochist, hm?” Wanda says, her voice teasing as you nod frantically. “Perfect. You’re absolutely perfect, darling.”

Slowly, those sinfully full lips kiss down your stomach, ghosting over your clit before Wanda drags her tongue through your folds. She moans at the taste of your arousal, her chin instantly soaked.

Your hips buck up frantically, your heartbeat erratic as you chase your pleasure. You need her tongue, her fingers, anything.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” Wanda murmurs, and you believe her. After all, she’s been taking care of you this entire time, with her homemade meals and soft smiles. You remember all of the times she invited you over to play with the twins, and her smile when you arrived at the first book club meeting. Wanda had always taken care of you, and this was no expectation.

Wanda isn’t gentle, her fingers gripping your hips tightly as she pins you down. You’re too far gone to control your body, your hips bucking and thrashing under her grip as she eats you out with fervor, Your poor little clit throbs under her tongue, whines and moans streaming from your lips when she finally wraps her lips around it and sucks.

“Oh, Wanda,” you plead, pressing her head further against you before her hand shoots out to grab your wrists, pinning them against your stomach. “Please, I need you. I’ve wanted this for so long, just… please make me cum. Oh, I’ll do anything. Just make me yours.”

Well, Wanda can’t say no to that request.

“That’s right, honey,” she coos, licking your clit as you jolt beneath her. “You’re mine. You have been ever since I first laid eyes on you. Say it... Say it and I’ll let you cum all over my tongue. Don’t you want that?”

Fuck yes, you want that.

“I’m yours.”

The orgasm that washes over you is more intense than anything you’ve ever experienced. Every sensation is heightened, Wanda’s perfume permeating your senses as her soft hair tickles your inner thighs, her fingers bruising your hips as her tongue and lips stimulate your most sensitive parts.

She’s relentless, coaxing your pleasure out with every swipe of her tongue, her moans sending vibrations through your oversensitive core. Her hand squeezes your breast, your nipple trapped helplessly between her fingers as you jerk and thrash beneath her.

A second, smaller orgasm slowly crests, pleasure washing over you as you begin to feel your muscles ache. Your hands weakly push against Wanda’s head, her tongue sliding through your folds one last time before she looks up at you, your clit throbbing with pleasure from your orgasms.

“Wow, I-” you begin, breathless as you relax into the couch cushions, your body feeling weightless.

Chuckling, Wanda sits up, wiping her chin and lips with the back of her hand. She pulls you up with her, your body molding against hers as you lean into her side, your head resting against her shoulder.

The scent of your arousal is thick in the air, your heavy breathing filling the silence as you recover. Wanda lets out a satisfied hum, her hand once again making its way to your bare thigh, her fingers squeezing. This time, the action is comforting and possessive.

“Perfect,” Wanda murmurs, and you nod your head.

“Yes,” you say, smiling at her. “You are.”

Wanda picks up the book from earlier, smoothing out the slightly crumpled page, her face flushed and green eyes bright as she rakes her gaze across your spent body. Her pupils dilate again, your clit throbbing at the look in her eyes.

“We’re not done with the chapter yet, darling.”

---

Dm or comment to be added!

Taglist: @alexawynters @msvenablesbitch @marilynthornhilllover @lifespectator @milkeeteaa @imnotawitch @marvels--slut @justabrokensunshine @dorabledewdroop @wandsmxmff @esposadejoyhuerta @captivepotato @justarandomreaderxoxo @godhatesgoodgirls @snowdrop1026 @maximoffmorale @noturlondonboy @wandaspuppy @xenaizogie @imjustvibingsworld @tobiaslut @subby-lesbian @xenaizogie @sxlfishbrokenheart @huggingkoalas @deliriosinrose @godhatesgoodgirls @yeetus-thyself @wizardofstories @wandastan-2 @undercoversoftie @the-ox-fan20

2K notes · View notes

buckyschair · 2 months ago

Text

ILLICIT AFFAIRS

Pairing: Azriel x fem!reader

Summary: On a dreaded visit to the Hewn City, Azriel finds more than he bargained for. It’s only fitting that when your wildest fantasies come true in a land of nightmares, it's with a forbidden visitor rather than your own husband… After all, who could be a better affair partner than the master of spies?

A/N: Cheating is wrong! But aesthetically? It’s so rich! Can you tell I’ve been listening to ‘Scotty Doesn’t Know' on repeat? And thanks to other songs like ‘Ivy’ and ‘Illicit Affairs’, an illicit relationship just sounded sexy and sad! So here’s a messy little story about cheating WITH Azriel. Let me know what you think of the reader character, I tried to make her unlikeable at first but then I became sympathetic to her so idk where we ended up.

Content Warnings: 18+ only, smut, cheating, alcohol, female reader, shitty unnamed husband (not physically abusive), slight dom/bdsm overtones, casual shadow bondage, thigh riding, oral M receiving, PIV sex (no protection bc they are faeries and this is fiction, but put on your mental magic condom if you must), gross liberties taken with whatever’s going on with the Hewn City, no use of Y/N

Word Count: 7.6k

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Next part

✸✸✸

Wine. A warm bath. Silk sheets.

“Did you see her shoes? With that jewelry?”

Your sapphire hand mirror. A lobster bisque. The perfect shade of red lipstick.

“Oh, did I see them? They practically assaulted me the moment I walked into the hall!”

You took a sharp breath, and continued to block your surroundings with mental images. A massage. The look on your husband’s face when he sees you chatting with another male–

“She has no shame.”

You snorted, abruptly disguising it with a cough. The two ladies looked at you with barely concealed disdain, clearly not convinced by your weak cover up. You schooled your features into a cool mask once more as they drifted away through the throng of guests.

Well then, so much for keeping yourself entertained during this dull gala. You had a pretty pathetic collage of curios to distract yourself with. The concepts were a flimsy screen between you and the stale evening ahead; monotony at its worst.

You’d rather be anywhere but here.

A foolish thought, you realized, given that you’d never been anywhere but here, except for brief diplomatic visits with your husband. Those were always awfully dull, your every movement watched and examined out of suspicion. You couldn’t blame your hosts. After all, you were from the Night Court, spawn of the worst bastards of Prythian.

No shame! You recalled the gossiping courtiers. Now who were they to judge someone for having no shame, when they were here gossiping in front of the Mother and everyone? And in equally appalling finery, no less! One of the two females was actually trying to get away with a bright orange dress. You sighed, almost pitying her for her sorry attempt.

But this was the Hewn City, at the heart of the Court of Nightmares, as it was deemed in hushed whispers. There wasn’t enough air here to waste it on pity.

Faeries of all kinds waltzed and chattered around the ballroom before empty thrones. Gaudy gowns and coats and heels and stoles– was that fur? Mother help us– blurred together as you took in the choked crowd. The decadent buffet? Untouched. The sparkling beverages? Much indulged. Such was typical.

What was the purpose of this event? You couldn’t quite recall. They were endless, these damned things.

What an odious affair. You’d been playing a game in your mind, to keep yourself from going mad. The goal was to picture all your favorite things, everything that brought you solace, and to try and hold them all in your mind at once.

Pointless, you chided yourself. It hadn’t stopped you from being disturbed by the insidious chatter of fellow partygoers. Despite the pleasant premise of the mental game, the montage left a bad taste in your mouth.

You had pictured everything that you looked forward to, and it had all taken up so little space. The game was ended so quickly. Your lips pursed, your good mood gone sour. You blamed the two females for interrupting your train of thought. They’d ruined your concentration, that was it.

You needed a drink. Your glass had been empty for far too long, you noted with displeasure.

Where was your husband anyways? He’d gone off for refreshments a while ago. Probably mixing with the elite, making sure his face was seen. He fancied himself a real big player in the court's inner workings, but you sincerely doubted it. Unfortunately, as the one he fucked most frequently for a number of years there, you knew firsthand how his ego was built on fantasy.

How long had he left you alone here? You couldn’t say. You weren’t exactly minding his absence. Temporary bliss was still bliss, you mused, resolving to find some real entertainment. You clicked your tongue once in distaste before gliding away from the pillar where you’d been camped out for the majority of the function.

Your husband always laughed at how you admired the fabrication of the city. But you couldn’t resist it. The pillar behind you was one of your favorites. Carved of dark stone, hordes of twisting figures decorating its face. They appeared to be in agony at first glance. A closer look revealed that they were in fact artfully engaged in all kinds of fornication. If only all pain could be turned into pleasure as easily as carving ebony.

Fuck, if you weren’t in a philosophical mood this evening. Sober, too.

Your husband was nowhere to be seen, a small mercy. He always hated your moods. You couldn’t blame him, you supposed, but you did regardless.

Right as you made it to a servant with a decanter of amber liquid, the room fell into an uncharacteristic hush. Your fingers plucked a full glass before you turned to scan the room for the cause.

Your eyes fell on the figures advancing from the center of the room as if they’d just appeared there. But of course, they had.

You scolded yourself as you glimpse the High Lord and his entourage.

Of course! How could you have forgotten? After all, that was why your husband had been so insistent on your attending tonight. The High Lord had specifically requested this event be thrown to honor… shit. Something. They did so many of these meaningless parties, often without any real reason, other than to show off that they could.

Your attention turned fully to the newcomers. They cut quite a fine figure. You understood why they caused the room’s collective breath to catch.

A subtle movement to the right of the High Lord grabbed your eye. You couldn’t help your own sharp intake of breath as you noticed the shadows flickering around the imposing Illyrian. In his leathers and simmering blue siphons, there was no mistaking him. It was the shadowsinger.

A thrill escaped down your spine at the realization. You’d heard hushed whispers about the High Lord’s spymaster, but you hadn’t known that he would be here tonight. His menacing quiet was unnerving. It was no wonder that rumor spoke of a seething rage masked by his calm demeanor. He never visited the city under the mountain these days. You wondered absently what he was doing here now.

He held himself with precision, a weapon at the right hand of his Lord. His wings were folded tightly, but it did little to hide their looming presence. The horns hovering over his shoulders only added to his threatening presence. Beneath his wings, his broad shoulders were relaxed, his demeanor casual as he strolled with cool power to stand beside the throne. Once stationed, he crossed his arms, his muscles emphasized with little effort. Fuck. What you wouldn’t do to feel them over you.

Irritation simmered across your chest as your husband sidled up to you, your budding fantasy shattered.

He didn’t so much as look at you as he shoved a glass in your direction. You received it with equal affection, now awkwardly holding two glasses. His attention rested fully on the group by the throne. What an ass.

The perfume on his coat was a scent you would never choose for yourself; it was far too sweet for your tastes. Your nose curled unconsciously– not at his infidelity, but at his poor taste. You hoped he would never buy you a similar perfume. Let him enjoy it on some other tramp.

As it was now, his lust was focused on the conversation at the head of the room. The Steward, Keir, motioned to your husband, and incidentally you, as he spoke to his Lord.

You felt your husband’s excitement, and you were certain it was evident to the blind and the dead as well. You sighed, resigned to the lack of tact that sullied his political sensibilities. He’d been gifted a hunger for power, without the typical tact for courting it. Shameless, the word flashed again in your mind. Yet, you couldn’t deny that he’d secured a decent knowledge of the court’s security in his current position under Keir.

He practically skipped when the Steward gestured for him, and you followed with a more metered step after passing your now-empty drinks off to a nearby attendant with a grimace. Despite your efforts, you knew that dignity was not something you could afford to value in this court. Still, you kept your chin up as you followed your male counterpart, straining at the stifling society. You drowned out his obsequious remarks as introductions were made between the males.

You wished the female one was here, the Morrigan. She made your blood freeze, but you preferred her cool disdain to the slimy males before you. You swallowed your irritation, keeping your face neutral as meetings were arranged.

To cool your mounting headache, you entertained yourself by taking in the shadowsinger out of the corner of your eye. A scant glance rewarded you with a stunning image of the male, who was intently focused on the conversation at hand. His handsome features were darkened with swirling shadows.

He was even better up close. You’d lost count of the instances where you’d caught a pleasant figure across the room only to be disappointed upon closer inspection. But this male was a specimen, indeed.

His dark brows trailed into a strong nose, his strong jaw upheld by a sturdy throat, one that you’d love to sink your teeth into. His hands were thick and scarred. You pictured what they could do to you, how meticulously they could pick you apart, stroke by savage stroke. The tough material of his leathers was snug in all the right places, tight around his massive thighs. Your thoughts erupted with fantasy at the details of his statuesque figure.

What held your attention the most, though, were his eyes. You would expect them to be dark, shadowy. Yet they were a rich amber, and startlingly bright. You flicked your gaze away quickly, but their burn lingered in your ears as if he’d caught your stare outright.

It was a pity he was just standing there. You wondered absently how you could cause a distraction, maybe fainting or starting a fight so you could see him in action. Your fantasies were interrupted as the conversation wrapped up, your husband butchering platitudes that he surely thought charming. You avoided choking on your disdain, but only narrowly.

As you walked away, Azriel released a deep breath. Cassian cleared his throat, a shit eating grin lurking beneath his cool features.

You’d kept your face perfectly pleasant throughout the whole interaction, not so much as a twitch to betray your insidious thoughts. But far be it from you to maintain propriety in the presumed privacy of your own mind...

Little did you know how loud your thoughts were. You couldn’t have hidden them, not from the present company, even if you’d known you ought to. Your thoughts were written in your skin, in your scent, hidden to most, but obvious to the High Lord’s elite.

“Well, well, Azriel. It’s just irresponsible for you to torture our citizens like that,” Rhys teased his brother as you walked out of earshot, oblivious to the three pairs of eyes taking in your generous retreating figure.

“I thought I was going to hurl if she didn’t stop undressing you with her eyes,” Cass drawled, fluttering his lashes in a dramatic imitation.

Azriel just snorted and shook his head.

“Hey Rhys, remember when Azriel was just a fledgling and couldn’t get any?”

“You mean yesterday? Yes,” Rhys responded with equal humor. “Since when was he the most fuckable?”

“Jealous, much?” Azriel cut in before Cass could continue the vulgar jokes.

“You could do worse,” Rhys said suggestively, amusement playing underneath his carefully arranged expression.

Azriel hummed. “I think I’d better do some recon later tonight, what do you think?” The boys grinned at that, Cassian hiding his snicker from the room behind his hand.

It was easy for Azriel to take their jeering in good humor when his ego had been rubbed just right by your attention. His eyes found you again in the crowd, your figure filling out your dress in a way that was downright sinful. He couldn’t wait for this damned event to be over.

✸✸✸

Your husband, the idiot that he was, wasn’t a fool. So, he had Azriel’s room heavily guarded and warded that evening.

Which was exactly why Azriel found it so simple to steal his way into your quarters, with the guards conveniently occupied elsewhere.

The dark was especially thick as he crept down the halls of the Hewn City’s elite. He hated to spend a night here, wasted in the dank underbelly of a mountain. The event had passed without incident, if only barely. It was only a thinning scrap of discipline that kept him from lashing out at Keir. His greasy tone had Azriel’s fist curling around Truthsinger all night. If he was being honest, it was only his respect for Mor’s claim on her own father’s life that held his blade.

That blade stayed sheathed even now, as he slipped soundlessly into your dwelling. It was almost insulting how easily the wards and locks were bypassed.

Azriel found you exactly where his shadows had anticipated, curled up on a cushioned chair in front of a roaring fireplace. A needless extravagance, given the magic that heated the whole city.

You were still in your dress from the ball, edible as ever, and your hair has been let down. His eyes trailed the mussed locks around your throat as you swallowed a mouthful from a crystal cut glass. You set your drink down on the low table beside you.

His silent steps faltered as he spotted a second glass, lightly sweating in the warm air. Was your husband home after all?

As his shadows moved soundlessly to canvas the apartment, you paused with your hand still on your drink.

It took every inch of Azriel’s discipline to keep his composure as you turned to face him. He shuddered at the sparks roiling in your expression.

You'd been expecting him.

“It’s considered polite to knock, you know,” you stated. He was frozen, pinned under your unexpected gaze. Your eyes raked over his tall figure, drinking him in with barely concealed desire. His fingers twitched.

“And it’s impolite to stare,” he shot back.

You smiled at that, teeth glowing sharp in the firelight.

“Touché.”

He drifted further into the room, his shadows skirting around the perimeter, flanking you as he approached. The fire dampened at his power permeating the air. You didn’t even bother pretending to flinch.

“Have a drink with me,” you invited, unperturbed. “Or would that be improper, too?”

In reply, Azriel grabbed the spare glass, and knocked it back in one smooth motion. When he set it down, two of his digits stroked the delicate rim gratuitously, his eyes never leaving yours. He snagged your drink from under your fingers and perched above you on the arm of your chair, dauntless as ever.

He was playing a dangerous game, stealing what wasn’t his.

“We weren’t introduced,” he began casually as he stared down at you.

“Oh?”

“I saw you earlier tonight,” he said, his syllables crisp. “Typically, someone might introduce their spouse to the High Lord and his retinue.”

“Ah,” you said, understanding. “He’s had so much on his mind,” you excused your husband’s lapse in manners with a dismissive wave of your hand. He was many things, but you could never claim him to be poorly mannered. At least not outside the home.

“Is that what you are to him?” came the reply. “An afterthought?”

Your silence was answer enough.

