#to make things just that much harder than they need to be | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chosok-amo · 3 days ago

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BLUE : GETO SUGURU

& sum. you’ve been feeling blue lately, more sadder than usual this past week, and all you’ve ever felt is just sadness and you don’t know what happened to you, all you’ve ever wanted is just being hugged by your boyfriend.

warning. non-sorcerer au, fem! reader, angst to comfort, so much comfort lol.

you’ve been feeling down lately, a heavy, unshakable sadness settling over you that you can’t quite explain. it’s been there for a while now—lingering for a week, maybe even longer. it feels as if a dark cloud has settled over you, pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe, to move, to do anything without feeling weighed down. even the smallest things seem difficult; every movement feels like dragging yourself through mud, and your mind feels stuck in a fog. the sadness wraps around you tightly, leaving you hollow and empty, and no matter what you try, it just won’t go away.

you’ve lost your appetite completely. food seems tasteless, and there’s no desire to eat when there’s no joy, no spark to fuel you. you hardly have the energy to cook or even consider what you might like. days pass, and you notice how hollow your stomach feels, but the thought of eating feels pointless. it’s like there’s a pit in your chest that even the best meal couldn’t fill.

but geto notices. he always notices, especially when something’s wrong with you. he knows you better than anyone, and even when you try to put on a brave face, he can see right through it. he watches you carefully, studying every small shift in your expression, every slouch of your shoulders, the way your eyes seem a little more distant lately. his intuition, his attention to detail—it’s like he’s tuned into every unspoken feeling you have.

he doesn’t waste any time. geto starts showing up more often, making sure you’re not left alone with the heaviness pressing down on you. whenever he has a break from college, he’s there, by your side, making sure you’re eating, gently coaxing you to have at least a few bites. he’ll sit beside you, bringing your favorite meals, reminding you with a gentle, soft voice that food might help you feel better. he’s patient, never pushing too hard but persistent enough to remind you he’s there and he’s not going anywhere.

and he stays close. his presence feels steady, grounding you when the sadness feels overwhelming. he doesn’t leave you alone for too long, always keeping you within his sight, whether he’s sitting across from you, reading while you rest or quietly checking in every now and then, gently brushing your shoulder or squeezing your hand just to let you know he’s there. his touch is always warm, comforting, and he seems to know just how much you need it, how much you need him, without you having to say a word.

geto doesn’t let you slip away. even when you feel yourself pulling back, withdrawing into that sadness, he pulls you back softly, reminding you of his care, his unwavering support. he’s there through it all—through the silences, the times when words feel too heavy to speak, the moments when you feel like you’re drowning in the quiet ache in your chest. he becomes your anchor, the one steady thing in the midst of it all, and he reminds you, bit by bit, that you’re not alone.

you walk slowly towards him, your shoulders slouched, feeling the weight of sadness pressing down on you harder than it has all week. today feels different—heavier, sharper, and the ache in your chest is almost too much to bear. it’s like every step you take is carrying the burden of everything you’re trying to hold back, and you can feel tears welling up, threatening to spill over at any moment. your throat feels tight, and your vision blurs a little as you get closer to him.

geto looks up from his book the moment he senses you nearby, his eyes softening as he takes you in. his book is forgotten almost instantly, and he sets it aside, opening his arms without a word, inviting you into his warmth. you don’t even have to ask; it’s like he can feel your sadness, see every bit of the weight you’re carrying, and he just knows you need him.

you slide into the couch next to him, his arms already waiting to envelop you, pulling you gently against his chest. as you curl up against him, feeling his warmth seep into you, the ache in your chest loosens just a bit, allowing you to breathe a little easier. you press your back against him, sinking into his embrace, and his arms tighten around you, holding you as though he’s afraid you might slip away.

with your head resting under his chin, you feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat a calm, grounding rhythm beneath you. you close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, and as soon as you exhale, a few quiet tears escape, trailing down your cheeks. you’re grateful for the way he just holds you, silently and steadily, not rushing you to speak or asking what’s wrong. instead, he lets you exist in this moment, letting you feel whatever it is you need to feel, knowing he’s here beside you.

geto leans in closer, his breath soft against the top of your head, and his fingers slowly rubs your back. his touch is gentle, tender, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he applies even an ounce of pressure. his shirt is soft against your cheek, and warmth from his body seems to melt into you, offering a small comfort amidst the storm of sadness within you.

he stays quiet, the silence between you heavy yet somehow not uncomfortable. the feeling of your tears staining his shirt. he doesn’t speak, not yet—he knows now isn’t the time for words, but rather, time for silent understanding and support.

he dips his head, nuzzling gently into your hair, savoring the familiar scent of you. his warm breath dances over the top of your head, a silent reassurance that he’s there, and he’s not going anywhere.

but the moment his arm slips beneath your neck and he wraps himself around you, it’s like a dam finally breaks. your tears, already close to spilling over, begin to fall freely, quicker than you can hold back. you don’t even try to stop them, letting the wave of sadness flow out as you cling to him, your hands gripping his arm like he’s the only anchor holding you in place.

you bury your face against his arm, your quiet sobs muffled against the soft fabric of his shirt. his warmth, his steady presence, all of it feels like a lifeline amidst the storm raging inside you. you squeeze his arm tightly, needing the reassurance of his solidity, his unwavering support. the way he holds you, so tenderly, so carefully, only makes you feel more secure. it’s as if he’s sheltering you from the sadness, wrapping you up in his embrace as if he could protect you from everything that feels too overwhelming to face.

you feel his hand slowly rubbing your back, each gentle stroke grounding you, easing the ache just a little bit more. his touch is comforting, gentle yet full of strength, and you can feel his silent promise in every movement—that he’s here, he’s got you, and he’s not going to let you go.