He continued, menacingly, “I can’t understand that. I could hardly think of anything else all evening, with you there, and in this outfit.” His eyes bored into your soul, his blunt words making you blush. Not out of embarrassment, but in exhilaration.

“I can’t say I understand him, either.” You were annoyed at the topic, this was not what you’d expected to talk about with the gorgeous male towering above you. In fact, talking had little to do with your hopes for the evening…

“And where is he tonight?” Azriel pressed. The question was unexpected.

“Privacy is one of the few luxuries I have,” you whispered seductively.

The shadowsinger scoffed at that, eying the expensive interior where you sat.

“I doubt that.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” He levelled you with a look, and waited patiently for a real answer. You swallowed, deciding your pride should learn to live with the truth. “I don’t know where he is. Well, I know the answer is someone’s bed, certainly. But where? With who? I don’t ask anymore,” you admitted.

Azriel nodded. He wasn’t judging you, you realized. He was just gathering information, calculating. His eyes narrowed as his contemplation clicked.

“So what I’m hearing is that it wouldn’t be terribly untoward, all things considered, if I fucked you in his bed?”

You gasped at his ugly words, even as they sent a shudder straight to your core. His responding smile was a wicked thing, dripping with dark promise.

“I saw how you looked at me this evening.” He dipped his head to speak lowly in your ear. “You were practically begging for this.”

His lips brushed the sensitive shell of your ear as he sat back. Your breaths were dangerously uneven now, your heart was in a riot under your ribs. He looked intimidating above you, the firelight painting him in aggressive shades of crimson. Yet his eyes were like syrup, enticing amber pools oozing with arousal. Dimly, you registered him set his drink aside.

“What are you going to do about it?” you breathed, hardly trusting your voice.

His hand came to cup your jaw roughly, his thumb caressing your bottom lip.

“What would you have me do?” he countered.

“Kiss me.”

At that, he launched forward to capture your face fully, his mouth meeting yours in a furious kiss. You tasted your husband’s best whiskey on his mouth, and you moaned sinfully at the flavor. He took the opportunity to explore your mouth with his warm tongue. His heady taste ignited a hunger low in your gut. He was unraveling you with precision, your teeth scraping against him messily.

As he moaned your name, you grinned. You weren’t sure if he’d remember you, after all, but you’d certainly hoped.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he groaned against your mouth.

“How long has it been?”

“Centuries? At least,” he guessed.

Memories flooded you, unbidden, as his rough jaw worked yours, your moans mingling in the hot room.

He’d been fully grown the last time you’d seen him, of course, but somehow he seemed more mature now.

It had been a brief encounter, but pleasurable, when you’d befriended the Illyrian ages ago, in the calamity of your youth. You’d never gotten too close to him, you doubted his brothers even knew about you. You were neither of each other’s firsts, but he was certainly a highlight in your sexual history, you now realized with chagrin.

“You’ve made out well,” he said roguishly.

“What?” you muttered, confused, before you saw how he was glancing around the place, noting the plush rugs and fine ornaments. “Oh, yeah. They managed to marry me off advantageously after all. It’s cushy,” you shrugged.

“Impressive work,” he deadpanned.

“Yeah, well we can’t all be blessed with ungodly strength and good looks.”

You were shocked when he laughed at your playfulness. You couldn’t recall his grim face laughing, but as you saw it, it felt right on him. Perhaps you’d erased the image. Or maybe he was simply different now.

“Are you calling me handsome?” he flirted lowly, his lips brushing your cheek, as he grinned mischievously.

“I’m not going to be calling you anything if you keep sitting on your ass! I heard you were watching me all night, and I asked you to do something about it,” you huffed. You were floored that he’d noticed you, that he’d remembered you.

He growled and kissed you again quickly before pulling you up. You went to lead him to your bedroom, but you didn't make it very far before he had your back pressed against the wall. His kiss was bruising, like he couldn’t believe it was really you, and he needed to make sure. It was a strange sensation, to have an unrecognized dream be realized so viscerally, to be entangled with him again.

Only when your lungs were screaming for air did he pull back; he was as insatiable as you remember. Your breaths came in heavy pants as he held you firmly against the wall of your husband’s living room.

His leg pressed into your clothed center, and you whined noisily at the contact. His pupils dilated, and he pressed his leg more firmly against your core. Your hands tangled in his hair, and you tugged tightly at his scalp as you felt the pressure right where you needed it.

“If you do that, I'm going to finish right here,” he growled. His words only thickened the pulse that was building low in your abdomen.

Effortlessly, he removed your hands from his sensitive scalp and pinned them above your head with his shadows. The position pressed you close to his chest, trapped by his firm body. Your breasts brushed his front, the contact riveting.

He softened his harsh actions by placing warm open mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. It was torturous, his teeth scraping over your pulse point.

“Now,” he purred, “are you going to be a good girl and do as I say?”

At the moment, you couldn’t imagine doing anything other than his bidding, entranced as you were by his actions.

“Yes,” you promised.

“I knew you were smart. On your knees for me, angel.”

He released your hip with a gentle tap. You slid down the wall, your arms still bound above you. He caught your wrists as you kneeled, using them to press you against the wall with one hand. The position wasn’t comfortable, but you paid no mind as you made eye contact with his straining leathers.

You leaned forward to nuzzle the outline of his cock beneath his clothes, mouthing over his tip. He shuddered, his fist tightening on your wrist.

“Please,” you slurred into him. Your lips continued working along his clothed member.

“Fuck. Listen to you beg for it,” he groaned, his pelvis shifting towards your face involuntarily. He deftly undid his belt, popping it open with one hand. The action was erotic. His nimble fingers made quick work of his leathers.

When he finally uncovered himself, you moaned at the sight. Consistent with the rest of his anatomy, he was impressive.

A particularly thick vein had your mouth watering in anticipation. You parted your lips, your tongue falling open, ready for him. He was pretty, and you loved to take pretty things and make them your own.

He eased his thick head onto your waiting tongue, and groaned deeply at the contact. Your warm mouth was an instant ease to the tension in his head, replacing its pain with a delicious coil in his abdomen. His wings shivered, falling limp as you took him deeper.

His taste was intoxicating, salty and thick. You breathed through your nose, looking up at him through your lashes as you drooled around his girth. One of his hands was braced against the wall, his expression simmering with torment. As your watery eyes met, he moaned at the sight of you crouched under him in your gloriously disheveled state.

“Fuck, look at you taking me so well. Right where he could walk in and see,” Azriel sighed.

Your eyes widened at his words. Your cunt throbbed at his obscene comments and you whined.

“Do you like that? Being such a slut for me?” he laughed, the sound thick with need.

He moaned again as you began to tongue his length. You traced his thick veins generously before you began to bob your head. Your pulse felt heavy under the pressure of his grip on your hands, pinned to the wall. His hips stuttered as you found a rhythm with your mouth.

When you pulled off a bit to give special attention to his weeping tip, sucking gently, his free hand came to hold your hair. He shushed your startled noises as he pressed you further onto him. You frantically swallowed, choking as he forced himself down your throat. He held you there for a moment before he began to pump himself into your mouth.

Gagging at his size, you breathed through your nose in time with his slow thrusts. He groaned, the noise landing painfully in your soaked core. You whined, and the vibration around his girth made him hiss.

“You look fucking divine on your knees like this,” he praised haltingly. “Doing so well, angel.”

If your mouth wasn’t occupied, you would have told him how divine he looked too. Even fully dressed, with just his fly popped open, he looked like a walking vice, every inch an indulgence. His hair was tousled from where you’d raked your fingers through it, and his expression was just as unkempt. The labored look on his face was beautiful, even as the pleasure was so depraved.

He was a practical stranger, and you were sucking him off in your husband's hallway. The priceless carpets would be soaked by the time you were through.

You relaxed your jaw further, trying to take more of him down your throat. One erratic movement, and your teeth scraped his shaft lightly.

He hissed, pulling you off of him abruptly.

“Shit,” he panted. He didn’t sound mad, yet he looked fierce with a sick appetite.

You tongued his flushed head, apologetic. “Let me finish, I can do it,” you rasped.

“I know you can, baby,” he assured you, “Fuck, trust me, I know.”

You attempted to lean in for him again, and cried when he held you back. You looked up at him, tears streaking your cheeks. He ran a thumb under your eyes before pressing his thumb to your lips. You sucked him in eagerly, sighing at the slight gratification, teething brattily at his fingernail. His abdomen spasmed at the sight of you so worked up over tasting him.

“Did my cock make you stupid?” he cooed. “No need to beg, baby, I’ve got other plans for us.”

He pulled you up, kissing you languidly as you pressed against him. Your hip dug into his arousal, sending fresh pleasure through him. He licked the spit from your jaw, moaning at the pure eroticism.

“Want to show me your bed, baby? I promise I'll make it worth your while,” he touted, and his eyes shone deliciously with depravity.

You grabbed his hand and pulled him along into your lavish bedroom. When you arrived, you twirled around dramatically to gesture at the room, ever the tasteful hostess.

“As promised…” you present the intimate room. The sapphires on your favorite hand mirror winked at you from your nightstand as you led him towards the silk cushions.

He hummed in appreciation, pausing to pretend to take in the interior. You blushed, even though you had nothing to hide. Suddenly, you felt vulnerable having him here.

Finally, his eyes fell to you standing in invitation before him, next to your bed, which was perfectly built for two. His sensual stare sent a rush through you, reigniting your excitement at the delicious affair.

He brought his hand to brush your hair back, grasping at your scalp. The agonizing male pulled you towards him. His kiss was relaxed this time, his hot tongue meeting yours in a gentle caress. His other hand skimmed your side, exploring from your waist to your hip with infuriatingly gentle motions.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to enter a daydream: that this was your life. You imagined that his strong, steadying grip was a real embrace. Maybe you’d have stumbled home together after another horrible event, and the whole way you’d both have mocked the ridiculous room full of ridiculous people until they were nothing but a ridiculous memory. He would kiss away the dullness until your soul was brilliant and shining again.

Suddenly, you were horrified to feel your eyes thickening with tears.

“Don’t be gentle with me,” you urged him.

“Need me that badly?” he tried to tease, but his voice was thick with lust. When he reconnected your mouths, his grip was crushing, his teeth grazing your bottom lip in his desperation.

Despite your wet eyes, you hadn’t really been sad. You’d been empty, absent from your own life. You didn’t need his pity. You needed his fire, a living coal to stoke your own with.

Here you were in all your wealth, trapped, and embarrassed by your barren, threadbare life. Not even sheets of the highest thread count could cover the rags and shambles of your existence. You were ravenous, you realized, for something to make you feel alive.

And here Azriel was, like a vision from a different lifetime, kissing you senseless like it was his secret mission all along.

“I’ve been waiting to do this all night,” he murmured against you. Before you could question his meaning, he was slipping the straps of your dress down your shoulders, his mouth following to taste your freshly exposed skin.

As your dress pooled around your feet, his growl filled the room with pitch black energy. As his eyes darkened at your nude form, you thanked the Mother that you’d foregone undergarments.

“Did you know? Did you know that I was going to be there tonight when you put this on?” he breathed, teasing sensually.

You debated lying, but thought better of it. “No,” you confessed.

He whistled shortly, “I’m just that lucky.”

He grinned at you before attaching his mouth to your naked flash, his teeth scraping the sensitive flesh of your nipple.

“You’re perfect,” he remarked between sloppy kisses to your chest.

You flushed impossibly, floored by his attentions. His soft mouth was expertly working your tits, biting lightly and harshly licking, while his rough hands explored your backside. It felt dangerously like worship, even as he consumed you for his own satisfaction. The ecstasy was twisted; you’d had no idea he was even in your city when you’d dressed for the dreaded evening out with your husband.

“On the bed,” he commanded, spit shining on his chin when he rose finally from your chest.

You fell back against it, shamelessly watching as he unfastened the straps of his leathers in a torturous spectacle.

“You’re gorgeous,” you whispered, half to yourself. His wings twitched at that. Pride surged through him as he finally removed the last of his clothing, easy work courtesy of his hastily redone pants. His thick cock slapped to attention at his stomach. Your chest was rising rapidly from your position against the pillows. You looked so comfortable, so enticing.

“You’re one to talk,” he flirted. You reached for him, intending him to join you. Instead he sat on the edge of the cushion, tantalizingly out of reach.

“Can you keep your hands to yourself?”

No, you thought.

“Yes,” you lied aloud.

His eyes narrowed. Shadows crept from his shoulders to slither up your form. You shivered at their featherlight touch caressing your form.

When you moved your hand to play with them, you gasped, finding your limbs restrained again under their power. Your arms were above your head, and your legs spread open under you.

“That’s what you get for lying," Azriel shared sympathetically, as if he wasn’t the one controlling them. You pouted and he clucked placatingly, his hand caressing your ankle. Was he ever going to let you touch him?

“Come here,” he cooed. He pulled you roughly onto his lap, so you were straddling one of his thick thighs. He kept your hands secured behind your back while his came to grip your hips, steadying you.

You whined as he flexed his rigid muscles under you. Sweat was already forming a thin sheen across your boiling flesh.

“You didn’t listen, and then you lied,” he listed. “You’re lucky I'm feeling generous tonight, I'm going to let you get yourself off here.”

Your jaw fell open at his words. What? Did he expect you to fuck yourself on his thigh?

“Well?” he prompted.

His hand gripping your hip moved to squeeze the flesh of your ass impatiently. Yet you didn’t move, testing him. You weren’t used to this, not getting what you wanted.

A crack rang through the room as he smacked your ass. You moaned at the sudden contact, pain flaring along with a sudden sense of urgency. Your hips started to move, slowly at first, then with more vigor as you gained the confidence to seek some friction.

“That’s it, good girl,” he cooed.

He watched you through heavy eyelids, your breasts bouncing right in his line of sight. When you glanced at his crotch, you saw the evidence of his desire prominently straining against his toned abs. It only fueled your fervor to see how you affected him.

You looked so fucked out above him, circling your hips desperately on his muscular thigh. His huge hands were secure on your waist to steady you, but he wasn’t actually helping. You grew frustrated, desperate for stimulation, the pressure not nearly enough to soothe the throbbing ache between your legs.

“Az, please.”

“Hmm?”

“Please touch me,” you begged.

He obliged, but again, not as you’d hoped. His tongue traced swirling patterns over your breasts, and one hand came up to palm them. The touch was maddening, only heightening your sensitivity. Your pussy was soaking his thigh, yet only his gaze deigned to touch your undulating hips.

“Not there,” you complained in a huff. It was infuriating to be clenching around empty space.

When he finally brought his rough fingers to your clit, you cried out in relief. Your hips stuttered as he rubbed tight circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Sweat dripped down your spine, muscles in your shoulders and thighs straining as you chased your bliss. Your moans crested as he pressed his textured fingers harshly against you. Right when your release was about to shatter you – his hands abruptly pulled away, forcing you to still your hips.

“Did I say you could come?”

His fingers left your form as he growled. You gasped, red faced and panting. The look on his face was predatory, lit with brazen lust.

“On the floor, on your knees.”

Dizzy with the broken orgasm, you obeyed awkwardly, his shadows still constricting your hands. The floor bit into your knees, the sting was a jarring sensation in contrast with the arousal that was dripping between your thighs. Despite your discomfort, you were determined to finish what you’d started earlier in the hallway.

When you leaned in to take his cock into your mouth, he gripped your throat roughly. Your mouth opened on reflex, but he held you there, just out of reach.

His other hand came to tug heavy strokes at his cock, right in front of your face. He moaned savagely, fixated on the sight of you slick and naked below him. Your back arched at nothing, frantically searching for some friction.

He looked like a god above you, his shadows swirling deliciously along his powerful form, his wings shaking with pleasure. His dark hair fell into his eyes, and stuck to his sweat-dampened forehead as he panted and pumped himself.

“I thought you said you were going to fuck me?” you said hoarsely, desperate.

You saw the challenge land when his molten eyes sharpened. His hand stilled.

“I don’t remember you being such a brat,” he growled, but his eyes gleamed wickedly.

He pulled you up for a kiss, his hands coming to play with your ass, massaging viciously. The dull ache between your legs throbbed at his hot touch.

“And I don’t remember you being such an ass,” you retorted, but your words lacked any real vitriol, eager as you were for his touch. He sensed it, and let your bratty words slide.

“I've missed that mouth almost as much as your tight pussy,” he purred devilishly, unfazed.

He must have meant it too, since two of his thick digits trailed between your legs while he spoke. There was a gleam in his eyes as he felt your slickness, and it wasn’t humility.

“So wet, baby,” he muttered. “All this for me?”

You whined and leaned into his shoulder, shuddering at the teasing stroke. His shadows slipped away from your wrists, leaving no discomfort save for your sore tendons.

Azriel tapped your ass once, his assured satisfaction putting him in a good humor.

“Up on the bed for me, angel,” he directed.

His command sent a shiver down your sweat chilled spine, the anticipation heating your skin. You mounted the bed, and he positioned you on your stomach. He pulled a pillow under your hips, kissing your shoulder tenderly. You shook with nerves. Your arousal was seeping down your legs. You’d been waiting for this since you’d seen his unmistakable physique striding through the crowd.

“That comfortable?” he asked, some care peaking through the haze of his lust.

“Yeah, that’s great.”

“Okay,” he said. “Let me know if I’m being too rough, yeah?”

You nodded eagerly, pressing your chest to the cushions to ease your ass back against him. The towering male ignored your spurring move, instead he pulled you up to your knees for a kiss.

You couldn’t be mad at him as he captured your lips so tenderly, even as he was unwilling to give you a moment of control. Your body was pulsing with a delicious heat, pressed against his chest, tasting spice and earth on his tongue.

The Illyrian’s soft lips were depraved, practically sucking at your teeth. His ferocity left you lightheaded, you were helpless under his power. His hard need against your lower back brought your mind to the matter at hand.

“Too scared to fuck me, huh, Az?” you taunted.

He bit your lip, snarling as you pressed your ass against his throbbing length.

“This your first time?” you mocked.

Azriel let out a humorless laugh at that.

“You’re trouble,” he hissed, grinding his cock against your lower back. You whined at the fiery contact, so close but so far from what you needed.

“You like trouble,” you grinned.

“I do,” he agreed.

With one last searing kiss, he pushed your shoulders down so that you came to rest on your forearms. He draped your legs over his thighs. The dips between your legs and pelvis burned as he brought your hips up to meet him where he kneeled.

He dragged his cock along your soaked folds, teasing you. He groaned deeply, the sound landing in your abdomen. Without warning he slammed into you. You bit the pillow deliriously to stifle your moan as he cursed.

“Shit. I forgot how perfect you were for me, baby,” he purred as you adjusted.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you cried.

He responded with another groan, and pulled out near fully to ram into you again. You clenched around him involuntarily.

“Fuck,” he moaned, “you’re gripping me like…” he trailed off into another deep groan, the sound vibrating like a shock through your flesh.

“Faster, Az,” you gasped.

Something in him snapped when you cried his name. The male began to pound you without restraint. His hands on your hips were sure to leave bruises, but you were far beyond care. His pace was relentless, gone berserk in his lust. His shadows leapt out, suddenly larger than life. The tendrils of shadow felt acutely like an audience, even pressed into the cushions you felt the heat of their attention.

“That's it, baby,” he growled. His praise made your flesh rise, a whine pitching from your heaving throat.

“Does he make you feel this good?” The question surprised you, as did the crooked thrill it sent through your teeth.

“No,” you confessed with a sigh. His resounding gasp died in a strangled moan as you clenched around him at his perverted words. Served him right, you thought, as he destroyed your insides.

“Say my name,” he commanded suddenly.

“Azriel!” You barely managed to voice it as you moaned wildly.

“Who’s making you feel this good, huh?” he taunted. “I want the whole city to know.”

You screamed his name as he pushed into you with a particularly punishing thrust. His cock scraped your walls agonizingly. It was addicting how he filled you so perfectly.

His hand came to press up on your lower stomach, and he groaned at the feeling of his cock filling your guts. The pressure had you bucking your hips onto him, chasing the feeling.

“Look at that,” he murmured, and you weren’t even sure if he intended you to hear. “You’re taking me so well.”

Long gone was the reserved male from the event this evening. He had been replaced by an insatiable double, just as dark but deliciously unrestrained.

The pillow beneath you was a useless anchor amidst the crashing waves of pleasure. Even with your eyes squeezed shut, your senses were a riot. The room filled with your tandem grunts and moans, and the scent of your sex laced the thick air. You felt his mouth on your spine, heat unfurling down your back, and your bones went unstrung under his hot touch.

The ache in your abdomen had erupted into an ecstatic pulse. Your pleasure mounted as the shadowsinger’s moans became breathier. His hips began to stutter, yet his pace was punishing as ever. He brought two thick fingers to rub fast circles on your throbbing clit as he hurtled towards his release.

“I’m gonna come,” he warned with a salacious whine.

He pulsed inside of you as his thrusts stilled abruptly. You couldn’t help but turn your head and watch as he came undone. It was as satisfying as your own bliss to witness his.

His eyes were shut tight in ecstasy while the rest of him slackened, his back arching involuntarily as he convulsed. You’d never seen something so jaw achingly erotic in all your days.

Amidst his orgasm, his coarse fingertips never paused their assault against your heat. You arched back onto him, the feeling of his aching member sending you into oblivion. The pressure of his expert hands paired with the erotic sight of him drunk off your core had your release shattering over you.

The waves of bliss that had been cresting slowly all evening crashed over you all at once in an undeniable blow. It had your body tensing and loosening all at once, your nerves on fire. He worked you through it as you cried, trembling beneath him.

When your fists eventually unclenched from the sheets, he came to an inevitable halt. He pulled out gingerly, mindful of your present state of hyper sensitivity.

He kissed your shoulder as he turned you over. He checked you for any damage, just like you were a comrade fallen in battle. You were utterly spent, but unharmed. The exhaustion was gratifying, a welcome ache from an evening much enjoyed.

“That was bliss,” you told him.

“Top shelf, for sure,” Azriel agreed, eyes still dancing over your naked form like he was committing it to memory.

His face was pleasantly unguarded as he spoke. Something suspiciously like a smile played on his swollen lips. The spymaster’s features were surprisingly easy, decompressed as he was in the aftermath of such cataclysmic delight.

You had been the perfect diversion for him, and he for you. True to form, he didn’t idle with you as you lounged, fully drained, in your rumpled sheets.

Azriel dressed efficiently, which is to say that you weren't yet prepared for his stunning body to disappear under his clothes, not so quickly. That was the thing about indulging a vice, these things were never meant to linger.

He stood next to your bed, suddenly assuming an air of professionalism, like you hadn’t just been screaming his name.

“If I'm ever in town again…” he began, tentatively.

“I’ll be here,” you laughed. You meant it humorously, but the words rang hollow in the empty air.

“Good,” he noted with satisfaction.

His words weren’t quite a promise. Still, the meager sentiment had something almost like hope flaring in your sunken chest. Darkness was wrapping itself thickly around his form, like he was gathering his things to leave.

He kissed you once more, slowly, as if he was memorizing the feeling of your mouth on his. And then he was gone, taking his shadows with him.

The sudden light of the room hurt your eyes. You blinked away the tears, swallowing the horror that rose at their arrival, bitter as bile. You sniffed once before snapping to work.

Within a few minutes, you’d erased every trace of your charmed evening.

The shadowinger hadn't left so much as a hair as a sign of his presence, and even the bed was cold again by the time you crawled under fresh sheets. Sleep came mercifully quick, surrendering you to a world of dreams.

✸✸✸

The next night, your husband was gone again, his dinner untouched on the long table where you'd carefully laid his place at the head.

Usually, on nights like these, you would relish the freedom of the empty home and set a fire in the hearth. It was a frivolous excess, but so was most of your life.

The fire was part of a game you played, where you would picture everything you hated, everything and everyone you wanted to see burn. Some nights, it soothed you to picture it, your personal apocalypse. Other nights, the warm flame felt like an insult, its wagging tongues mocking your petty, helpless game. Nights like those were the worst, the void more humiliating than any offense. They left you feeling vapid, foolish.

Tonight however, instead of your customary game at the hearth, you found yourself sitting alone in the wide expanse of your bed. You’d lit a solitary candle; not to banish the darkness, but to invite the soft shadows it spread. Their quiet company was a cold comfort to your heart, where a fragile, unfamiliar flame was just flickering to life.

A/N: Thanks for reading :) I can't for the life of me write a one shot so this might have to become a blurb-y little series of an unpredictable and torturous affair. Who better to have as an affair partner than this sexy spy? He’s big dicked and discreet– everything you need ... Re: ‘Scotty Doesn’t Know’ – "I did her on his birthday" is the *coldest* line and I feel like Azriel is a little shit on the down low and would get off on that... If you have scenarios in mind for future episodes, please send them my way ;)

Let me know what we think! And did the last sex position make sense?? I was struggling to explain it.

Next part

#ENJOYYY #this was SO JUICY AND FUN and kinda sad to write #im high key proud of this one #lmk if you want more >:))#my writing #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel angst #azriel smut #azriel x reader #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfic #azriel x female!reader #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #acotar #acotar smut #smut

605 notes · View notes

seelestia · 1 year ago

Text

✦ how can you tell? (of how easily i fall at your feet.)

⎯ oh, how love bleeds from just one gesture. ( some telltale signs that they might've fallen for you. )

#STARRING. neuvillette, wriothesley & lyney ft. gn!reader. { 2.4k words }

#TAGS. sfw, fluff & crack, major pining (!!!). more: neuvi has 1 extra part bcs i realized too late, wrio is a rascal /aff, lynette is a professional wingwoman here (everyone, applaud!!), mentions of various fontaine npc's.

#P/S. pardon my rusty writing and ideas but alas, may i entice you with some fontaine gentlemen on this fine day?? (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ) ੭

★ 〜 masterlist.

⎯ neuvillette's love is subtle, hidden behind a veil of formal courtesy. the iudex is the nation's symbol of impartiality; personal relationships, a common factor of inciting bias in one's judgement, are to be sifted through wisely. he can choose which he ends up keeping, yet he cannot choose which he ends up wanting. what of a relationship he desires but cannot keep? a conundrum but still, his affections for you seep through the crevices.

it's in the way. . . your name becomes a beloved among the melusines, you wonder why?

it goes without saying that every citizen of fontaine acknowledges melusines to be friendly creatures. all of them are sweethearts! ...but is it you or is there some form of hidden favoritism here?

for some reason, they always seem to go out of their ways to greet you on the streets. a “hello, mx. [name]!” from the right then a “good day, mx. [name]!” from the left. maybe a “stay safe, mx. [name]!” on days when it's crowded too... you're starting to think the quota of greetings you receive is much bigger than everyone else.

before long, even your arms are getting piled up with favors. one ticket for a seat in the opera epiclese from aeife, a slice of cake from sedene, some high-quality butter from muirne, a free beverage from menthe — you lost count of the freebies you've received already.

what's going on? it is as if there's a badge of approval from someone just hanging over your head. visible to a melusine's eyes, but not to yours. (you've heard that melusines perceive things differently than humans, though.)

but who are you to complain? you're not immune to their contagious smiles each time you pass by. on some days, you even entertain the thought that they are more familiar with you than you are with them. all in a humorous sense, of course.

ironically enough, this theory wouldn't take long to ring true: having received a bouquet of your favorite dessert from café lutece on your birthday from kiara, this coincidence only feeds into your suspicion even more.

a considerate gesture but surely, they don't do this for everyone? you don't recall ever telling your usual order and birthdate to a melusine before. your mind scrambles around for a memory you might've missed. who could've—

“oh, yes... i almost forgot,” kiara holds her chin in thought. “monsieur neuvillette says to send you his regards,” she nods, relieved that the message did not make its narrow escape from her mind. but blissfully unaware of the impact her words have left on you.

“goodbye, mx. [name]!” the melusine bids you farewell with a cheery wave. you murmur back a response but it comes out incoherent at best — you are simply too dumbfounded by the realization.

...so, that's who.

(wait a second, is arouet in on this too?!)

it's in the way. . . he begins to take longer breaks, hoping to run into you in front of the palais.

taking quiet strolls just outside the palais is, more often than not, neuvillette's idea of rest from work. although some might expect the iudex to have chosen a more 'creative' or luxurious location, but he digresses.

this place is near his office so less time is wasted on the journey back, liath also patrols here so he has the opportunity to inquire about her well-being — and occasionally, he stumbles upon you as well.

'occasionally' is the keyword: neuvillette has always preferred order and routine above chances and coincidences. but something about this idiosyncrasy — the tendency to linger beyond his usual duration, the act of stalling to hold onto hope that you might pass by today — is a indication of hypocrisy he wishes not to comment on.

sometimes, he closes his eyes so that his ears may be more attuned to the sound of your voice. sometimes, he opens his eyes so that they may look around for a glimpse of your face. who's to say if he'll ever be graced by your presence? it is all in fate's hands.

call it an odd method of manifestation, a childish one that even neuvillette scoffs at himself for. sometimes, it doesn't work, of course. not that he ever expects it to — but oh, when it does.

“...monsieur?” your voice cuts through the silence in his mind. he takes the sight of you in; a polite greeting on your tongue, several grocery bags in your arms and that beam on your face as you say, “what a coincidence to see you here.”

the iudex finds that he doesn't mind having his privacy briefly interrupted. not at all. not when it's like this, not when it's by you. alas, it seems that fate has smiled down on him today.

“yes, hello. what a serendipitous coincidence indeed.”

neuvillette smiles, he can't help it. perhaps, he might grow a soft spot for coincidences, after all.

(you sneak a brief glance at the sky with a squint. ...is it just you or are the clouds clearing up a little?)

⎯ wriothesley's love is beguiling, the kind of adventure that keeps you on your toes. a forthright gentleman; he is the type to know what he wants and he wants you. with him, you'll taste whiplash like never before. butterflies in your stomach, the urge to throw a shoe at him, you'll get it all. but an adventure isn't an adventure without breaks in between and it's at that very moment where you'll find you adore him the most... when he rests his head on your lap, momentarily free from worldly titles, breathing like the man who longs for warmth that he has always been.

it's in the way. . . he always offers you tea when really, he just wants you to stay.

everyone knows that wriothesley enjoys his tea — but that's only because he sees no need to hide his preferences; not his craving for a cup of tea when afternoon arrives nor his fondness for you either.

he doesn't conceal it, but doesn't bring attention to it either. wriothesley likes to think that only those with discerning eyes can pick up on the miniscule (???) hints he drops. that is, if saying “why not stay for some tea?” is even considered a subtle clue at all... maybe, he's mixing up polite courtesy with flirting a bit too much.

but who cares? in the grand scheme of things, the fun is seeing whether you'll figure it out or not. and let's be frank here; wriothesley is a patient man in all aspects, able to play the long game like no other.

don't worry, you may take as long as you want to — ironic since you're technically the only player in this 'game' — but hey, he has faith in your abilities! besides, you get to enjoy a cup of free tea (and with his company, preferably). surely, you can't complain about that? ...hah, he's just teasing you.

tick-tock! tick-tock!

the clock strikes twelve in the afternoon.

“ah, finally a well-deserved break.” the tone in which wriothesley pairs with that grin on his face is nothing less than devious. the glance he throws your way as he set aside the documents on his desk is something. or rather, it's suggesting something.

and frankly, you've experienced this many times enough to know what the underlying meaning is. “let me guess...” you let out a sigh, “you're asking me to have tea with you again?”

the emphasis on the last word is definitely, wholly intentional. you're sure wriothesley knows that too — “bingo,” he hums at you, sounds almost like a whistle. “you're getting more and more clever. must be all the tea i made you.”

“don't flatter yourself,” you roll your eyes at his attempted jest but you take a seat on his office couch, anyway. your own unique and adorable way of saying yes, he learned. still, wriothesley thinks that exasperated look on your face is an absolute marvel... and maybe, that little smile tugging on your lips you're trying to fight, too.

“same as usual?” he asks, pushing back his chair with a proud grin still plastered on his face that you wish you can wipe off.

but instead, you shake your head fondly at his antics. “mhm,” and rest a cheek on your fist. watching him tiredly, you realize you could get used to this. maybe.

wriothesley smiles to himself. looks like you figured out the tea has always been an excuse, after all.

(you've won the game, congrats! a subsidiary reward is a comment from sigewinne about how this tea routine between the two of you bears a resemblance to an elderly human couple's. she means it, innocently sincere.)

⎯ lyney's love can be faceted at first, one with such a smooth surface that you never imagined there would be so many layers underneath. joy and bliss, sorrow and burdens; all cramped and stuffed together behind his mask of perfection on the stage, a mask akin to a child's treasure chest almost bursting at the seams. you can unravel him if you tried, you can take off that mask if you reached out. and when you do, you'll find beautiful violet eyes staring right back at you, thankful, imploring you to go further.

it's in the way. . . his bravado dissipates around you, nerves scattering like confetti that bursts from his hat on stage.

they say that the first impression is the best impression — or at least, lyney hopes that's the case with all of the interesting impressions he has left on you so far. his instinct by nature is to impress, to bedazzle and that hasn't stopped since meeting you for the first time.

trying doesn't always lead to success, however. you stuttered in front of them twice, lynette pointed out after the first time he spoke to you. that fact spooked the poor magician so much he stayed up rethinking the conversation under the cover of his blanket. lynette isn't wrong per se, but lyney firmly believes that he will leave a better impression... one day, somehow, no matter how many times it takes!

he is a magician; charisma and charms should have or rather, already have come easily to him. his persona on the stage is no lie — just a tiny concerted exaggeration, maybe — but you've been among his audience before. you've seen what he is capable of. so surely, you'd know that lyney isn't really as demure and easily flustered as you might think he is... because no punches held back, he acts like that every time you talk to him.

he can't help it and that, exactly, is what makes it worse.

how many times have he cupped his face and mumbled nonsense into his hands for failing to impress you yet again? you're so wonderful and he's just so... miserable. this is unlike him. he has to wonder why you still look for him after each performance when you know you'll be greeted by his being a wreck.

maybe they like you that way, freminet tried to help. or maybe they like you no matter what, lynette chipped in. that had lyney pondering for a long, long, long time which translates into weeks.

will the day come where he presents you with a rainbow rose and professes his feelings for you without losing his nerves? he can only hope (and try, one day).

it never gets old.

when his feet step off the stage and the curtains have fallen, the satisfaction that spreads all the way to his fingertips never fails to disappoint. but with that, also comes the imminent feeling of anticipation.

for each performance he delivers, a visitor is bound to linger. when all members in the audience would head to the entrance of the opera epiclese to leave, one of them would stay. waiting patiently to be beckoned to the backstage. it's been a routine for so long, after all.