geto feels the shuddering sobs rip through your body, your hold on him impossibly tight, like you're clutching to him as a lifeline. a protective feeling, deep and strong as iron, washes over him, and he pulls you closer, molding your trembling frame to his own. he tightens his arms around you, almost as if he could somehow hold the pieces of you together, keep you from shattering beneath the weight of the pain you were carrying.

he doesn’t try to speak, nor does he try to ask what’s wrong. he simply keeps rubbing soothing circles into your back, his lips hovering above

your head in a silent gesture of comfort. he keeps you tucked against him, holding you close, trying to offer whatever tiny bit of comfort he can amidst the storm of sadness within you. his heartbeat thuds steadily into your ear, a constant rhythm. it says, “i’m here, i’m here, i’m here,” over and over, and his arms, wrapped so tightly around you, are a steady, gentle pressure, promising that he’s not going to go anywhere, that he’ll just keep holding you together until the storm passes.

he murmurs soft, soothing endearments into your hair, his voice a low, tender rumble, “i’ve got you, i’ve got you…i’ve got you...”

he keeps you firmly against him, the feeling of your tears, the quiet sobs, a reminder of the immense pain you’re feeling. he nuzzles his face gently into your hair once more, the motion a silent, tender expression of his love.

for now, he just wants to hold you, to be a steady presence for a bit longer, and slowly, gently try and ease the sadness ripping through you.

his voice is a soft murmur, gentle yet filled with concern. “c’mere,” he whispers, his fingers brushing lightly along your shoulder, coaxing you to turn toward him. something in his tone is so tender, so patient, that you find yourself instinctively following, shifting in his arms until you’re facing him.

without a second thought, you wrap your arms around his torso, holding onto him tightly, as if he’s the only thing keeping you from crumbling. you bury your face against his neck, his familiar scent wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. the warm notes of vanilla and the rich depth of oud wood settle your heart just a little, bringing a faint sense of peace amidst the lingering sadness. the scent is so unmistakably him, grounding you, reminding you that you’re safe here, held close in his arms.

geto’s hand comes up, his fingers threading softly through your hair, his other hand pressing lightly against the small of your back, keeping you close. his touch is soothing, gentle in a way that lets you know he understands, that he’s here with you in this moment, sharing in the weight of your sadness without needing to say a word.

“i’m here,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. there’s a softness to his voice that makes you feel seen, truly understood in a way that words alone can’t convey. he holds you even tighter, his arms a steady fortress around you as you let yourself sink further into him. he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t try to stop your tears; instead, he leans into them, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, another quiet assurance that he’s with you.

his hand moves slowly, rubbing small circles on your back, a comforting rhythm that gradually eases some of the tension in your shoulders. the steady rise and fall of his breathing, his warmth, his scent—all of it pulls you away from the sadness just a bit, like a quiet anchor grounding you amidst the storm.

“it’s okay,” he murmurs softly, his voice steady. “take your time… i’m not going anywhere.” with those words, you feel a small shift, a fragile flicker of calm, knowing that you don’t have to face this alone. held in his arms, surrounded by his warmth and gentle reassurance, the ache in your chest softens, if only slightly. and somehow, in the quiet of his embrace, you feel a little bit of your sadness begin to lighten, piece by piece, as you rest against him.

geto leans back against the couch, pulling you along with him so you’re now cradled against his chest. his hands keep rubbing your back slowly, his touch firm, gentle, comforting. he doesn’t try to push you to speak, he just lets you cry into his chest, his shirt growing wet from your tears.

he keeps his arms tightly wrapped around you, holding you close, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. he dips his head down, pressing a few gentle kisses on the top of your head, the gesture soft, tender, trying to soothe away some of the ache.

after a while, your breathing evens out, and your tears finally begin to slow. your fingers, which had been gripping his shirt so tightly, start to relax, your hand slipping slightly as the weight of exhaustion settles in. geto glances down and notices the change, his eyes softening as he realizes you’ve drifted off to sleep in his arms. the tear tracks glisten faintly on your cheeks, and your face is marked by the quiet aftermath of sadness—eyes and nose red, the last traces of tears still fresh on your skin.

he doesn’t move, barely even breathes, afraid to disturb the fragile peace that’s settled over you. instead, he adjusts his hold gently, one arm wrapped securely around you while his other hand lifts, fingers tenderly brushing stray strands of hair away from your face. he takes in every detail of your face, the vulnerability in your expression, the exhaustion that has finally pulled you into rest.

geto’s thumb grazes lightly across your cheek, wiping away the remaining traces of tears with a touch so soft it’s almost reverent. his heart aches, seeing the sadness etched onto your sleeping face, and he silently promises to be here, to stay by your side through every moment, no matter how heavy it gets.

carefully, he shifts a bit to make you more comfortable, pulling a nearby blanket over you both, making sure you’re warm and secure in his arms. he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if he could transfer some of his own strength to you, a silent promise that he’s here, that he’ll carry the weight with you.

with one last look at your peaceful, albeit tear-stained, face, he settles back, his hand resting protectively on your back as he lets you sleep, holding you close through the noon, fall asleep with you in his arm.

the soft evening light fills the room, muted and gentle, casting a cozy glow around you and geto as you slowly wake from your nap. both of you lie on the couch that geto has carefully rearranged into a makeshift bed, layered with soft pillows and a warm, thick blanket draped over your legs. the couch-turned-bed isn’t just a place to sit anymore—it’s a little haven, a comforting spot where you can rest and feel safe, and geto made sure to set it up so you’d feel just that.

your eyes are puffy, still swollen from the tears you shed earlier, and there's a lingering heaviness, but it feels softer now. after crying so much, your body feels lighter in a way, like some of the sadness has flowed out, leaving a quieter calm in its place. geto’s presence beside you has worked like a balm, soothing some of the hurt that had been weighing on you. on the tv across from you, Coraline is playing. its familiar, almost dreamlike scenes add to the comforting atmosphere, something nostalgic and easy for your mind to focus on without effort. it’s a small but thoughtful choice—geto put it on because he knows it’s a favorite, and its soft glow and gentle storytelling help keep you grounded.

meanwhile, geto is in the kitchen, preparing dinner with quiet care. he’s decided to order takeout from your favorite restaurant; he didn’t feel like cooking tonight, but he knew you needed something special, something comforting. it’s a thoughtful choice, not just because he’s sparing himself the effort of cooking, but because he knows how much little gestures like your favorite food can lift your spirits. even though he isn’t beside you at this moment, he’s thinking of you, and every action he takes tonight is meant to comfort you in the gentlest, simplest ways.

outside, rain taps heavily against the windows, the steady sound creating a peaceful rhythm that wraps around you like an embrace. the world beyond the glass feels quiet and distant, softened by the rain. the storm outside feels almost symbolic of the emotional storm you went through earlier, but now, it’s calming, soothing rather than overwhelming. the sadness in your heart, once so sharp and heavy, feels lighter now, thanks to the release you allowed yourself and the comfort geto has provided.

a little while later, geto returns, balancing two plates of food carefully in his hands. he sets them on the coffee table in front of you and settles down beside you, the warmth of his shoulder brushing against yours. there’s a gentle smile on his face as he hands you one of the plates. “figured this might cheer my favorite girl up,” he says softly. there’s warmth in his eyes, a quiet, tender look that tells you he knows exactly what you need tonight.

taking the plate, you feel a deep sense of gratitude welling up. “thank you, baby,” you whisper, your voice soft, touched by everything he’s done for you without needing words to explain. you both begin to eat, the comforting flavors of your favorite meal and the cozy blanket wrapped around you adding to the sense of warmth that fills the room.

geto’s eyes dart to you every now and then as you eat, studying your expression, trying to gauge your mood. he keeps his voice soft, the volume just above a whisper, as if he's afraid of disrupting the comforting atmosphere between you.

“how are you feeling?” he asks gently, keeping his gaze on your face, waiting for your response. he continues eating, but his attention remains on you, his eyes never leaving yours, the concern in them apparent but not suffocating.

you pause, spoon halfway to your mouth, as geto's question registers in your mind. the softness in his voice, the way his gaze never wavers from your face, makes you feel a warmth that’s almost overwhelming. taking a small spoonful of your food, you savor the familiar taste, letting it bring a quiet calm over you before meeting his eyes.

turning away from the television, you nod and offer him a little smile, one that speaks volumes more than words could. “i feel a lot better now,” you say softly, your voice filled with sincerity. “thanks to you.”

geto’s features soften, a small, gentle smile spreading across his face in response to your words. he sets down his fork for a moment, pausing his meal to reach out, his hand gently resting on your knee, giving it a small, encouraging squeeze.

“good,” he murmurs, the word simple, yet filled with relief. he looks at you, the concern in his eyes replaced with a warm, affectionate glow. he keeps his hand on your knee, his thumb gently caressing your skin in small, soothing motions.

he picks up his fork again, continuing to eat while still maintaining his grip on your knee, his fingers gently massaging it through the fabric of your clothes. it’s a small, subtle gesture meant to provide comfort, as if he wants to maintain the physical connection with you even as you're both eating.

“i’ll admit, i was pretty worried about you earlier,” he admits gently, his voice soft and quiet, as if he's hesitant to disturb the peaceful atmosphere between you both.

a small, sheepish smile creeps onto your face as you glance down at his hand on your knee, feeling the warmth of his fingers gently massaging in a comforting rhythm. his touch feels grounding, like he’s trying to keep you tethered to him in the softest way possible.

you look back up at him, letting out a quiet chuckle. “i got pretty dramatic, didn’t i?” you say, a hint of self-deprecation in your tone but softened by the warmth in your eyes. your fingers absentmindedly brush over his hand on your knee, grateful for his steady presence. “it’s just been one of those weeks… everything felt so heavy.” your voice trails off, but there’s relief in your words. “but… honestly, i feel a lot better now. crying it out helped, i think.”

geto listens to your words, his gaze never wavering from your face as you speak. his expression is soft, understanding, a warm comfort in itself. as you mention how crying helped, he gives your knee another small, gentle squeeze.

“there’s nothing wrong with letting it out,” he says gently, a subtle nod of agreement. he sets his fork down and shifts a bit closer to you, his hand on your knee slowly moving further up to rest on your thigh, his thumb still gently massaging your skin.

he looks straight into your eyes, his gaze intense but not overwhelming. “i’m always here, you know that, right?” he whispers, his words an earnest assurance. “you don’t have to hold it all in by yourself.”

he gently pushes a strand of hair away from your face, his touch tender, filled with care. he keeps his hand on your thigh, the pressure firm, warm, a promise of steadiness.

you nod softly, setting your plate down on the table as you turn your full attention to him. scooting closer, you place your hand over his chest, feeling the steady, calming rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. there’s something so grounding about that gentle pulse, a reminder of his unwavering presence.