“lyney?”

right on cue.

your voice greets his ears, a sound that he can admit he misses only to himself. he exhales, a placating act to shush his beating heart from growing any louder.

“ah, [name]!” the magician enunciates your name with a certain type of fanfare. “here to lend a hand again, i assume?” he tries to shoot you a confident grin, but you aren't gullible enough to not see the tint of red blooming on his cheeks.

you stifle a chuckle at his (attempt at a) bold opening. “of course,“ said with a nod and a silly thought along the lines of: he's cute.

your honest and calm response takes him by surprise. he blinks a tad. oh, it seems the thrill from the show a few minutes prior still hasn't worn off. perhaps, he's still all too used to the crowd's shouts and cheers... not that he expects you to start yelling, of course!

“i see,” lyney feigns a cough to recollect his composure. now that he is cognizant of the fact it's just the two of you, he shrinks down into a more casual version of himself with a nervous chuckle.

“will you... be staying for long?” he asks, bashful. the question sounds more genuine than just a mere pleasantry. his eyes look hopeful, twinkling at the thought of having your presence around. his fingers have even come up to scratch at the side of his neck, you don't think lyney even realizes he is doing that.

who are you to say no? you smile. “well, my schedule's pretty empty today.”

his lips instantly break into a grin, brighter than one he usually has onstage. “that's actually marv—” he starts.

“that's great,” a familiar monotonous voice cuts in. lynette peers from behind you with a hum, “we could use more hands to pack up the new props.” oh, and that brief glint of mischief in her feline eyes as she watches how lyney gapes at her sudden intrusion.

“sure!” you glance back at her, oblivious to it all. “thanks for letting me in, lynette. i'll try my best to help.” even if you admit that one of the reasons you're here is for lyney, but you can't discredit his twin sister for allowing you to enter here in the first place. a free backstage pass in exchange for free labor, quite a fair deal.

with your back turned to him, lyney takes the chance to mouth his own words of disbelief to lynette. incomprehensible except for that one i can't believe you're doing this! that she manages to catch.

“no problem,” she observes her brother over your shoulder with keen interest, “everyone knows how fond lyney is of you.”

there is a series of spluttering noises behind you. a certain magician finds himself at the verge of choking on mere oxygen.

“lynette!”

but really, she has no doubt that lyney has fallen head over heels for you. hook, line and sinker.

— thank you for reading! reblogs and comments are most appreciated. ♡

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x reader #wriothesley x reader #lyney x reader #neuvillette x you #wriothesley x you #lyney x you #genshin fluff #genshin impact hcs #genshin impact x you #genshin imagines #seelestial.inks

2K notes · View notes

allthecanadianpolitics · 11 months ago

Text

The Canadian Food Inspection Agency (CFIA) has recalled a selection of plant-based drinks after discovering they could be contaminated with listeria. Stores across Canada are being told not to sell, serve or distribute the following 15 products from the Silk and Great Value brands, and anyone who has them in their fridge should not consume or use them. The recalled products were manufactured by Danone Canada.

Tagging: @newsfromstolenland

Date of article: July 8th, 2024.

#product recall #listeria #plantbased #cdnpoli #canadian politics #canadian news #canada

959 notes · View notes

sunboki · 11 months ago

Text

— MR. FIREFIGHTER.

Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. firefighter! au, neighbors! au, coincidences, power outage.. hehe

WARNINGS. cursing? chan being a firefighter bc HELLO

AUG'S NOTES. hi hi, ya’ll wanted more firefighter! chris? me too i gotcha

In a neighborhood like yours, power outages were common. But of course, with your luck just moving here, nobody paid any mind telling you.

Perhaps that’s the best explanation as to how you ended up at a strangers doorstep, your phone’s flashlight making the entire experience look a thousand times more pathetic the longer you shifted from foot to foot.

You’d been plugging in your charger, only for your entire bedroom to fall pitch black. Initially, you assumed it was simply a broker malfunction, leading to—after carefully hobbling out to the garage—a multitude of failed attempts to ensue.

About halfway from leaving does the front door open, and upon turning around are you met with a sight pitifully breathtaking.

Blond, messy hair rests atop a well sculpted face, masculine features on tanned skin, dark chocolate eyes belonging to that of the finest sweets.

“Hello?” He asks, voice thick with an accent you deem Australian.

“Oh yeah uh, the.. the power?” Winding your index around haphazardly, the man looks you up and down (an action that shouldn’t have brought such blood to your face), glancing around and wetting his lips before inviting you inside.

Sure, he may be a serial killer, but if that man strangled you, you’re not sure you’d be too upset. Shameless, but who disagreed?

Without a word nor greeting, he slinks into a small kitchen area, leaving you to curiously investigate your surroundings. You note the huge, beige boots by the doorway, the firefighter’s hat lingering on a coat hook.

And he’s a firefighter? Good fuck have mercy.

“‘Happens a lot,” The frustratingly attractive stranger grumbles as you enter the living area, candle-light illuminating the plushness of his lips. It takes you a moment to register he’s talking, too busy reigning yourself into a sane headspace.

He hands you a small mug of tea that’s warm to the touch, beckoning you to take a seat.

“And by the looks of it,” He laughs a low, bemused laugh. “You didn’t know that…?”

“Y/n, it’s Y/n.” You introduce, sipping the steaming beverage carefully.

“Scared?”

“Mm, little bit.” Truthfully answering, you scorn your bashfulness, hating how the way he’s merely looking at you disorients every sensible article of your brain.

Reaching forward, he fondly pats your head, eyes crinkling in the corners when smiling.

Just then you abandon all hope of remaining civilized.

“There’s nothin’ to be scared of, just light some candles ‘n wait it out. Plus, it’s good sleeping conditions.”

If he keeps talking you’re certain you’ll dig a human sized hole and bury yourself in it, because of course you had to knock on his door, him who you’ve become smitten with without even knowing his name.

Before you can apologize for likely waking him up, he interjects.

“But be careful with candles. ‘Don’t wanna start a fire.”

Recalling his firefighter status, you raise your brows, leaning back into the cushions.

“You’d save me, right Mr. Firefighter?”

Momentarily, surprise etches his face.

He grins.

“Nah I’d—”

You smack his arm and he laughs—a kind of laugh that makes the entire room burst alight.

“Of course I would. And It’s Chan by the way, but you can call me Chris.”

Already getting comfortable with conversation, you rest your chin upon your hand, studying.

His mannerisms (as much as his looks could kill) are rather adorable. They’re nervous, fiddling opposed to the career he chose.

A man with a deadly duality.

Charming.

“Oh? Nickname privileges?” You mischievously pique, witnessing that shyness once more.

He covers his face with his hands, dissolving into the couch, evidently embarrassed. The urge to continue becoming irresistible.

“Say, Chris, are you flirting with me?”

Peering through his fingers, Chris’ lips pull tug upward slightly, seeming to mirror your sly attitude.

“I don’t know, am I?”

Perhaps it’s your imagination, but his voice seriously just lowered a pitch and all ability to bite back has turned to dust. And now you can certainly say your feelings are justified, especially from his eyes. Brown hues boring into you, sending your heart a thundering mess.

No, no no, don’t say that. That’s not fair.

As if on cue the lights flash awake and you spring up from your place, attempting to hide the flush of your cheeks.

Barely making it out the door before Chris pulls you back around, his hand loosely grasps your wrist, stuffing a piece of paper into your palm adorning that same stupid smile you’re effortlessly falling in love with.

Inside his number is written, and more than ever you feel like a teenage girl passing notes to her boyfriend in class.

“Just in case,” He claimed, clearing his throat as if that would magically cure his noticeably pink ears.

Take it back, you’re both teenage losers fighting to see who cracks first. Nervous wrecks, red faces.

“In case my house burns down?”

“That’s a plus, yep.”

“You’re awful.”

Chris, walking you up to your door despite being a mere foot away, giggles his delight, bidding you good night. But seconds before he turns around it’s your turn to be spontaneous, and you press a soft kiss to his cheek prior to racing inside, shutting the door as quickly as possible.

Oh my god. Oh my god.

Covering your mouth with your hands in order to suppress the utter squeal threatening to break your lungs, you feel seconds from physically imploding — ignorant to the fact that outside the door, Chris is currently doing the same thing.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

1K notes · View notes

oatmealwrites · 6 months ago

Text

Catch Kira, NOT Feelings! Ch. 3

L x Fem!Reader

Previous Part | Ch. 4

Word Count: 7k (hehe)

Tags: slow burn, oblivious, colleagues to lovers?, jealous! L, mentions of arousal, Lawliet POV at end, phone sex?, male erection, masturbation [male receiving], mentioning of female anatomy, MDNI, 18+

Synopsis: You continue the meeting as planed and can't help but wonder how you feel about Ryuzaki. With a brief time skip and another meeting ending in an argument, L can't help the strange feeling that's growing in his chest... and in his pants ;)

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The meeting continues as planned, this time with Light in attendance, and the group discusses the remaining entries in the ‘Second Kira’s Notebook’. Avoiding Aoyama for the time being, Ryuzaki shifts the attention to the Tokyo Dome game mentioned within the page and proposes for Watari to cancel the event and let the police investigate.

You sit on the couch uncomfortably, unsure if it’s the strange feeling brewing in your chest from your encounter with Ryuzaki or simply a side effect of chasing down a mass murderer who might just be your friend. Light at your side, you keep your attention on the TV as best as you can given the circumstances.

“In this note we can see the Second Kira mentioning Shinigami at the Tokyo Dome…”

Mogi points to the note on the screen and the group nods in agreement, reviewing their own papers and documents for the upcoming events at the arena. Shifting slightly, you resolve to reach forward and grab one of the to-go coffee cups, deciding caffeine might be what you need at this moment.

“Here, let me–” Light leans forward before you can reach the table and picks up two sugar packets as well, “–you’ve had a long day of classes.”

You watch him for a moment before sighing, “So have you though..”

“I guess that’s true… Just let me do this, okay?”

Light laughs gently at how quickly you sit back and let him make your coffee; remembering the way you always drink it with two sugars. Deftly popping off the lid and pouring in the contents of the packets, Light lets steam emit from the cup before gently passing it to you.

“Careful, ok? Wouldn’t want our newest recruit getting out of the task force from some coffee burns.”

“Shut up..” you nudge Light gently enough to not spill the contents and lean down to whisper, “asshole” just out of earshot of his father.

Taking the cup and hovering your lips just above the paper rim, you blow the steam back a few times before taking a sip. Throughout the whole exchange Mogi and Matsuda have been conversing about the Tokyo Dome events schedule while Mr. Yagami and Aizawa discuss alerting the arena security and increasing the police presence in the area. Ryuzaki sits watching all three interactions taking place but his eyes linger on the way Light holds himself around you.

It makes rational sense, the both of you being well acquainted through years of working for his father, though the interaction leaves L shifting in his seat. The smile on Light’s face is natural, with creases in his eyes as he leans in to make another snarky remark in your ear; the simplicity of it all is what leaves such a sour taste he’s unable to recall in Ryuzaki’s mouth.

“Maybe now you won’t look half asleep during the meeting.”

You take a long sip of coffee and gently kick Light’s shin from next to you on the hotel couch, eyes narrowed at his hushed joke.

“I’m not tired.”

“Hmm? Then why do you look like that?”

Like what?

You move the cup from your lips and shiver as the warm beverage slides down your throat, eyebrows furrowed at Light in confusion before your gaze locks onto Ryuzaki’s. It’s a short connection before you break away feeling as ice had been dumped down your back; from the corner of your eyes you can tell he’s been staring and will continue to.

“Let’s focus, ok?”

Mr. Yagami stands and pats Mogi’s shoulder, taking control of the remote and now playing the entire diary’s image once more.

“This,” he points to the Tokyo Dome phrase once more. “A shinigami? I believe this may be an important reference we cannot overlook. It’s obviously an omen regarding death.. But can we be certain Tokyo Dome is the target for this? Both districts of Aoyama and Shibuya were mentioned in this..”

The group looks amongst themselves and you turn back to L, watching as he bites the edge of a hangnail on his index finger in thought. Aoyama and the notebooks weren’t supposed to be mentioned for the time being, not until Ryuzaki had deemed it absolutely necessary to inform the rest of the task force of the plan.

“For now, yes.” L sits forward and now reaches for a small plate covered in bite-sized fruit tarts “Watari, send a message to the head of the arena’s security to inform them of a potential terrorist attack.”

Light sits up from the sofa and turns to the man “Shouldn’t we be investigating all of these claims, Ryuzaki? I agree the Tokyo Dome one is important, but it’s way too obvious… we can’t miss this opportunity to catch the Second Kira.”

His tone is chill and sobering, and you lock eyes with L once more to confirm you were going to keep silent for the time being.

“I agree. If we let the Second Kira slip through our fingers and decimate an entire district it would be catastrophic.” Ryuzaki sits back and looks at the entire group, scanning each face. “We’re going to publish this diary on Sakura TV.”

“What?” Mr. Yagami steps forward with an incredulous shock on his face, “If we publish this, people will react with pandemonium. They’ll live with fear!”

“No– it’s to give each of the local police departments enough time to increase their presence in their respective neighborhoods. Not to mention, give us enough liability to install additional measures.”

Aizawa stares at L in suspicion. “Additional measures? What do you mean?”

“We can’t install additional CCTV without approval and reasonable suspicion of a threat,” L says, pointing to the television with a crumby index finger. “This is more than enough to justify that. No?”

Matsuda ‘wows’ in awe at the reasoning while Light remains motionless on the couch thinking everything through. His demeanor is cold and isolated, radiating an energy that makes you subconsciously lean into Mogi who is sitting on the other side of you on the couch.

“That’s going to take a lot of manpower, Ryuzaki. Are we equipped to do all of that in such a short time?”

“We don’t have a choice,” you chime in, placing the coffee cup on the table. “If you’d like, I can try and reach out to some old internship colleagues working in Shibuya. Try and see if any additional detectives and officers can cover districts we find more at threat?”

Mogi nods and begins mentally reviewing the list of people he knows who could also cover any gaps. “I agree. The faster we act on this, the better chance we have of catching them.”

The group nods in agreement and breaks off into smaller teams in charge of alerting local police, contacting Sakura TV to run the diary, and relaying information back to the NPA about the current plan. Mr. Yagami steps out to a connecting room to make a few phone calls while Matsuda assists Mogi in creating a copy of the diary to send to the station.

“Shouldn’t we send someone to investigate these ourselves?”

Light walks to where you and Ryuzaki have sorted all possible events at the Tokyo Dome, Aoyama, and Shibuya on the respective dates mentioned. You turn to L as do the other members, silently wondering the same thing.

“Yes, I plan on asking one or two of you to go out and attend one of these events listed…” He continues, looking steadfast at Light, “I haven’t made up my mind quite yet though. Let’s work on the current task for the time being.”

Light seems relatively unhappy with the response but doesn't push further; he walks back over to Aizawa and assists in drafting messages to different police quarters. You watch him work for a moment before turning back to Ryuzaki who continues sorting event paperwork next to you.

The proximity is nearly as close as you both were earlier in the evening, and there’s a slight tremble in your fingers at the increased heart rate in your ribs. He deftly moves and sorts papers back and forth with you, occasionally skimming your fingers with his own; the action is enough to make your ears hot.

This is ridiculous. I need to get out this weekend, have a drink, or something. He’s just L… he’s just a guy.

“I’m going to need you to keep quiet for a bit longer if that’s ok.”

“Hmm? Oh, of course.”

Continuing to work as naturally as possible, your voices are barely above a whisper to avoid unnecessary attention. The fresh scent of his laundry detergent invades your senses and is so intoxicating you nearly lean in closer to get a larger inhale.

Despite being able to work seamlessly with Light, working alongside Ryuzaki isn’t nearly as difficult as people had always alluded to. At nearly every NPA meeting and early police briefings in the Kira case, every detective you worked with scoffed at his name. ‘Unable to work with others’, ‘selfish and conceited’, ‘coldhearted and stoic’ were used more times than you can remember in regard to the man at your side.

“Here, these may need to be corroborated with the Second Kira’s tapes for syntax.” Ryuzaki gently offers you a section from the diary and transcript from the tapes. “Are you able to complete that within a few days? Or is your course schedule going to get in the way…?”

“No, I can complete it.”

You take the evidence and organize it into a pile, admiring the man just inches away from you. Not an ounce of condescenion in his voice, he gives you tasks that genuinely need to be completed and he’s decided to trust you with; taking into account your class schedule, each assignment is neither tedious nor grueling.

This is nothing like the stories you had heard, and it’s enough to make you wonder if maybe those overworked detectives at previous meetings had been complaining about someone else. The L at your side is meticulous and competitive, but the way his eyes linger on your lips when waiting for confirmation is gentle and patient.

“I’ll try and have it done in about two days. Is that ok Ryuzaki?”

“Yes,” he says, peeling his eyes up from your lips and blinking a few times before turning his attention to the documents in his own hands. “Yes, that should be perfect.”