“i know,” you say quietly, your voice carrying a weight of gratitude that words alone can’t express. “and i’m so, so grateful for that.” you let your fingers spread slightly, feeling the warmth radiating from his chest, as if it’s wrapping around you too. looking up at him, you can see that he means every word, his gaze so genuine and reassuring, a quiet promise that he’ll always be there to help carry the weight when you need it.

see as you move closer, geto responds by shifting his position, opening his arms to pull you flush against him. he wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you in so your side is pressed against his chest, a warm, solid presence that grounds you. his hand returns to your thigh, continuing its gentle massaging motions, the touch filled with a tenderness that speaks louder than words ever could.

he lowers his head so his chin rests against the top of your head, his eyes drifting half-closed as he holds you close, his heart beating steady and strong beneath your touch.

you rest against him, feeling his arms wrap around you with such warmth, you let your hand drift up, fingers splaying over his chest as you quietly murmur, “i missed you.” your voice is soft, a little shaky, but it’s filled with the depth of everything you’ve been holding in.

for a moment, you just stay there, listening to his heartbeat beneath your fingertips, feeling his hand on your thigh, his chin resting atop your head. it feels like home, like an anchor, and it makes you realize just how much you’ve missed being fully present with him. he’s always been close, physically there whenever you needed, but you were lost in your own thoughts and emotions, feeling distant even when he was near.

geto’s hold on you tightens ever so slightly as you speak, his arm around your waist pulling you in closer, drawing you as close as humanly possible. he nuzzles his face into your hair, his breath warm against your head.

“i missed you too,” he whispers against your head, his voice low, barely above a murmur. there’s a subtle hoarseness to it, an undertone of emotion that belies the depth of his own longing. he holds you like this for a few more moments, silently taking in the feeling of having you in his arms once again.

his hand on your thigh slowly moves back down, his fingers lightly tracing patterns onto your skin, a gentle, soothing gesture.

he shifts his head, pulling away just enough so he can look down at your face. his expression is filled with a tender affection, the kind that comes from knowing someone on a deep, intimate level.

“i know things get heavy, but we’ll get through it together, okay?” he whispers, his voice filled with unwavering determination. he brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his touch as soft as a feather.

you nod softly, feeling a warmth swell in your chest at his words, the reassurance in his tone anchoring you more than he could ever know. with a quiet, “okay,” you lift your hand, reaching up to cup his cheek, your thumb gently brushing along his skin. you can feel the faint stubble under your fingertips, grounding you in this tender moment, in the closeness you’ve both been missing.

with a gentle pull, you guide him closer, closing the small distance between you until his lips meet yours. the kiss is soft, slow, filled with unspoken words and quiet promises. it feels like both a reassurance and a reconnection, his lips warm and comforting against yours, the world around you fading away as you focus solely on him.

geto responds to the kiss instantly, his hand on your thigh moving to cup the back of your head, pulling you in closer. he kisses you back just as gently, his lips moving against yours in a slow, tender dance. there’s a quiet need in the kiss, a silent plea for you to understand the depth of his feelings, how much he’s missed this connection.

as the kiss deepens, geto pulls you fully into his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist. he continues to hold you tightly, almost possessively, like he doesn’t ever want to let go.

he finally pulls back slightly, breaking the kiss but keeping his forehead resting against yours. his breathing is ragged, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. he keeps his eyes closed for a moment, his hand slowly caressing the back of your head as he tries to regain some control over his emotions.

“god... i’ve missed you so much,” he whispers, his voice filled with a raw honesty. he pulls you even closer into his lap, pressing his face into your neck, his warm breath against your skin.

your arms instinctively wrap around his broad shoulders, holding him as close as possible, like you’re afraid he might slip away. a soft whisper escapes your lips, “i’ve missed you too, baby,” the words laced with all the emotions you’ve been holding in, each one released as you hold him tighter.

you feel his warmth seep into you as he presses his face into your neck, his breath warm and steady against your skin, grounding you, anchoring you in this moment. your fingers gently trace over his back, feeling the tension slowly ease out of him, a silent promise that you’re here too, that you won’t let go.

geto seems to melt into your touch, his body relaxing as your fingers trace over his back. he lets out a low, soft groan, the sound vibrating against your neck, his hands slowly moving down to grip your hips, pulling you even closer.

he pulls back just enough so that he can look at you, a mixture of vulnerability and affection in his eyes. “don’t ever shut me out like that again, okay?” he whispers, his thumb gently caressing your hip. “promise me you’ll talk to me, no matter how shitty things get.”

you nod, a soft smile curving your lips as you meet his gaze. “i promise,” you murmur, your voice filled with sincerity. there’s a warmth in his eyes that melts away any lingering shadows in your mind, and it feels like a weight has finally lifted, a silent understanding passing between you both.

your hand drifts to the back of his neck, fingers pressing gently into his skin, feeling the warmth there as you trail small, soothing circles. you let your fingertips sink slightly, grounding both of you in the closeness of the moment, letting him feel just how much he means to you.

his eyes close for a brief moment as he leans into your touch, his breath coming out in a soft sigh. he pulls you even closer, his grip on your hips secure, as if he never wants to let you go. “good,” he whispers, his voice a bit rough but filled with quiet relief. “because i can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

geto takes a shaky breath, his arms tightening around you involuntarily as he speaks again.

“you’re everything to me,” he murmurs into your neck, his voice low and hoarse. he buries his face into your skin, taking a deep breath, as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of you, the scent of you.

he stays there for a moment, holding you tightly, his embrace both protective and gentle at the same time. with each passing second, you can feel the tension slowly seeping out of him, replaced by a quiet, intimate comfort.

your fingers tighten slightly against the back of his neck as you whisper, “you’re my everything too.” your voice is barely a breath, but it’s filled with all the warmth and affection you have for him.

closing your eyes, you let yourself sink into the moment as his lips brush softly against your neck, each kiss tender and unhurried, as though he’s savoring every inch of you. his warmth spreads through you, soothing, grounding, making you feel safe in a way only he can.

you let out a soft sigh, tilting your head slightly to give him more access, a quiet invitation for him to stay close. your arms wrap around his shoulders, holding him as if you’ll never let go, and with every gentle press of his lips against your skin, it’s like he’s telling you without words that he’s here, he’s yours, and he’s not going anywhere.

as you tilt your head, giving him more access to your neck, a soft, guttural noise escapes geto’s lips. he takes your cue, gently nuzzling against your skin, his breath warm and ticklish against the sensitive spots.

he continues to shower your neck and shoulder in soft kisses, his lips leaving a trail of warmth everywhere they touch. his arms remain tightly wrapped around you, holding you against him, a steady, anchoring presence. you can almost feel the depth of his desire and devotion in each gentle kiss, his actions speaking louder than words.

he slowly pulls away from your neck, lifting his head to look at you again, his gaze heavy with emotion. his arms loosen slightly, his hand slowly tracing up and down your back in a gentle caress.

he takes a moment to just look at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of warmth and raw desperation. he runs his tongue over his lips, a subconscious gesture that betrays his own desire.

“you’re beautiful,” he whispers, his voice rough and hoarse. “my god, you’re sooo beautiful.”

a soft hum escapes your lips, and you smile up at him, warmth blooming in your chest at the look in his eyes. his words wrap around you like a gentle embrace, and you feel yourself falling deeper into the love and devotion reflected in his gaze.

without saying a word, you lean in, closing the distance between you until your lips meet his in a tender, lingering kiss. it’s gentle at first, a simple press of your lips against his, savoring the closeness, the intimacy of the moment. but as the kiss deepens, you can feel the raw emotion flowing between you—his need to be close, to remind you just how much he loves you.

your hand moves to cup his cheek, thumb brushing softly against his skin as you pour every ounce of affection, trust, and love into the kiss, letting him know that he’s your everything, too.

geto responds to the gesture instantly, a soft, almost guttural sound escaping his lips as your kiss deepens. he returns the gesture with fervor, his hands gripping your hips tighter, his fingers pressing firmly into your skin.

he matches every movement, every touch, as if he’s pouring all his pent up emotions into the kiss. it’s a silent communication, an intimate exchange that speaks volumes. he kisses you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, languid dance.

as the kiss continues, geto’s grip on your hips tightens even more, his touch almost possessive, but not in a controlling way. it’s like he’s afraid that if he lets go, you’ll slip away from him again.

he moves his mouth over to your jawline, peppering kisses along the sensitive skin there while he gently pulls you impossibly closer against him. his breath is shaky, and you can feel the heat radiating off of him. he’s holding you like he never wants to let go.

geto is practically panting against your skin as he continues to kiss and nuzzle your neck, his breath hot and heavy, his lips leaving a trail of wet, feverish kisses. his grip on your hips is firm, his fingers digging into your flesh, as if he’s trying to anchor himself against the raw tide of emotions coursing through him.

“god,” he mutters hoarsely, his voice edged with a hint of desperation, “you have no idea how much i’ve missed this... missed you.”

his lips continue to trace over your jawline, trailing up to your ear, kissing and nipping at the sensitive spots. his touch is urgent, almost needy, his movements driven by a raw, aching desire.

“i need you,” he whispers into your ear, his voice gruff and low. “i need to feel you, taste you, touch you... i need you to know how much i love you.”

a small gasp escapes your lips as geto suddenly rises, lifting you effortlessly with him. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist, your arms slipping around his neck, holding him close as he carries you toward the bedroom. is strength and the intensity in his gaze send a thrill through you, and you feel a rush of warmth spreading through your chest as he holds you so securely, as though he’d never let you go.

you lean closer, brushing your lips near his ear, whispering, “me too, baby.” the words come out breathless, laced with all the longing and affection you feel for him. geto’s hold tightens at your response, a quiet hum of satisfaction escaping him as he carries you down the hallway, his steps steady but quick, his desire evident in every movement.

geto enters the bedroom, his movements sure and steady, like he has a single-minded focus on getting to the bed as quickly as possible.

he sets you down gently on the edge of the bed, his hands coming up to cup your face, his fingers gently caressing your skin. he looks down at you intently, his eyes filled with a mixture of reverence and desire.

“i need to feel you,” he repeats, his voice gravelly and intense. his hands slide down to your shoulders, slowly pushing you back onto the bed, his body following, his weight settling over you.

geto’s hands are everywhere as he strips your shirt off, his touch urgent and impatient, but laced with a tender reverence.

his hands roam over your now bare skin, tracing along the curves and lines of your body, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch. his fingers graze over your waist, your ribcage, your shoulders, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. he leans down, his lips replacing his hands, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along the exposed skin of your chest and neck.

he moves his lips back to your neck, his teeth nipping gently at the sensitive spots, as if he’s trying to draw out every gasps and moans from you. his hands continue to wander, tracing over your sides, your hips, your thighs, the movements firm and possessive, as if he can’t bear to be away from you for even a second.

he pulls back slightly, hovering over you, his gaze intense, his breath ragged. he looks down at you, his eyes darkened with a mixture of desire and unbridled love.

“i love you so fucking much.”

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redroomreflections · 1 day ago

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At The End of The Night

Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

The Loud House Universe

Warnings: Smut Inside - Minors DNI (18+)

Note: I hope y'all enjoy

Summary: Wanda has always been a third in Reader and Nat's relationship. Why not take it to the next level?

W/c: 5k

It felt strange, in a good way, for the house to be this quiet. You were seated on the couch, sandwiched between Wanda and Natasha, as the soft TV light bathed the room in dim, darting light. Cara was away at a sleepover with friends, leaving you and Natasha with the rare opportunity for a quiet night. Of course, inviting Wanda over for a movie night was a given.

People always joked that Wanda was the third in your marriage, and while that was only half true, the three of you shared a bond unlike any other. When Wanda joined the team, you were the first person to make her feel welcome, and she was someone who quickly found her place in your lives. You and Wanda immediately hit it off, bonding over a few common interests and quickly building a friendship that became as easy as family. Wanda was a person you trusted with pretty much everything. She's someone you both cared about deeply.

Now, nestled together under a heavy blanket, Wanda gave an exaggerated sigh as she leaned her head against the pillows. “I’m just saying, if he wanted her back, he could have tried a little harder than just showing up at her work with a bouquet,” she scoffed, her eyes never leaving the screen.