*******

Two weeks go by seamlessly and you fall into an easy routine between classes and Kira meetings. During lunch breaks, about twice a week, you meet with Light to discuss not only topics regarding the case, but also regular life as students and 20-something-year-olds. It’s as simple as you remember it being when you first started working with his father. The settings are friendly and casual, though less intimate and honest as you remember them being; taking note every time he begins to change his behavior and what exactly was the topic that seemed to be the trigger.

Working with L has also gotten much easier over the days; Watari picks you up prior to the meeting nearly every day and Ryuzaki has memorized your schedule to call as soon as your seminar finishes to inquire about updates. You report nearly every move, answering when you’ve left home and returned, along with giving him updates on how your paperwork and investigation of Light have been progressing.

On days when classes end early and you’re at home for lunch, you find yourself stopping by the bakery near your apartment and picking up a dozen earl gray cookies on the way to meetings; remembering the way Ryuzaki seems to perk up when he sees the familiar packaging.

It almost feels inappropriate how casual you both have begun to talk to each other; frequent texting that begins to stray just a bit further than completely work related, though they never become too personal. The texts and phone calls that vibrate from the phone L had given you come everyday like clockwork, even on the days where you weren’t scheduled to meet with Light.

The routine this Tuesday afternoon is the same as the past two weeks have been: calling Ryuzaki after your evening class has ended and casually relaying a brief update if you had bumped into Light. The wind is cooler today than it has been in months; gripping your jacket tighter, you balance the cardboard wrapping of the biscuits with one finger as you huddle into yourself for warmth.

Cars pass by in varying directions as you nod to the steady beat of music playing in your headphones, waiting at the intersection for the familiar black Mercedes to pull up. The leather briefcase slung over your shoulder makes an uncomfortable weight push into the muscle, but the feeling is numbed by another gust of wind and hair being pushed into your face.

Before you can adjust the flyaways, a familiar car turns at the intersection and flicks on it’s fourway signals before pulling right up to where you stand. The window cracks. “Y/N, I’m here to escort you to headquarters.”

You giggle at the same line Watari always repeats and slide off your headphones before opening the passenger door and sliding inside. The seat warmers already on, you gently place the box of cookies on the console and sling the heavy bag off your shoulder and onto the floor at your feet.

“More cookies Y/N? You’re going to have a sweet tooth as large as Ryuzaki.”

“Nah,” you giggle and look out the window at the city lights that have flickered on being to blur by. “I don’t anyone could tie him for that.”

******

“I’m just saying if Sakura TV wants to air that ‘pro-kira’ talk show, they should at least–” Matsuda stands with his arms out to Mogi as if his companion were the one he needed to convince to get his opinion delivered, before turning to you. “Oh– Y/N!”

You slide your bag at your unspoken offical spot next to the sofa and place the small box of cookies on the table before shimmying out of your coat and smiling at the man. Watari helps you glide it off your other arm before retrieving a hanger and placing it in the small coat closet next to the door as you greet everyone in the room.

Ryuzaki is already sitting in his usual spot and watches you intently as you make your rounds before plopping onto the couch in between Mogi and Light; his gaze lingers on the small box of tea-flavor cookies.

“Did you ever take ‘Intro to Criminal Psyche’ in undergrad?”

You turn to Light and raise an eyebrow. “Yea, why?”

“Mmm, I’ve been thinking of missing a few classes to work on the task force assignments a bit more. If you have the notes from when you took it, I’m sure that would suffice to replace the material I miss.”

You laugh and nudge him, “Wow, ditching class? The number-one student I know has a rebellious side to him after all.”

Light laughs, though the sound is partially empty of genuine humor. “Of course~, though if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll just have to actually attend.”

“Let me check my files,” you said, looking over at his dad, who is shaking his head with a sigh from the conversation, “If I still have them saved, you’re more than welcome.”

The moment Light puts his hand on your shoulder in gratitude, the unfamiliar ugly feeling inside Ryuzaki’s gut begins to grow again. His chest is tight with a frustration he couldn’t quite pinpoint, as if the scene in front of him was wrong; similar to a movie spinoff of a book that wasn’t following the plot correctly.

Ryuzaki takes a breath, it doesn’t bother him, it shouldn’t bother him, before turning to the now total members present at the meeting. “Alright, now that Y/N is here, we can continue.”

The group quiets down and Aizawa stands up, holding a variety of documents and reading through them in summary. “Well the DNA procurement is experiencing some delays; with nearly every available agent and officer dispatched to the Second Kira diary locations, the lab is running on a time lag.”

You hum and turn to Watari to take a coffee from the tray he brings around, not bothering to reach for sugar as he’s been preparing it to the exact sweetness you prefer for nearly two weeks now.

“There’s also the issue of Shibuya and Aoyama.” Aizawa flips through to another page and sighs, “We’ve been able to dispatch any colleagues Y/N knows around the Shibuya main entry points, but Aoyama is still more understaffed than I think it should be.”

“Even if we agreed Tokyo Dome was the priority?” Matsuda questions.

“Mr. Yagami, have all the CCTV we’ve requested been installed within the district's limits already?”

Mr. Yagami turns to Ryuzaki and scans through a few documents before nodding, “Yes, they’ve been successfully placed in all the main access points and intersections you’ve requested. Local police also confirm increased presence there on the days leading up to and following our recommendation.”

You turn to Ryuzaki and wonder the same question everyone has been considering for the past few weeks: who was he going to choose to send? Keeping quiet over the past two weeks wasn’t exactly easy, nearly every meeting contained Light protesting the decision to focus too heavily on the Tokyo Dome and pushing back even more when L refused to further explain his decision.

Ryuzaki takes a long moment to consider, idly placing sugar cube after sugar cube into his tea cup and not bothering to look up. A gentle breeze from the open windows pushes his hair to tickle his cheekbones and you instinctively shiver at the drop in temperature. Opening the window for fresh air was a common recurrence, but you couldn’t help but tense at the chill air that always nipped at your skin. Before Light can glance over and offer you his jacket, Watari walks over to the hotel linen closet to retrieve a throw blanket and passes it to you.

Additional stocked bedding wasn’t unusual considering the amount of times members have spent the night in the suite, but the smaller plush throw blankets that seemed to perfectly warm you back up seemed to appear only about a week ago.

“I’ve made a decision on who I want to attend Aoyama, and I want it known that if either party feels too uncomfortable, we can renegotiate.”

You lean in, similar to the rest of the members and hang on to every word. “Light, I’d like you to walk the streets of Aoyama on the date we’ve previously decided. Matsuda, please accompany him.”

What?

You stay frozen in confusion at Ryuzaki’s announcement while Mr. Yagami immediately stands up in protest.

“I’m not sending my son to the front lines! First you accuse him of being Kira and now you want him to be killed by the Second one?”

“Dad–!” Light stands up to argue with his father, “You don’t get to make that decision for me.”

I’m not going?

You look up to look at Ryuzaki who was glancing over at the two men arguing and making no effort to make eye contact with you. He sips his tea and stares indifferently at the spectacle in front of him, occasionally reaching down to grab a cookie you brought.

Despite working with him on the Aoyama plan during meeting breaks in secret, confirming through texts that Light was still unaware of said plan, and even staying later nights to work out any kinks…. he didn’t pick you.

A pang of hurt and nearly anger washes over you as the decision sinks in. The two men arguing over the coffee table now a million worlds away, an ugly feeling tightens in your chest. Had you not proven you were skilled enough to take on a challenge like this? Was all he saw in you was an errand-girl who could watch Light on campus so he didn’t have to?

You look up at Matsuda who was now trying to calm down the chief, and furrow your eyebrows into a sharp ‘V’ formation. No, even the role of babysitting Light was forfeited from you. It’s impossible to focus and the atmosphere is nearly suffocating as jealousy courses hot through your veins.

“Alright, I’d like to further explain the plan before you two go any further,” says Ryuzaki, standing up and placing one foot on the coffee table for balance to grab the remote and flip to the details of Aoyama.

“The diary entry in this event mentions meeting with friends on the streets of Aoyama, a needle in a haystack considering the population density.” He tilts his head to side and continues flipping. “However, there’s a strong chance it’ll come down to just two people: Kira and the Second Kira. At least one of which, we will assume is student age; high school or higher education.”

“So this is another example of accusing Light? Because he fits the age group demographic?”

“Mr. Yagami, please hold all your questions until I’ve finished.”

Ryuzaki takes a metal teaspoon between his lips while he talks, “Aoyama is a wealthy neighborhood and a fashion hotspot, most likely a place to be recommended by a young woman. Please keep this in mind while observing pairs of people.”

Still annoyed by the plan you helped decide on, you can’t help but notice the strange thin smile on Light’s lips as he watches the presentation unfold. Despite his father trying his hardest to prove his innocence, Light doesn’t seem the least bit stressed by the accusation; he’s nearly humming with excitement while you sulk on the sofa.

“Alright Light! Just you and me doing some fieldwork, sounds like it’ll be fun!”

Aizawa smacks Matsuda on the side of the head. “This isn’t a field trip to go shopping and eat at cafes! Both you and Light are placing your lives on the line.”

Matsuda deflates back onto the mirroring couch in defeat while Mr. Yagami remains staring between his son and Ryuzaki.

“Are you sure about this? Light– I don't want him to make you look more guilty when you’re not.”

“Then let me go! If I can find the Second Kira– it’ll only help me clear my name.”

Light’s tone is demanding despite pleading with his father for approval in attending the mission. Even while slightly pissed off, you recognize it to be the same uncomfortable aura from your first lunch ‘date’ a few weeks ago.

No notebooks…?

Remembering the aspect of ‘notebooks’ being an important aspect of revealing the Second Kira, you turn to Ryuzaki who has now finally returned eye contact. Scrunching your brows in confusion at his lack of complete clarity, L gives a short nod ‘no’ before returning his attention back to the father-son duo.

“Is this plan alright with everyone? Anyone not going to Aoyama will have different monitoring tasks during these events so please ensure your availability.”

Mogi and Aizawa nod as Mr. Yagami sits back down in defeat and Light gives a solid statement of his own approval. Matsuda hums in excitement across from you and you sit on the couch with arms crossed and scowling into the space of the corner of the room.

“Alright then, let’s continue with some specifics for how this will all play out.”

*********

A sour taste remains in your mouth for the rest of the meeting as you listen to the plan you helped come up with be delegated to other members. Aizawa and you will be in charge of monitoring CCTV at the headquarters alongside Ryuzaki while Mogi and Mr. Yagami are on standby duty at Sakura TV in case of a break through.

At the usual late hour, the meeting is concluded and you take your time packing up your things as members slowly trickle home. Matsuda stretches and holds the door open for the Yagamis before exiting and leaving you in the room with L and Watari.

“Ryuzaki… can I speak with you?”

L looks up from handing Watari his empty teacup and nods once, “I assumed you wanted to speak, you usually pack up much quicker most evenings.”

Any other time the comment might’ve made your heart rate pick up at his attentiveness to your habits, but this time your heart remains heavy in your chest. Following him into the bedroom as usual, when the door clicks shut the only thing you can do is stand awkwardly in silence.

Hands wet with sweat, you tug at the straps of your briefcase bag and wondering where to even begin.

“Something is bothering you. I can tell.”

Ryuzaki leans against the side of the bedframe casually and stares at your face patiently, showing no signs of fatigue despite the late hour.

You sigh once and take a step forward. “Why didn’t you choose me for Aoyama?”

L watches you for an additional second and closes his eyes for a moment. “I figured that's what you were gonna ask.”

“So… why didn’t you?”

Ryuzaki shrugs and looks off to the messy desk at the side of the room, twitching once as the analog clock on the wall ticks away in the deafening silence.

“I figured Light and Matsuda were the best for the task. That’s it.”

That’s it?

You grip your bag tighter, sinking your nails into the leather, and can feel the anger from earlier beginning to seep out, “What do you mean? Haven’t I worked hard to prove you can trust me? That I would be great for this position?”

“Of course I trust you, but that has nothing to do with this.”

You furrow your brows, growing impatient as he speaks to you as if it were obvious. “What do you mean? I’ve been helping you come up with this plan and been watching Light this whole time… so why is it different?”

“Did you feel entitled to it? Is that why you’re upset?”

You wince and take a step back, embarrassment mixing into the defensive that began building.

Ryuzaki watches your expression and continues, “Matsuda will do just fine watching Light, I’ve already spoken to him privately about it. The other members on this task force are accomplished and determined. Just because you’ve been a great help in conducting this plan doesn’t mean you’re the best person to execute it.”

Your throat feels tight as his words, and humiliation begins to sink in as he speaks.

Of course, other members are veterans at this and you’re still under the position of an ‘intern’ for Mr. Yagami. It’s fucking embarrassing how worked up I’ve become…

“You could’ve let me know ahead of time…when we were planning this earlier…”

Ryuzaki turns back to you, an awkward feeling forming in chest at seeing your dejected face turn away from him.

“Maybe it’s foolish that I was already planning on going but–”

“-- you would’ve thrown the same fit you threw earlier. Announcement of my decision doesn’t mean anything.”

The words are harsh. Harsher than Ryuzaki means for them to come out as he internally struggles with this uncomfortable feeling and he regrets it the moment they leave his lips. Your eyebrows furrowed in a mixture of anger, rejection, and embarrassment; the way you scoff hurts him deeply considering the array of ugly emotions are directed at him.

“Right. Whatever..” you spin on your heel and open the door to finish the conversation. “Thanks for the clarification.”

The words are spit with venom through gritted teeth and you don’t bother turning around to say goodbye. Watari watches the anger seethe off you and makes no effort to create conversation as he follows you out the hotel door and down the lobby to the parking lot.

If you weren’t getting chauffeured by Ryuzaki’s right hand man, hot angry tears would have escaped your eyes, an aggravated scream would leave your lips, and a few punches to an empty car seat cushion may have taken place.

As the car pulls out of the lot, you look out the glass and notice the silhouette of Ryuzaki peering from behind the hotel window curtain before you turn your head the other way. Watari makes no effort to speak and doesn’t protest when you dig your headphones out of your bag and blast music in your ears.

**************

4am - 4 hours after the meeting ended.

Ryuzaki POV

He should’ve worded that differently. He knows, she knows, Watari even knows it judging on the somber and judgmental look he shot Ryuzaki after returning from dropping you home. It’s not like he wanted to come off as an asshole, he usually did to most people, but the fact he came off that way to you was what made this guilt so uncomfortable in his gut.

Ryuzaki lets out a long sigh and leans back in the office chair at the desk in the hotel bedroom, not bothering to sleep. One more shade of purple under his eyes won’t be noticed and L takes this moment to bite at his cuticles in thought.

Why hadn’t he just given you the task for Aoyama?

You had proved yourself more useful than half the people he’s had the displeasure of working with. Patient with his awkward attitude, intelligent with great deductive skills, loyal to his recommendation despite making you observe your ‘friend’ for signs of being Kira, and absolutely beauti-

Ryuzaki snaps his head to the side and rejects the thought before it forms. On a professional level it should’ve been you. You’ve already done so much to help in the Aoyama plan, more so than he could casually give you praise for, and your ability to follow Light and intuition with his behavior made you the perfect candidate. So why didn’t he?

L stands up from the desk and begins to walk aimlessly around his room in the moonlight that seeped in from the windows. Instead of giving you the chance to apply yourself and excel with a perfect opportunity, he has you scheduled to sit in a dark room with him and another colleague watching CCTV for hours on end.

The nasty and ugly part of him was glad when he had made that decision, keeping you away from the front line despite going to school with his number one suspect— this time you could be far away from Light. Safe… with him. Why did he even want that?

Ryuzaki sits on the edge of his hotel bed and shakes his head before looking around the room for a plate of desserts that might be lingering. Of course he knew why he didn’t personally want you prancing the streets of Aoyama with Light. The fact it meant you would be at risk of being killed by the Second Kira, who may not need a name to murder, OR the fact it meant you would be spending the whole day walking around cute cafes and boutiques with Light while Ryuzaki was forced to watch it all on CCTV in multiple angles for multiple hours. He wasn’t sure which option was worse.

Pushing those thoughts back down again, completely inappropriate given the situation, he pulls out his cell phone and runs his fingers down the sides in thought. He should apologize. He knows it, and he also knows you would pretend to be fine during the meeting tomorrow despite actually being pissed off at him. Rightfully so.

Letting out a sigh of defeat, Ryuzaki powers it on and open up your contact and waiting a beat before clicking the dial button and leaning further onto the edge of the bed.

He’s not sure you’re even going to answer until the line rings for a fourth time and a half asleep “huhhh?” rings out from the other end.

Ryuzaki pauses immediately at the tone, not quite a groan but a light and airy moan escapes your lips into the receiver at your sleepy state. L stands motionless at the tone and immediately begins to regret calling at this late hour when his body begins to react against every logical will his brain offers.

“Hello?”

Shit. He realizes he’s taking too long to answer and resolves to issuing a short apology.

“Y/N? It’s L... I’m sorry to wake you.”

“Ohhhh Ryuzakiii”

L swallows hard at the airy tone you use, knowing you have no idea what you actually sound like considering it’s nearly 4:30 in the morning. His breath is labored as he clenches the phone in his hand, nearly forgetting the whole reason he was calling anyways.

“Yes, I’d like to apologize for my words earlier this evening. Though we can discuss this.. Tomorrow.”

“Hmm” There’s the sound of you shuffling on the other end before you continue and yawn in between every other word, “Ohhhh please don’t be mad.. I didn’t.. Mean to be.. A bitch…please– Ryuzaki”

Fuck. FUCK.