Natasha smirked on your other side. “It’s a rom-com. If it made sense, it wouldn’t be half as entertaining,” she said, sipping her wine. She draped an arm casually over the back of the couch, stroking the back of your neck with the tip of her fingers.

You sighed softly at the sensation, the wine, and the heat of their bodies, making you feel content and comfortable. Wanda shifted, and her thigh pressed against yours. The movie was coming to an end, and you were buzzed. It was a good feeling.

"I need more wine," You announced.

"Oh no, you don't," Natasha gripped your glass out of arms' reach. "You get too frisky when you're drunk."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," You scoffed.

"It is when we have guests," Natasha gestured to Wanda. "You've been rubbing my leg this entire movie."

You hadn't even noticed. "Sorry, Wands," You apologized.

"No, I'm used to it," Wanda waved her hand, dismissing your concerns.

"Used to it?" You frowned.

Wanda nodded. "You're not subtle. You always do the same things when you're drunk, which isn't often. You guys are very touchy-feely." She teased, laughing a little as she looked between you and Natasha. "Not that it's a bad thing."

"Sorry if that makes you uncomfortable," Natasha apologized.

"It's fine," Wanda promised. "It's a nice change, actually. Everyone is so formal, and everyone always wants something from me. You guys are the only ones who make me feel... Normal. It's nice."

"We'll always be here for you," You smiled. "You're sweet."

She smiled back at you.

“You don’t have to be anyone but yourself with us. And if you ever feel uncomfortable, just say the word.” You told her.

Wanda smiled, glancing down. “You guys are the best,” she said, looking up with a hint of bashfulness. “I guess I’ve always wondered what that would feel like—to have someone you could just be yourself around all the time.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Natasha before gently nudging Wanda with your shoulder. “It’ll happen for you, too, you know. Some lucky person out there will love you for exactly who you are.”

Wanda chuckled, her cheeks turning a little pink. “You both make it look so easy, though. How do you even start with all of this… relationship stuff?”

"Have you not been in one?" Natasha raised a brow.

"No, not really. There was a guy back home, but he was a jerk. And I was so busy, and then there was Ultron and Sokovia, and..." Wanda trailed off, shaking her head. "It's always seemed like a luxury."

"It's not. It's an incredible experience." You said, smiling to yourself as you glanced at your wife.

"And the sex is a bonus," Natasha grinned.

Wanda rolled her eyes. "I'm sure."

"What?" You frowned, a little confused. "Are you a virgin?"

"No, no," Wanda shook her head. "I've slept with a man before, but..."

"But what?" Natasha frowned.

"I've never slept with a woman," Wanda explained.

"Would you like to?" You tilted your head.

"With whom?" Wanda's eyes widened.

"Well, not necessarily now," You shook your head. You licked your lips and thought it over. "But we could help you practice if you'd like."

"Practice?"

"Sure," Natasha nodded. "There's no reason for you to have a bad first time."

"I'm not asking for a pity-fuck," Wanda rolled her eyes. She sighed. "I should probably get home."

"Or you could stay?" You suggested, looking over to Natasha for backup. "If you want."

Natasha nodded in agreement. "It's a big bed, and you could have the spare room if you'd rather have privacy. But, no pressure."

"Yeah," You agreed. "It doesn't have to be anything weird. I mean, not unless you want it to be."

Wanda stared at you both briefly, her brow creasing a little. "So, what, I'll come to sleep with you guys, and you'll make me feel good?"

"If that's what you want, yes," You nodded. "And if not, we'll still be here for you."

"Why?"

"Because we're your friends and care about you," Natasha shrugged. "We're offering because we'd like to, but if you're not interested, that's fine, too."

Wanda looked at the both of you for a moment, a little taken aback. You felt a little guilty. You hadn't meant to make her uncomfortable.

"What would we do?" She finally asked.

"Whatever you'd like. Whatever makes you feel good," Natasha assured her.

"I'm sorry," Wanda shook her head. She brushed a hand over her face to collect her thoughts. "Maybe I've had too much to drink. Are you guys being serious?"

"Yes," You nodded.

"Okay, hold on. Let me process," Wanda put up her hands.

You and Natasha exchanged another glance, not wanting to make the younger woman feel awkward.

"I'm going to grab more wine," Natasha announced, standing up. "Be right back."

"You can ask questions," You said, reaching over and squeezing her hand.

"I-I'm not sure what to ask," She admitted.

"How do you feel about it?"

"A little embarrassed," Wanda chuckled nervously. "But also a little curious."

"What's embarrassing about it?"

"It's not something that's normally talked about, is it? People don't go around bragging about how much they want to fuck their friends." She explained, dropping her hands to her lap. "You two are generous for the offer, but I don't want to be someone intruding on your marriage."

"It's only intruding if we say no and you push," You reminded her. "Which is the same for you. If you say no, we won't push."

There was a long pause from her. She hadn't said no yet.

Wanda sighed softly, running a hand through her hair. "I'm afraid I won't be good. What if I fumble, or what if it's awkward and..."

"Then we'll have a laugh and call it a day. I promise." You reassured her.

Wanda bit her lip, and you watched her eyes dart from the door to you and back to the door. Finally, she turned to look at you again.

"What would you want to do with me?" She asked, her voice a little softer. Instead of telling her, you decided to show her. You scooted closer to her on the couch, raising your hands to her face before leaning in to press your lips against hers. Her lips were soft, and her skin was warm. She melted into the kiss, her shoulders relaxing as she brought a hand up to touch your face. You pulled away for a moment, gauging her reaction. Her lips were slightly parted, and her cheeks flushed, but she said nothing.

"Come here," You whispered. This kiss was more sensual. Mainly for her benefit and partly because you'd wanted to taste her for a while. You sucked on her bottom lip, eliciting a soft moan from the young woman.

"I can see why you're a married woman," Wanda whispered.

"I've got some moves," You smirked.

"So do I," Wanda replied, suddenly pulling you back in. Her lips were hungry and insistent, and her tongue flicked against yours, drawing another soft moan from the depths of your throat.

"I leave for two minutes," Natasha sighed. She had three filled wine glasses balancing in her hands. "I take it you're up for the offer."

"I'm still considering," Wanda replied, though her eyes were glued to your lips. "We should discuss this over wine."

Natasha grinned. "Good plan. Here's your glass." She handed Wanda the red wine before sitting next to you. She reached for the remote, flicked the TV off, and plunged the room into semi-darkness. Only the soft glow from the kitchen light illuminated the living room.

Wanda gulped down her glass of wine as you looked at her amusedly. When her glass was empty, she softly set it on the table. "Are you guys in an open marriage?"

"No," Natasha answered. "Not open. We just like you."

"I'm not a homewrecker," Wanda insisted.

"It's not a wreck if we want to share," You said.

Wanda took a deep breath, looking between you and Natasha. She chewed on her bottom lip as she contemplated your proposition. You could tell she was nervous but also intrigued.

"If it's too much, we can stop whenever you want," Natasha reminded her.

"Can I kiss you?" Wanda asked her.

"I'd be upset if you didn't."

Wanda's lips crashed against Natasha's. Their lips locked, their tongues meeting as the two women explored each other. The sight was breathtaking, and you could feel the arousal growing within you.

You took a long sip of your wine, watching them. There were key differences in how you kissed and Natasha kissed. Natasha was more hands-on with her kissing, opting to feel whatever part of your body she could get her hands on. You could see them twitch in her lap out of the corner of your eye. Her kisses were confident and sensual. They left no doubt in your mind about what her intentions were.

Wanda's hands rested against your thighs, occasionally gripping them. She was less intense and more curious. Her kisses were tentative, exploring the other woman's mouth slowly and deliberately. She clearly felt for Natasha, and you wondered if the redhead knew. It was a dangerous line to cross, but you were not giving up this opportunity.

You couldn't help but wonder if this was how Natasha felt the first time the two of you had sex. Seeing the two of them together was thrilling and a little surreal.

Natasha was the one to break the kiss. She pulled away with a sigh, licking her lips as she looked over at you.

"You've got good taste," She smirked.

"So do you," You winked.

"How far do we want to take this?" Natasha asked, looking over at Wanda. "The ball is in your court."

"I have some ideas," Wanda blushed. "But I'm a little afraid."

"Do you want to be the one getting fucked?" You asked.

"Yes," Wanda nodded.

"Do you want to fuck Natasha, or do you want her to fuck you?"

"I-I... I want you to fuck me," Wanda said.

"That can be arranged," You winked.

"And do you want me to watch, or do you want me to join?" Natasha asked, her fingers dancing along Wanda's arm.

"Whatever you'd like," Wanda said softly.

"We have plans for you yet," You rested a hand on the small of her waist. "I hope this is okay."

"This is great," Wanda said, leaning back as you kissed her neck. "Just different. I'm not used to being treated this way."

"Well, you deserve it," Natasha purred. "And so does my wife. She likes it a little rough. How do you like it?"

"I'm not sure," Wanda admitted. "I've only had sex a couple of times, and it wasn't amazing."

"Oh, honey," Natasha cooed. "We'll take good care of you. That's a promise."

"Okay," Wanda breathed.

"Come here," You grabbed her by the waist, pulling her over onto your lap. You kissed her gently, trying to soothe her. You didn't want her to feel uncomfortable or pressured; the last thing you wanted was for her to feel like an intruder.

Wanda moaned into your mouth as your tongue found hers, the tension in her shoulders gradually melting away. Your fingers crept under the hem of her shirt, gently rubbing the soft skin of her lower back.

"Do you want to take this to the bedroom?" Natasha asked.

"Yes," Wanda nodded, breaking the kiss and climbing off your lap. Natasha took her hand, leading her to the bedroom as you trailed. The room was dark and cool. She set Wanda up on the edge of the bed.

"I want to see you two kiss," She blushed.

"Oh, does that turn you on?"

"It always has," She nodded.

Natasha smirked. "Then we should oblige." She turned and kissed you, her hands cupping your face. Her lips were soft, and the taste of wine lingered on her tongue.

"Mm," Wanda hummed.

You'd wanted Natasha's hands on your body all night. She sucked on your tongue, drawing a soft moan from the depths of your throat.

"Fuck, that's hot," Wanda whimpered.

You smiled into the kiss, feeling Natasha's lips pull up at the corners. You broke the kiss and pulled her close, your bodies pressing against each other.

"Your turn," You said, gesturing towards Wanda. "Go easy on her."

"Wouldn't dream of doing otherwise," Natasha replied, her green eyes sparkling.

"Are you gonna strip, or are you waiting for me to do it?" Wanda teased.

Natasha laughed, walking over to the young woman and sitting beside her. She placed a hand on her thigh and leaned in, kissing her. This time, there was no hesitation.

Natasha kissed her hungrily, her fingers tracing circles against her bare skin. Wanda moaned softly, her body shivering. She broke the kiss, looking up at Natasha through thick lashes.

"Are you alright?" Natasha asked.

"More than," Wanda nodded.

"Can I touch you?"

"Please."

Natasha's hand trailed up her thigh and slipped underneath her shirt. Her hand found the soft cup of her bra as she used her thumb to tease Wanda's nipple through the material. To Wanda, it was perfect foreplay, but you knew better. Natasha was gauging Wanda's sensitivity. She did not disappoint.

"Mmm," Wanda sighed, her back arching slightly to get more feeling. "Fuck, that feels good."