Even the sound of his fake name leaving your lips in that tone was enough to make him wince at the familiar feeling growing in his jeans. He needed to end this call. Now.

“No, I’m not mad. Please get some sleep and I apologize again… for calling this late.”

Ryuzaki ends the call and throws the phone on the bed as if the metal had been burning his hand the entire time.

This feeling was wrong, so. Fucking. Wrong.

He doesn’t need to look down to know what’s happening, being a young man in 20s he’s quite familiar with the feeling, but he peers down anyway. The fabric around the fly of his baggy jeans was uncomfortably tight and his cock pushed against the confines of his boxers and denim, throbbing slightly in arousal.

Ryuzaki lets out a shaky breath and thinks a million different thoughts at once, a majority of them full of self loathing and frustration. He was your boss for fuck’s sake. You both had admitted your trust in one another and he would hate himself for the rest of his life if you thought the only reason he kept you around was to sexually gratify him.

He had been around countless female agents and detectives who had been bullied or pulled out of the workforce because of menial relationships. Even Naomi had left the FBI upon getting married. If you ever found out that he was hard at just the sound of your sleepy and disheveled voice, you would probably be disgusted and offended and leave the task force; the very prospect of that being the last thing he wants considering your talent.

A wince escapes his lips when his cock throbs at the image of you now present in his head, and every rational brain cell within his skull is screaming at him to change his thoughts and let himself get soft. But he can’t. Not with the way your lips, coated in that honey flavored chapstick, or maybe lip gloss, you always apply, is painted clearly in his head. The way those very same lips would look around the base of his co-

NO.

Ryuzaki grips the comforter beneath him and folds into himself slightly as his erection painfully begs for some sort of friction to satisfy it. ‘It’s an abuse of a position of power’ is what the world famous detective portion of his brain is saying, while the 20-something-year-old portion of his brain is remembering what the swell of your ass looks like when you bend over the couch armrest to pick up fallen documents.

Shit…

He can feel all logical rationale seeping out of him when twitching fingers move to undo the button of his jeans and let down the zipper of his fly to just apply a little relief. Realistically, you might be interested too.

The thought makes Ryuzaki bite his lip in disgust while his hands betray his brain and move to shimmy the fabric of his jeans to his mid thigh and let his erection stand up in his boxers. The constant replies to all his messages, working late evenings with him, and brushing fingertips more times than a casual explanation could allow, even bringing him those delicious cookies when you realized how much he liked them.

You never did that for Light.

“Shit..”

Ryuzaki sighs in a partially drunk state while he stares at the patch of pre cum seeping through the flimsy fabric of his boxers, his cock aching for relief. The image of you with Light feeds the ugly part of him he didn’t even know had existed; despite knowing you for around a month, the idea of you being close with Light brings an unexplainable frustration to his mind.

While being able to imagine Light’s smug face is nearly enough to soften his erection, the sound of your voice airily moaning his fake name comes to mind once more, and the idea of what it would sound like to hear you say ‘Lawliet’ in that same tone, makes his cock ache even more than he thought possible.

Ryuzaki’s had erections before during your time at the task force, ones that occurred when he happened to fall sleep and woke up with some light morning wood. But this was different. Fingertips pinching the elastic of his waistband, he tugs the fabric down to join his jeans at his mid thigh; a wince escapes his lips at the change in temperature on his dick.

A slight happy trail going down his navel that extended into a full bush from lack of need to trim for anybody, his cock hovers upright with the angry dark pink tip leaking pre-cum profusely. This wasn’t a casual boner he was popping, it was an ugly carnal desire L had written off from having due to his career and work life. Yet sitting on the edge of the bed, all rationale finally seeps out of him.

It must due to be the lack of blood flow to his brain that makes Ryuzaki bring his palm to his mouth to spit into the flesh a few times before coating his shaft in a mix of pre-cum and saliva. The sensation causes a slight groan to escape and his eyebrows to furrow in focus as he spends an extra second massaging the tip.

Giving a few extra pumps to warm up, he begins to slide his hand up and down the shaft with just the amount of tension he likes. The feeling pairs nicely with the image of you in his head, would you jerk him off like this? Or would you want to put those pretty lips to use on his cock while your hands worked on his shaft?

Balls tightening at the mere image, his hips jerk forward into his hand as his body betrayed his brain and grew hornier at the thoughts. What color bra did you always wear? A week ago you accidentally wore a pretty light blue one under your white shirt… did you know he could see it? What did your tits look like when you take it off?

“Nngh… oh f-fuck..”

L swallows thickly and quickens the pace before using his other hand to lift his shirt so he could lean over and spit on his cock once more before taking the fabric in his teeth. His fingers massage the tip before tugging on the skin of his shaft and applying pressure to the enlarged vein that ran on the underside of cock, causing a few groans to leave his mouth.

And what if you did want him back? Would you let him sit under your pretty pussy while you rode his face? Let him eat you out like he had been thinking about… if you tasted even sweeter than he was imagining.

Hips shuddering and balls aching with a heavy feeling, that recognizable coil begins to grow in his abdomen as he increases the speed. Sweat dripping down his brow, he nearly coughs when the image of you letting him fuck you crosses his vision.

Splayed out all pretty and moaning his name. His real name. Or maybe riding him in this very bed while he sucks bruises only he will be able to see onto those perfect pretty tits of yours.

“Fuck.. Y/N… gonna..”

He increases the speed of his hand and can see the image now in a thousand different ways. Him cumming in your mouth, on your face, on your tits, in your hand, in your cunt and then watching it leak out…

FUCK

Ryuzaki tugs a few extra times and exhales sharply when hot ropes of semen begin to pour down his hand and even escape on the carpet below. Rubbing his cock through his orgasm, he lays back on the bed with an exasperating feeling as he catches his breath.

Hot cum on his hand, thighs, and now floor, the post-nut clarity is a disgusting feeling that washes over him. All the images and ways he’s tried so damn hard not to see you in, make him feel no better than a dog with no respect when that’s all you’ve shown him.

Of course it’s more than your body that L is attracted to, but the physical and creepy nature of masturbating to you makes him shiver uncomfortably as a line that shouldn’t have been crossed now has. With one more sigh and mentally shelving the images his brain had conjured up, Ryuzaki sits up and reaches for a couple of tissues on the nightstand.

Sopping up all the remnant cum on his hands, thighs, and carpet, he tosses the tissues into the trash and tucks himself back into his boxers and jeans.

Tomorrow…

Ryuzaki doesn’t want to even begin to consider how he would face you tomorrow, so he decides not to think about it. It was a one time thing, and now that it’s out of his system he should be free from the hypnotic spell you seem to have placed him under. With a sigh, he decides to head into the ensuite bathroom to wash away the physical evidence of his perverted actions and clear his head before facing you in yet another meeting tomorrow. One where you would be fully awake, and he could properly apologize.

part 3 is doneeee

ty so much for your patience with this series! holidays and exams are crazy but im so excited to keep writing this (hehe more nsfw to come, but defrosting methodical L into a horny pining man takes some time)

likes/comments/reblogs are appreciated & let me know if you wanna be on the taglist

-oatmeal ╰(´︶`)╯♡

Tags: @lechatparle24 @irissfoot @iheteeaifs

#l x reader #ryuzaki x reader #lawliet x reader #l x reader smut #lawliet smut #lawliet x reader smut #ryuzaki x reader smut #ryuzaki smut #L smut #L death note #light yagami #death note #oatmealwordslawliet #oatmealwrites

336 notes · View notes

sthilarions · 2 months ago

Text

Crystal: So, Edwin, are you a bitch all the time because you just permanently haven’t eaten? Like you’re just constantly hangry? Or is it because you can’t drink coffee?

Edwin: Hmm. Both intriguing hypotheses. However, if I recall correctly, you ate a sandwich slathered with some sort of disgusting goop less than an hour ago, accompanied by a pastel slush-like beverage which you attempted to convince me was coffee, and yet here we are.

Charles: Look, how about we all just -

Crystal&Edwin: Mind your business, Charles.

#dead boy detectives #edwin payne #crystal palace surname von hoverkraft #charles rowland #mine

244 notes · View notes

raven-at-the-writing-desk · 9 months ago

Note

Kalim’s favorite food is coconuts because the coconut is the hardest food to poison. Meaning he likes it because he knows there is a very slim chance it would be poison for him. 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Kalim’s favorite food is actually specified to be coconut juice! This is important because (as I’ve speculated about in this post):

Aside from being a refreshing beverage, coconut juice has historically been used to reverse the effects of poisons and drug overdoses in both India and Africa. We know that Kalim has had multiple attempts on his life, including intentional poisoning of his food, so this may be why Kalim has acquired a taste for coconut juice.

But yeah, overall similar reasoning to what you proposed! It’s a way to fend off any ingested poisons and/or go minimize the chances of being poisoned in the first place.

When you think of it like that, it paints Kalim’s golden life in a darker coat. There’s the sinister implication that his preference for coconut juice originated from the anxiety of knowing anything else he put to his lips could end him. Recall that Kalim is also hesitant to eat anything that Jamil didn’t personally prepare for him or hasn’t been taste tested in advance.

Typically when we think of Kalim, we think of extravagance and perhaps the ignorance his insane wealth affords him. Those are valid things to associate with him. However, considering the numerous assassination attempts he has lived through, it’s possible to look at his opulence another way too.

Kalim appears to be acutely aware that others want him dead, yet he sparingly mentions it out loud and instead parties hard and tries to make others have fun with him. He lives every day to its fullest, because it may very well be his last. If and when he goes out—which could literally be any day now—he doesn’t want to live with any regrets.

I cannot imagine it’s easy to live with the burden of knowing people are out for your head simply because your exist or because you were born into the wrong family. Sure, you may be able to have any luxury your heart desires, but money ultimately cannot cover up or treat the ever-looming threat of death (and again, I must stress: for no crime you have personally committed but just the circumstances you are in). Yet whenever we see Kalim, he’s usually smiling and offering a helping hand to his peers. He’s still actively choosing to give his trust to others rather than be suspicious or condemn them. That’s a special kind of courage that I think Kalim doesn’t get enough recognition for.

#twisted wonderland #twst #Jamil Viper #Kalim Al-Asim #Scarabia #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #notes from the writing raven

373 notes · View notes

whoskimii · 10 months ago

Note

yuuji and no nut november please

honestly i think yuuji would def do the challenge lmaoo (or try to)

⋆౨ৎ˚ notes > yuuji x you. - character is aged up - smut at the end! nnn but he lost the first day lmao. soft sleepy sex with your bf <33 tell me if i missed anything!! ^^ ౨ৎ warning : you may have butterflies in your belly while reading this!! 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

yuuji looked around, observing people. he had brought choso to a coffee shop as he wanted to try different beverages.

as the waitress placed another drink in front of choso for the sixth time, yuuji couldn't help but chuckle. he watched his brother taste it as he tilted his head to the side. "so ? how's it taste ?" he asked, sipping on his own drink.

the pink-haired boy smiled as his brother nodded enthusiastically. "great !" he beamed happily. yuuji nodded in return. "good. what is it ?" choso frowned a little, trying to recall the name. after a few seconds, he perked up. "oh, it's a strawberry milkshake." the younger boy hummed. "m'kay."

their attention drifted to the door as the bell rang, announcing the entry of another client. multiple boys arrived and settled at an empty table right next to them. they seemed to be around yuuji's age or maybe a few years older. "so, how's it going with your girlfriend ?" one of them asked another boy. "still the same ?"

yuuji couldn't help but listen. he was curious, after all. choso talked to him, bragging about how good his milkshake was but the words drifted out of his brother's ears. "nah, we made up. finally." the friends laughed.

choso looked at the window, watching the wind blowing through the trees. the temperatures were starting to fall. just like his sibling, he began listening. "but i'm gonna do nnn, though. i gotta stop watching porn. if she catches me again, i'm sure she'll break up with me."

the initials instantly caught choso's attention. nnn ? "huh ?" he looked at yuuji. "what's nnn ?" he frowned a little as the words fell out of his lips. his brother chuckled. "it's no nut november." it didn't help choso and yuuji noticed. "basically you can't get off for a month. no sex, no jerking off sessions, nothing." his brother raised his eyebrows. the concept was foreign to him. "oh... and... you do it ?" yuuji shrugged. "yeah. jus' for fun, though."

the older man smiled. "really ? so... when does it start ?" yuuji looked at his phone. "tomorrow. today's october 31st."

as the pink-haired boy woke up the next morning, he remembered the conversion he had with choso the previous day. he was persuaded he could last for at least half of the month. he looked to his side and noticed you, still sleeping peacefully. you looked so so pretty. the prettiest girl he's ever seen. even jennifer lawrence was second on the pyramid.

he gently patted your velvety hair, which prompted you to stir awake. "yuuji...?" you breathed, still in the daze. he hummed quietly. "yeah. s'me, baby..." he mumbled before burying his nose in your neck. he inhaled your comforting, feminine scent. he sighed softly. "y'smell so damn good, angel... y'know that ?" you giggled quietly, nodding a little. "s'my lotion... smells like vanilla."

he smiled softly. how was he supposed to do no nut november when you were right here, in his bed, looking all soft and cute ? he couldn't.

that's eventually why he shifted a little, placing himself between your legs. you instantly reacted to him, parting your thighs a little to grant him access. as he slowly slid down your panties, only leaving them mid-thighs, he placed a kiss to your shoulder.

as he untied his sweatpants, he pushed his boxers at the same time and left them around his knees. the tip of his needy cock was already leaky. he sighed softly and pumped himself a few times, enough to get himself hard. to get yourself wet, you circled your clit with the tip of your middle finger, breathy little whines escaping your parted lips.

at the sight, he groaned softly. he placed a hand on the headboard, the other beside your head to support his own weight. he leaned down to kiss you and when your lips met his, he slowly pushed in. he broke the kiss and a look of pure relaxation washed over his face.

his eyes fluttered shut and his lips parted slightly. he was relieved. being inside you was like coming home. he was home. whenever he would bury himself in your tight little heat, his shoulders slumped.

he let out a quiet little moan, still unmoving before he tucked his head in your neck. "mhm..." he hummed, all breathy, almost approvingly. he began rolling his hips against yours lazily. the pace was slow, unhurried. you were both young and in love, you had all the time in the world.

"y'feel so good, baby..." he sighed and placed his forehead on yours. as you both made eye contact, he twitched inside you. "already that wet, mhm...? shiiit..." the sounds of your squelching pussy filled his ears and he took a deep breath. "m'never gonna get tired of her..." he whispered and circled your throbbing little clit. "yuuji..." you breathed. "i know, baby, i know... m'here..." he intertwined his fingers with yours. "m'close, honey..."

as you clenched around him, he chuckled breathlessly. "yeah, seems like you are too..." your back arched off the comfy mattress a little. "yuu', m'gonna cum... oh... gonna cum..." you muttered. "yeah... me too. come with me, baby. jus'... let's come together, alright ?" you nodded vigorously and he hummed. "c'mon, m'right there... right behind you..."

it only took you a few other lazy thrusts to come around him. as your pretty little pussy pulsated around him, squeezing him tight, he huffed quietly and spilled himself inside you. "theeere we go... fuck..." he took a deep, sharp breath.

he stayed inside you for a few seconds before rolling off you. "m'gonna clean you up, 'kay ?" as he stood up, his eyes settled on his phone. he internally laughed.

november 1st, 8:07. the challenge was already over.

that's so sweet aughhh :((

⋆˚࿔ kimi 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

525 notes · View notes

trappolia · 1 year ago

Text

FINGERS TWISTED BEHIND MY BACK (DON'T LET IT BE YOU I LACK) ── aventurine x gn!reader, 862

aventurine hates fighting with you.

he does not even remember it—not clearly, at least. through the memories mudded by the buzz of soulglad and whatever alcoholic beverages he'd guzzled down the night before, the exact expression of your face when he stumbled back into your hotel room is a blur (a pretty blur, he is quite sure, though no doubt a disappointed one) and the sentences you'd spat out at him were jumbled into words that grate in his eardrums when he tries to recall what exactly was said. aventurine tries to echo it to himself, but even the incoherence sounds bitter on his tongue, and all that comes out an indistinct, asthmatic gasp that he's quite sure is some sort of equivalent of his heart aching. or breaking. somewhere in between, perhaps.

he rolls over in your bed, damp from the shower and tears. aventurine is thankful veritas hasn't stormed in to nag at him; he would not be able to stomach being seen like this by anyone else but you: his sweet safe haven, his little eden. you've gone now, stormed off somewhere to cool off. aventurine leaves you be (even if he spent the first two hours alone relentlessly spamming your phone with messages, pleas to come back and return) but he is still alone.

the thought occurred to him somewhere between hour three and hour five, that you'd never come back. aventurine doesn't let it linger. his stomach roils, mouth tasting of bitter alcohol and sweet dreams where you are still there and he'd never upset you.

the hours he spends there without you are hellish, a parody of a bleak, grief-stricken painting of some woman whose husband has gone out to fight in an intergalactic war—draped over the bed, numb and miserable to everything but the thought of you he has to conjure every now and then to keep himself sane. the air is cold and never seems to adjust, even though the reverie's rooms are specifically designed to tailor to the guest's tastes. they clearly did not consider the factor that is a hopeless, lovesick man suffering from withdrawal.

the door creaks open.

aventurine darts up in his your bed, instantly whipping myself up into such a nervous, edgy frenzy that he almost forgets how to breathe. his lungs shudder, the cogs in his brain turning the wrong way, and nothing is working fast enough, right enough as he stumbles to his feet, nearly tripping over the carpet as he finds you toeing off your shoes at the door, so pretty it hurts.

"welcome home," aventurine manages to choke out, still tripped-out and dizzy, heart pounding loud in his fingertips and ears. he watches you glance up at him, your eyes meeting his own for the first time in hours that feel like centuries, and the burden on his lungs alleviates—just a little bit.

"…aventurine," you sigh in this throaty, broken voice that cuts right at his chest. he winces as if he's been struck, eyes flitting to the dizzying pattern of the carpet in effort to hide the glossiness of his irises.

he hears your feet padding across the room to him, the footfalls soft and slow and not at all violent, though he cannot help but fear. there can always be a finality to the softest, gentlest of mercies. not that aventurine has ever experienced it before, but he knows it is possible with you: you who holds his heart in your hands, and you may very well tear it apart if you so wished.

aventurine will let you, if that is what you want.

but instead he swallows, too loudly; finds his fingers instinctively twisting behind his back. "are you going?"

"i just arrived," you whisper, endlessly gentle, endlessly soft—forgiving.

"i know," his voice breaks, and you reach out to touch him—palm against cheek, thumb brushing over the slope of his cheekbone. something cold and damp trails over the flesh of his face, fair marble streaked with a single rivulet of a tear. he does not tell you why he wants to cry. you know anyway.

aventurine thinks pretending would be easier with you, but here in this room, at the end of the day when everyone else has escaped into their own dreamscape, he is tired of saccharine sweet lies, the twisting webs that he pulls around without even understanding the final result it will conjure. it is easier, he thinks, to let you keep his heart and do with it as you wish—and aventurine can only hope that you will be merciful.

are you going? the second set of three words, that single question that he truly wants to ask is caught in his throat, because you may hold aventurine's heart in your palms, but if you will not use your own bloody fingers to pry it open, he must do it for you—and he can't. not for this, at least.

but you know anyway. of course you do.

will you stay?

"i'm right here," you murmur, sweet and godly against his lips, swallowing the sob that he almost lets out. "i'm staying right here."

1K notes · View notes

blindmagdalena · 2 years ago

Text

The Drug In Me Is You

18+ 3.2k vampire!homelander x supe f!reader. dacryphilia, noncon, p-in-v, blood drinking, possessive homelander, vampire bites as an aphrodisiac, cunnilingus, fingering, kidnapping, reader is held captive, gaslighting, abuse. dead dove!

Ever since Homelander got his cold dead hands on you, you've been the answer to his every prayer. You exist solely for him, kept safe in his home, delicious to the point where he refuses any blood that isn't yours. He isn't conscious of the extent he's grown to rely on you until the day he comes home to find you gone.

written for Monsterlander Mania! thank you @staarboyyy for the incredible vamplander gif. 🖤

There are few things that Homelander despises more in this world than summer. While the heat doesn’t bother him even beneath the thick layers of his suit, the rest of the world isn’t so lucky.

The meet and greets are by far the worst; a crowded collection of sweaty bodies piling in against one another like directed cattle, stewing in their own filth just long enough to reek of their own humanity by the time they’re touching him with clammy hands.

He’s never more grateful for his suit–especially his gloves–than during these occasions.

On top of that, these sardine can buildings become an echoing cacophony of juicy, throbbing hearts, every single one of them pounding in eager anticipation. Indoor events are better for blocking out the sun, but worse for every other aspect when it comes to his senses.

By the end of the day, his skull is throbbing and his stomach is twisting itself into knots. He needs quiet. He needs home. He needs to eat.

It’s dark by the time he lands on his balcony, the hour late. While he does prefer flying at night, he doesn’t like coming home so late. He tugs off his glove to use the thumbpad, which unlocks his automatic door. Stepping inside, he then hits a switch that triggers his blackout blinds to close behind him alongside the door.

“What a fucking day,” he grouses, making his way to the kitchen. “Twelve hours of this shit. I hate summer,” he says, tossing both of his gloves onto the kitchen counter. He reaches into the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water and a dark, thick green slurry in a tall lidded cup. It’s packed full of everything he both needs and likes, but perhaps most important is the iron content.

He goes through a fair amount of that.

“But I’m glad I’m home,” he says, carrying both beverages to his bedroom. “Because it looks like someone didn’t drink their shake.”

Homelander stops dead in his tracks, staring blankly at his empty bed. Standing perfectly still, he listens for the familiar cadence of your breath. The beat of your heart. Anything to tell him where the fuck you are. When he hears nothing, he drops the drinks unceremoniously to the floor and spins on his heel, instantly tearing through the penthouse.

He doesn’t smell blood or death, but the thought of you dead seizes him anyways, hurling him instantly into a panic. He scans through every wall and ceiling, but you’re not here. He calls your name, shouting it down each hall, but he’s met only with the reverberations of his own distraught voice.

At the front door, Homelander moves to input the code to open it, but halts abruptly. The panel is green. It hasn’t locked. Pulling it open, a thin piece of plastic falls away from the mechanism. It had been blocking the lock from securing.

Wednesday is grocery day, he recalls distantly. A staff member came to restock the fridge. They must have had the door propped open, and you…

Left.

You left.

Homelander rips the door open, nearly yanking it off the hinges, and storms down the hall, fangs bared. You must have waited until it was late and the guard presence was scarce, otherwise someone would have reported you. You can’t have gone far.

When Vought realized that the continued development of Homelander’s powers came with a particular quirk that necessitated the consumption of human blood, they began the process of ensuring he always had a steady supply to keep him from eating his adoring fans. He never really cared about where the blood came from until he tasted yours.

Yours was special. It did something no one else’s ever had; it made him feel alive. He could taste the world in ways he never could before, and if he drank enough, he swore he could feel his heart start to beat. None of the scientists knew why. It didn’t matter to him. From that point on, he wasn’t interested in drinking from anyone other than you.

That was when he decided to keep you close at hand. Cut out the middleman.

You belong to him, and you have for months. He’s taken the utmost care of you, ensuring that you could have everything you need within the confines of his penthouse. The finest foods, every form of entertainment one could dream of, exquisite service at your fingertips and most compellingly of all, the love and adoration of the world’s greatest hero.

So why the fuck would you leave?

Homelander rips through the tower. He’s furious, wounded and hungry. Those few security guards smart enough to get out of his way evade his rampage while a couple of unlucky ones wind up with their own personal craters in various walls.

He can smell the intoxicating allure of you trailing a path through the halls, but the combination of his hunger and his rage makes following it disorienting. He’s in no condition to hunt–he’s become sickeningly complacent in your time together, more reliant on you than he ever would have admitted freely. He’s grown to love the wait, letting himself feel his hunger so that you taste all the sweeter on his tongue.

Now the churn of it in his gut burns like fire.

Nevertheless, he is relentless, and within minutes he finds you in the garden just outside the tower, locked in by looming steel gates. You aren’t even properly dressed, garbed only in the thin loungewear he keeps you in, barefoot and combing your fingers through a tall hedge full of flowers just beginning to wither, their pink petals curled and browning.

You don’t even notice him until he’s upon you, snatching your wrist and whirling you around so sharply, the hedge behind you drops its wilting petals in a flurry. He must be a fearsome sight if your expression is anything to go by, your eyes wide and panicstricken.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He hisses through his teeth, fangs fully protracted. You take a breath to speak, but he doesn’t want to hear it. He jostles you by your shoulders to cut you off, fingers biting into your arms. “Do you have any idea how fucking worried I was?”

Your pulse is racing. He can hear it, feel it in your wrist beneath his thumb. The sound of it is nearly enough to throw him to the ground, to shred the thin veneer of humanity he wears and give in to the bloodlust. His thumbnail tilts ever so slightly, biting a crescent mark into the supple flesh of your wrist. Never have you felt more tender in his hands. Never has he come so close to tearing you apart.

One slip, and you would be spilling red all over his tongue.

“I just–” you begin, but he pulls you sharply up into his arms, seething so furiously that he can’t stand to hear you speak. He’s too far gone. Too fucking hungry.

“We’ll talk at home,” he grits out, and with a sonic boom that rips the remaining blossoms from the hedge in a flurry, he launches into the sky, purposefully flying too fast to allow for conversation. He holds you to his chest as tightly as he dares, landing back on his balcony with a thud. He uses the thumbpad and damn near tears the door off the hinges pulling it open.

Homelander doesn’t have time to waste. You bounce a few times with the way he drops you onto the bed. Glancing up, he catches sight of himself in the myriad of mirrors. No wonder you looked at him the way you did. He looks crazed, lips parted around his fangs, his usual bright blue eyes shining pure crimson.

It’s fine. It’s fine. Everything will be fine after this.

You scramble up the bed, moving backwards on your hands, but he catches you by the ankle and yanks you back down it, climbing on top of you with a frustrated noise that fades off into a sigh. “Y’see what you do to me?” He asks, voice low and frayed. You yelp when he rips your shirt clean apart, exposing your top half completely. Your skin is adorned beautifully with the history of your night.

You bruise easily for a supe. Your blood just loves to rush to the surface for him, vessels full and bursting under his grip. The memory of inflicting these marks is so intoxicating that even in his frenzy he can’t help but lean down and drag his tongue over one of the bruises that mottle the pretty skin of your chest. Under his tongue, you feel like ripe fruit yearning to be bitten into.

“Please, Homelander, stop,” you plead prettily. He can hear your tears in the tremble of your voice, practically taste the salt in the air.

Good, he thinks viciously. Cry. Regret. Never do this to me again.

“Played a dangerous game tonight, sweetheart,” he tells you, that pet name dripping with affection and venom in equal measure. He forces your legs apart and settles between them, tearing what little clothing remains on your body like paper and tossing it aside. He presses his palms down against your thighs, and the heat of you compared to the chill of his fingers nearly burns. He pushes your legs up and apart, soaking in the sweet smell of your cunt.

Sex and feeding have always gone hand in hand for Homelander. Vought tried for years to satiate him with plastic blood bags and artificial alternatives, but it never fed him the way a meal he could fuck does. Still, all of them paled in comparison to you. Your inner thighs are a mixture of both new and faded punctures that dot your body in matching pairs, scars that he hopes never fade. They mark you as his.

Neither of you will ever settle for another ever again. “I didn’t mean to make you worry, please–please let me explain,” you weep, trying to squirm out of his grasp. With a predatory growl he yanks you back into place, unwilling to listen.

The hunger is driving him to madness. He can feel your pulse like it’s his own, the sound of it thundering in his ears until it threatens to split his skull in half. His nails bite into your skin while he leans in, deaf to your begging as he closes his eyes and opens his mouth wide, sinking his fangs into the soft, succulent meat of your inner thigh.

Your blood spills into his mouth like rich ambrosia. He moans loudly, losing himself to the taste and the heat. Your blood is transcendent, going beyond nourishment. Your pulse reminds his heart to beat. The more he drinks, the more the warmth of you fills his frigid body, thawing out his sanity alongside it. Your heat courses steadily through him, the fervor of it vanishing that nauseating pound from his skull until the only throb he’s left with is the one between his legs.

He sucks in a wet breath when he breaks away from you, panting his delirious pleasure. There’s nothing in this world than the high that comes after being satiated from a frenzy. It’s like he’s floating, his tongue and throat tingling with your sweet nectar.

He isn’t the only one tingling. He can smell the heady musk of your arousal. Your fearful tears are no match for the effect his bite has on your body, how his saliva mingles with your blood and makes you ache for him.

Without his hunger deafening him to the world, he can focus again. He takes a moment to lap at where he’s bitten you, cleaning up the blood that dripped from the wounds. He trails his blood-warmed tongue inward, far from placated.

He pins your thighs down flush to the bed and nestles into the sweet core of you, plunging his tongue eagerly into your cunt. Your body jolts, but he holds you steady, eagerly swirling his tongue, collecting the taste of you to drink down. He sucks hungrily at your clit, pulling off of it with wet little pops, kissing and licking and sucking until you’re writhing beneath him for all the right reasons.

Devouring you like this is working him back up into a different kind of frenzy. He slips one finger into you, then two, mouthing your clit while he fucks you with his fingers, coaxing more and more from you. Your walls feel so fucking soft and velvety around his fingers, and his need to feel you quivering around his cock is rapidly outpacing his hunger for the taste of your cunt. With one last deep plunge of his tongue, he lifts himself over you, reaching down to hurriedly unclasp his belt, staring down at you with lust glazed eyes.

You’re a mess. Your whole body is flushed with heat, and you’ve barely stopped moaning since he bit you. He’s heard the effects of his bite described like a fever, a delirious experience that robs you of your senses and leaves you desperate for more, for anything of him. Even so, you haven’t stopped crying. It makes you look sweet. Vulnerable. Fucking delicious.

“Mmm, you’re pretty when you cry, baby,” he says, running his tongue along his teeth, over the sharp juts of his fangs. He gets his cock free and adjusts himself between your legs, laying over you. “This your way of saying sorry? Because it’s working,” he tells you, bracing one hand on the bed next to you while he uses the other to hold the base of his cock, dragging the head of it up and down through the wet mess of your pretty pussy lips. “Show me how sorry you are, sweetheart. Be good for me,” he murmurs against your skin, nuzzling at your throat.

Opening his mouth, Homelander bites into your neck at the same time he thrusts forward, letting out a muffled, ragged moan as he sinks into you on both fronts, shuddering with how fucking good it feels, tight and wet and hot as sin. Between that and the fresh rush of your blood down his throat, he ascends to a state of goddamn euphoria.

You make a noise somewhere between a sob and a moan. He drinks you up, savors the sound of you as much as he does the taste. He snaps his hips, wastes no time fucking you deep, holding you still with the lock of his jaw while he pounds you into the mattress.

“Oh, ffffuck,” he groans, lips bloodied. He laps at the blood on your neck, the sound of it as wet as his cock hammering your cunt with the relentlessness of a machine, utterly inhuman in the way he takes you. “So good to me, aren’t you? Feeding me, taking me. Mmm, fuck, m’close,” he says, nuzzling at your skin, enamored with the warmth of you.

With the ravenous insanity of his bloodlust fading, his thrusts become less brutal. He hikes your thigh over his hip and holds it there, sliding into a rhythm that’s something closer to making love. Your cunt quivers all around him, and by the noises you’re making he knows you’re electrified, out of your mind with the haze of pleasure that his bite induces. “M’gonna take care of you, too. You know that, don’t you? Yeah, y’do, and you won’t ever fucking leave me again. Don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” he pants, mouthing at the shell of your ear.

It’s a lie. He knows what he would do. He would punish any world that dared take you from him. The thought alone would be enough to enrage him all over were he not so deeply soothed by your iron on his tongue and your soft body giving into him. If he had breath to give, it would be stolen by the way you seize up against him, orgasm taking hold of you like a possession, capturing your voice and rolling your eyes heavenward.

This is love. This undying hunger, this obsessive compulsion to keep you close. He craves you not just for the ambrosial taste of your blood, but for your soft lips against his and the timbre of your voice. He brought you into his life to satiate his bloodlust, but never could he have fathomed the greater emptiness that you would fill. Knowing you were here waiting for him has made him understand for the first time in his life what it means to come home.

He’ll ruin you before he loses you.

Homelander comes with a low, wrecked moan, kissing you fervently as he stops to empty himself into you as deeply as possible, forehead pressed to yours.

You’re panting, letting out pitchy little wisps of sound with every breath. He gently kisses them from your lips, hushing you. “S’alright, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek, licking the salt of your tears from his lips. He cups the other side of your face and strokes it with his thumb. You’re shaking all over. He slips an arm around you to draw you close, to comfort you as you come down from your high. “Ssshhhh. Everything’s alright. M’right here, and I love you.”

That wrings a tight little sob out of you. He smiles, dazed on his own lingering ecstasy. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you,” he assures you, kissing your forehead. “Can’t imagine how scared you must’ve been, wandering alone in the dark like that,” he says, stroking your cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Just happy I found you before anything happened to you.”

What if someone else had found you like that? Confused and vulnerable. He would have found you eventually, but had anyone been unlucky enough to lay their hands on you before then, they wouldn’t have hands for much longer. He kisses you again, firmer, possessive. “Don’t cry, baby. You’re safe now. You’re home.”

Gingerly, he slips from the wet heat of your body and adjusts himself, getting you both situated under the covers. He spends a while soothing you, rubbing your back while you lay in his arms, kissing the top of your head every so often.

“You alright?” He asks eventually. You aren’t shaking anymore, but you haven’t said a word. It makes him a touch… anxious.

“Yes,” you whisper. It’s not very convincing, but he wants to believe it enough that he accepts the answer anyways.

“Good,” he purrs, slipping his hand over the back of your neck. His fingertips brush your menagerie of scars, each bite a reminder of how thoroughly you have allowed him to love you. “That’s my good girl. I love you,” he says with a smile, tipping your head back to kiss your lips.

He waits.

“I love you,” he says again.

“I love you, too,” you finally respond.

His smile broadens. He draws you closer to him, listening to the lively thrum of your body. You are the warmth in his own veins, the beat of his heart. This, too, is love. Kissed lips, bitten limbs, hungering teeth and bodies intertwined. It’s sweeter than anything he has ever known. The need in him is a monstrous thing, he knows. He hadn’t known how monstrous it was until he thought–even for a moment–that he’d lost you.

It won’t happen again.

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #terato #vampire x reader #monster romance #monster x human #it's late af but i FINALLY wrote vamplander!!!! special shoutout to non and calli for helping me with this one #my writing #dark fic

1K notes · View notes

dark-night-hero · 1 year ago

Text

Imagine being Umemiya Hajime's significant other.

Imagine looking after his and your plants within the rooftop base of Furin. Sure you knew he could always handle them yourself but a helping hand would not hurt once in awhile. So as your laid there on the makeshift hammock, you humm. Turning to your side carefully not to fall as you watch your lover's back. "Watcha doin' in there Hajimeee" You knew that he was doing, but the look on his face as he goes into his endless talk about plant was worth the nonesense.

Imagine everyone knew chaos would come if Kotoha were to ever get involved in a fight let alone get hurt. So what more when it comes to you? "Tsk. Cowards." You utter before spitting blood as your lips got busted, watching the gang cramble away as you wipe your lips with your sleeves only to hiss. You busted your lips. Rolling your eyes upon seeing the no one on sight. You turn your back only to see a familiar figure coming your way. "Wha- what? Who told him?!" Looking at the silver haird guy approaching you in great speed, you started to walk back. Oh damn you are screwed. Before you knew it, you were running on your toes with your boyfriend chasing after you closely and of course to no avail, he caught you in an instant.

"Hey, aren’t you banned from patrolling for 3 weeks?" "Ha ha ha I was just walking around?" "With dishevelled clothes and a busted lips? I doubt." "Come on, it was an act of self defense." "Just because you don't like how they are looking at you doesn't men you can throw a punch first." "..." "Add a week more into your ban." "Hajime!" "Nope, not working." He was protective, sure. But more than anything, you knew you can handle yourself pretty well, you did not have his back for nothing. In fact, in some cases, he was more worried about those punks you beat up rather than you. After you all could be pretty scary when mad. Scarier than him.

Imagine often hanging out on the cafe, you love their meals after all let alone the adorable cook in there. Just like Hajime, you adore Kotoha but unlike your boyfriend, you feelings were returned. "(First name)! Welcome back, oh- you're not with??" "Your older broo got something to do at the moment. Who knew, maybe he'll make it if he finished earlier." You laugh, recalling your whinny lover upon realizing it will take him more time to leave. "How I love the freedom away form responsibilities." You sigh, a smile making its way on your lips as you bring your beverage close to your lips when the bell rings with a thud. "You traitor! How could you leave me alone to take care of it all?!"

"Are you sure you don't need an anti-rabies shot?" You chuckle at your own joke as you dab his bite wound on the neck before wrapping it in bandage again. "Dude, even I don't get to mark you like this." You chuckle once again. Humming to yourself, you grab his hand that has his knuckle wounded. You frown, then you blow on it before grabbing your tweezer with disinfectant cotton in it before dabbing it on his wounds. "Ow." "Don't be dramatic." You roll your eyes at him. "Dumbass." You whispered, started bandaging his wounds once again. "Dumbass." You whispered once again. "I'm sorry." He mumble. You hate seeing him get hurt.

#dark night hero #windbreaker #wind breaker #wind breaker anime #windbreaker x reader #windbreaker x you #wind breaker x reader #wind breaker x you #windbreaker anime #wind breaker manga #hajime umemiya #umemiya hajime x reader #umemiya fluff #windbreaker umemiya

540 notes · View notes

glowettee · 4 months ago

Text

the secret to taking notes that make you want to study ✧˖°

hey lovelies! mindy heree <3

for this post i'm superrr excited to share a guide on taking notes that make you want to study ✧˖° trust me, i know how overwhelming it can get when it feels like you're stuck in the middle of endless textbooks and dry lecture slides (honestly, we all have those days). so, let's transform your note taking into something delightful, empowering, and totally reflective of your unique self.

✧ finding your vibe first things first, bestie: the key here is to make your notes feel personal and inspiring. rather than sticking to a rigid system, i suggest mixing a little structure with a whole lot of creativity. here are some steps to help you set up your perfect note taking vibe:

choose your medium: even if it’s a cute pastel notebook, sticky notes, or a digital app with fun themes, pick something that sparks joy and invites you to open it up. i personally love notion + remnote + coda

establish sections: break your notes into clear sections. introduction, main points, and summary. this not only boosts organization but also gives you a gratifying sense of progress every time you finish a page.

add your signature touch: doodles, small illustrations, or even a decorative border can make a note feel less like a chore and more like a mini art project. i love using aesthetic symbols for my digital notes <3

✧ creating a study ritual i believe that great notes come from a relaxed and focused mind. try integrating these rituals into your study sessions to set a positive tone, this is really important if you want to make note-taking fun:

begin with a short breathing exercise or a moment of gratitude (think of it as your pre-study pep talk).

play some light instrumental music or your favorite lo-fi beats, or playlist. something to keep your mind in a creative zone without distractions. (i have a great playlist i made that i use for tackling assignments here: 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀, 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀! <3)

grab your favorite beverage (i’m a fan of herbal tea or a cute iced coffee) and make sure you're comfortable. a little self-care goes a long way!

✧ structuring your notes for clarity a well-organized layout makes reviewing notes less daunting and more interactive. and obviously so much more fun, consider using this format for a balanced + demureee approach:

start with a title and date: it grounds your notes and gives you a quick reference.

write a brief summary of the topic: in your own words, capture the essence of what you’re about to learn. just summarize it as best as possible

list key points: use bullet points, numbered lists, or even headers for different subtopics. tip: use cute symbols for bullet points

highlight examples: it can be a quote, a definition, or an application concept, mark these with a star or a cute icon.

close with a reflection: jot down any questions, what you found most interesting, or even a mini action item related to the topic. this is your space for self-talk and reflection.

✧ turning notes into interactive canvases (cause we need it) notes aren’t meant to be static pages floating in an endless binder. make them interactive to truly boost your study sessions:

include thought-provoking questions: ask yourself things like “what would elle woods do?” (lol, we love her <3) or “how does this connect with real life?” to spark critical thinking.

add mini quizzes: at the end of each section, write one or two questions that challenge you to recall key points.

leave room for updates: as you learn more, come back and add extra notes, doodles, or even inspirational stickers (yes, just like in a scrapbook!).

✧ personal tips from mindy because i want you to shine in every note you take, here are my totally secret, fun tips to elevate your note routine:

secret tip #1: color with purpose choose a color palette that not only looks cute but also maps out different themes in your subject. use one color for definitions, another for examples, and maybe a sparkly tone for key takeaways. over time, these colors will trigger your memory (i promise, it really works!).

secret tip #2: integrate affirmations studying can be stressful sometimes, so why not lace your notes with a few tender affirmations? write a quick pep talk (like “i got this, bestie” or “every detail counts”) in a corner. it might seem small, but these little lines can boost your confidence when you need it most. and it's just so freaking cute <3 affirmations from you to you, is like a love letter to yourself, so just try it

secret tip #3: try mind mapping if you’re more of a visual learner, create mind maps instead of linear notes. start with the main topic in the center and branch out with related ideas and details. this not only makes your notes dynamic but also helps you see connections between concepts (ever notice how some subjects just click with a visual flow?).

secret tip #4: use digital tools creatively if you’re leaning towards digital note taking, like me, experiment with apps that support drawing, voice notes, and even embedded links. add images that resonate with the topic or short videos for a quick concept refresher. making your digital notebook interactive can really keep boredom at bay.

secret tip #5: schedule weekly note reviews set aside a bit of time every week to revisit your notes. treat it as a mini self-study session where you update, add reflections, or even reorganize sections for clarity. this habit not only reinforces your learning but also lets you see your own progress over time, like looking back on how far you’ve come.

✧ action items for the week (it's homework timeee) to wrap things up, here are a few steps to try:

pick one class or topic this week and redo your notes using one or two of these tips (maybe add a mind map or a quick quiz).

experiment with color coding: choose colors that resonate with you and assign them to key points or sections.

schedule a 10-minute review session at the end of the week to refresh and reflect on your notes.

share your progress with a friend or even a study group to celebrate little victories. accountability can boost your motivation!

note: note taking is a creative process that should feel as refreshing and inspiring as a new day. keep experimenting until you find what truly works for you. i hope these tips help you get excited about every page you write on.

xoxo, mindy

I made this amazzinggg playlist (as mentioned earlier in the post) and its specifically made to help you complete homework + assignments. i curated it to make sure its soft music to help you focus <3 love from mindyyy 🩷

don't forget, if you need personal advice, submit it here and i'll answer it as a detailed tumblr blog post <3: https://bit.ly/glowetteehotline

259 notes · View notes

mostlysignssomeportents · 5 months ago

Text

The Brave Little Toaster

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by Wil Wheaton.

The AI bubble is the new crypto bubble: you can tell because the same people are behind it, and they're doing the same thing with AI as they did with crypto – trying desperately to find a use case to cram it into, despite the yawning indifference and outright hostility of the users:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/09/autocomplete-worshippers/#the-real-ai-was-the-corporations-that-we-fought-along-the-way

This week on the excellent Trashfuture podcast, the regulars – joined by 404 Media's Jason Koebler – have a hilarious – as in, I was wheezing with laughter! – riff on this year's CES, where companies are demoing home appliances with LLMs built in:

https://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-hgi6c-179b908

Why would you need a chatbot in your dishwasher? As it turns out, there's a credulous, Poe's-law-grade Forbes article that lays out the (incredibly stupid) case for this (incredibly stupid) idea:

https://www.forbes.com/sites/bernardmarr/2024/03/29/generative-ai-is-coming-to-your-home-appliances/

As the Trashfuturians mapped out this new apex of the AI hype cycle, I found myself thinking of a short story I wrote 15 years ago, satirizing the "Internet of Things" hype we were mired in. It's called "The Brave Little Toaster", and it was published in MIT Tech Review's TRSF anthology in 2011:

http://bestsf.net/trsf-the-best-new-science-fiction-technology-review-2011/

The story was meant to poke fun at the preposterous IoT hype of the day, and I recall thinking that creating a world of talking appliance was the height of Philip K Dickist absurdism. Little did I dream that a decade and a half later, the story would be even more relevant, thanks to AI pump-and-dumpers who sweatily jammed chatbots into kitchen appliances.

So I figured I'd republish The Brave Little Toaster; it's been reprinted here and there since (there's a high school English textbook that included it, along with a bunch of pretty fun exercises for students), and I podcasted it back in the day:

https://ia803103.us.archive.org/35/items/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_212/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_212_Brave_Little_Toaster.mp3

A word about the title of this story. It should sound familiar – I nicked it from a brilliant story by Tom Disch that was made into a very weird cartoon:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I8C_JaT8Lvg

My story is one of several I wrote by stealing the titles of other stories and riffing on them; they were very successful, winning several awards, getting widely translated and reprinted, and so on:

https://locusmag.com/2012/05/cory-doctorow-a-prose-by-any-other-name/

All right, on to the story!

One day, Mister Toussaint came home to find an extra 300 euros' worth of groceries on his doorstep. So he called up Miz Rousseau, the grocer, and said, "Why have you sent me all this food? My fridge is already full of delicious things. I don't need this stuff and besides, I can't pay for it."

But Miz Rousseau told him that he had ordered the food. His refrigerator had sent in the list, and she had the signed order to prove it.

Furious, Mister Toussaint confronted his refrigerator. It was mysteriously empty, even though it had been full that morning. Or rather, it was almost empty: there was a single pouch of energy drink sitting on a shelf in the back. He'd gotten it from an enthusiastically smiling young woman on the metro platform the day before. She'd been giving them to everyone.

"Why did you throw away all my food?" he demanded. The refrigerator hummed smugly at him.

"It was spoiled," it said.

But the food hadn't been spoiled. Mister Toussaint pored over his refrigerator's diagnostics and logfiles, and soon enough, he had the answer. It was the energy beverage, of course.

"Row, row, row your boat," it sang. "Gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, I'm offgassing ethelyne." Mister Toussaint sniffed the pouch suspiciously.

"No you're not," he said. The label said that the drink was called LOONY GOONY and it promised ONE TRILLION TIMES MORE POWERFUL THAN ESPRESSO!!!!!ONE11! Mister Toussaint began to suspect that the pouch was some kind of stupid Internet of Things prank. He hated those.

He chucked the pouch in the rubbish can and put his new groceries away.

The next day, Mister Toussaint came home and discovered that the overflowing rubbish was still sitting in its little bag under the sink. The can had not cycled it through the trapdoor to the chute that ran to the big collection-point at ground level, 104 storeys below.

"Why haven't you emptied yourself?" he demanded. The trashcan told him that toxic substances had to be manually sorted. "What toxic substances?"

So he took out everything in the bin, one piece at a time. You've probably guessed what the trouble was.

"Excuse me if I'm chattery, I do not mean to nattery, but I'm a mercury battery!" LOONY GOONY's singing voice really got on Mister Toussaint's nerves.

"No you're not," Mister Toussaint said.

Mister Toussaint tried the microwave. Even the cleverest squeezy-pouch couldn't survive a good nuking. But the microwave wouldn't switch on. "I'm no drink and I'm no meal," LOONY GOONY sang. "I'm a ferrous lump of steel!"

The dishwasher wouldn't wash it ("I don't mean to annoy or chafe, but I'm simply not dishwasher safe!"). The toilet wouldn't flush it ("I don't belong in the bog, because down there I'm sure to clog!"). The windows wouldn't retract their safety screen to let it drop, but that wasn't much of a surprise.

"I hate you," Mister Toussaint said to LOONY GOONY, and he stuck it in his coat pocket. He'd throw it out in a trash-can on the way to work.

They arrested Mister Toussaint at the 678th Street station. They were waiting for him on the platform, and they cuffed him just as soon as he stepped off the train. The entire station had been evacuated and the police wore full biohazard containment gear. They'd even shrinkwrapped their machine-guns.

"You'd better wear a breather and you'd better wear a hat, I'm a vial of terrible deadly hazmat," LOONY GOONY sang.

When they released Mister Toussaint the next day, they made him take LOONY GOONY home with him. There were lots more people with LOONY GOONYs to process.

Mister Toussaint paid the rush-rush fee that the storage depot charged to send over his container. They forklifted it out of the giant warehouse under the desert and zipped it straight to the cargo-bay in Mister Toussaint's building. He put on old, stupid clothes and clipped some lights to his glasses and started sorting.

Most of the things in container were stupid. He'd been throwing away stupid stuff all his life, because the smart stuff was just so much easier. But then his grandpa had died and they'd cleaned out his little room at the pensioner's ward and he'd just shoved it all in the container and sent it out the desert.

From time to time, he'd thought of the eight cubic meters of stupidity he'd inherited and sighed a put-upon sigh. He'd loved Grandpa, but he wished the old man had used some of the ample spare time from the tail end of his life to replace his junk with stuff that could more gracefully reintegrate with the materials stream.

How inconsiderate!

The house chattered enthusiastically at the toaster when he plugged it in, but the toaster said nothing back. It couldn't. It was stupid. Its bread-slots were crusted over with carbon residue and it dribbled crumbs from the ill-fitting tray beneath it. It had been designed and built by cavemen who hadn't ever considered the advantages of networked environments.

It was stupid, but it was brave. It would do anything Mister Toussaint asked it to do.

"It's getting hot and sticky and I'm not playing any games, you'd better get me out before I burst into flames!" LOONY GOONY sang loudly, but the toaster ignored it.

"I don't mean to endanger your abode, but if you don't let me out, I'm going to explode!" The smart appliances chattered nervously at one another, but the brave little toaster said nothing as Mister Toussaint depressed its lever again.

"You'd better get out and save your ass, before I start leaking poison gas!" LOONY GOONY's voice was panicky. Mister Toussaint smiled and depressed the lever.

Just as he did, he thought to check in with the flat's diagnostics. Just in time, too! Its quorum-sensors were redlining as it listened in on the appliances' consternation. Mister Toussaint unplugged the fridge and the microwave and the dishwasher.

The cooker and trash-can were hard-wired, but they didn't represent a quorum.

The fire department took away the melted toaster and used their axes to knock huge, vindictive holes in Mister Toussaint's walls. "Just looking for embers," they claimed. But he knew that they were pissed off because there was simply no good excuse for sticking a pouch of independently powered computation and sensors and transmitters into an antique toaster and pushing down the lever until oily, toxic smoke filled the whole 104th floor.

Mister Toussaint's neighbors weren't happy about it either.

But Mister Toussaint didn't mind. It had all been worth it, just to hear LOONY GOONY beg and weep for its life as its edges curled up and blackened.

He argued mightily, but the firefighters refused to let him keep the toaster.

If you enjoyed that and would like to read more of my fiction, may I suggest that you pre-order my next novel as a print book, ebook or audiobook, via the Kickstarter I launched yesterday?

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/picks-and-shovels-marty-hench-at-the-dawn-of-enshittification?ref=created_projects

Check out my Kickstarter to pre-order copies of my next novel, Picks and Shovels!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/08/sirius-cybernetics-corporation/#chatterbox

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

222 notes · View notes