"Does it?" Natasha smirked, continuing to rub the fabric. Wanda's nipple was hardening and beginning to peek out.

"Yes," Wanda whimpered.

"You want more?"

"Please."

Natasha's fingers slipped beneath her bra, her fingertips brushing against the soft, sensitive skin. Wanda moaned, her body jerking a little.

"Fuck, that's so good," Wanda whined.

"You like having your nipples played with, don't you?" Natasha purred.

"Y-yes," Wanda breathed.

Natasha smirked. "Good to know."

She kissed her again, her lips hungry and demanding. Wanda melted into the kiss, her body sinking into the mattress. You used that moment of distraction to begin unbuttoning Wanda's jeans. Your fingers made quick work of the buttons and zipper.

"Lift up for me, baby," You requested.

Wanda raised her hips, letting you slide the denim down her legs. You tossed them to the side, leaving her in her panties and her bra.

Natasha finally broke the kiss, and Wanda gasped for air. "You're so beautiful," Natasha murmured, eyes scanning the younger woman's body. "And you taste so sweet."

Wanda blushed. "Thank you," She said shyly.

"My turn," You grinned, kneeling between her thighs.

"Your wife has good ideas," Wanda hummed.

You spread Wanda's legs for her, noting the wet patch on the front of her underwear. Your mouth watered at the sight.

"You've been wanting this for a while," You mused as you approached her. You used your knuckle to brush against the wet spot finding her clit with ease.

"Shit," Wanda gasped.

You smirked at the reaction.

"I'd ask you what you were thinking, but I think it's fairly obvious." You teased, rubbing slow, firm circles around her clit.

Wanda moaned, her body writhing beneath you. "F-fuck."

"Don't make her come so fast," Natasha warned as she pinched Wanda's nipples between her fingers.

"Sorry, babe," You smirked, pulling your hand away.

Wanda let out a soft whimper at the sudden loss of contact.

"We can't have that," Natasha purred. She moved her hands from Wanda's chest and slid her fingers underneath the waistband of her underwear. "Lift up for me, pretty girl."

Wanda obeyed, raising her hips once again. Natasha hooked her fingers around the fabric and tugged them down. She tossed them over her shoulder, her green eyes raking over Wanda's exposed skin.

"Fuck," Natasha muttered.

"What is it?" Wanda asked.

"You're just so... fucking gorgeous,"

"I didn't shave," Wanda apologized. "I didn't exactly plan for this."

"Doesn't matter," You shook your head. "Natasha, hold her." You raised your chin. Natasha immediately knew what you were asking of her. She moved across the bed and leaned back against the pillows and headboard. She patted the spot between her legs for Wanda to come and sit. Wanda leaned back against Natahsa's front.

You grabbed Wanda's thighs, pulling her down the bed and spreading her legs, her glistening pussy on display for you. You didn't hesitate to lean in and lap up her slit. Her taste exploded on your tongue, the sweet taste of her arousal coating your tastebuds.

"Fuuuuck," Wanda groaned.

"You're doing so good," Natasha murmured, her hands massaging Wanda's tits and belly.

You continued to lick her, her taste and scent surrounding you. You moaned softly, loving the way she writhed beneath you.

"Y-you're really good at that," Wanda panted, her body jerking and trembling. "MMM," She moaned softly.

You could feel her pussy getting wetter and wetter with each flick of your tongue.

"She's very skilled," Natasha chuckled.

"Oh, fuck," Wanda moaned, her head falling back. "Please."

You hummed softly, the vibration adding to her pleasure.

"Oh, please, oh," Wanda whimpered.

"She's really sensitive," Natasha mused. "Do you like that?" She asked.

"Y-yes, it feels amazing," Wanda stammered.

You smirked, swirling your tongue around her clit. Her thighs trembled in response, and you knew she was close.

"You don't know how long we've been wanting you," Natasha murmured into her ear. She nuzzled her neck with her nose.

"R-really?"

"You're gorgeous," Natasha murmured, her voice soft. "Of course."

"So are you," Wanda breathed.

"We could've done this so long ago," Natasha said, kissing her cheek.

Wanda didn't answer, and you weren't sure if she was even listening. Your tongue was buried deep in her pussy, and her legs were quivering. Natasha's hands moved to her thighs, forcing her to keep her legs open as you sucked her clit into your mouth.

"OH, oh, I'm going to..." She trailed off, her orgasm hitting her. Her body tensed, her legs trembling. You didn't stop, your tongue flicking over her sensitive nub.

"Mm," Natasha hummed.

Wanda's entire body tensed, and her back arched off the bed. You kept your tongue on her, tasting her orgasm as it flowed out of her.

"Shit," She panted.

"How was that?" You asked, finally pulling away.

"Good," She replied. "Amazing."

"We're not finished yet," Natasha said. "We're just getting started."

"You've been a really good girl," You smiled.

"Yeah?" Wanda asked, still trying to catch her breath.

"Yes," You nodded. "We've been talking about this for a while."

"You have?"

"Yes," Natasha smiled. "And now, you're all ours."

"Yes," Wanda nodded. She reached for you, pulling you to her and tasting herself on your tongue.

"I think she likes it," Natasha smirked.

"Yeah," You nodded.

"Can I touch you?"

"Sure," You shrugged. "Where do you want to touch me?"

"Everywhere," Wanda admitted. "Will you show me how to pleasure her?" She leaned her head onto Natasha's shoulder to see her eyes. The two of you shared a smirk. Wanda assumed that Natasha usually took a more dominant role in the bedroom. If only she'd seen you a couple nights ago, with Natasha begging you to fuck her as you made her come for the second time.

"Start with her neck," Natasha instructed. "And her ears. Those are two of her most sensitive areas."

Wanda followed her instructions. Her lips pressed against your neck, and her teeth grazed your earlobe.

"Mmm," You hummed, tilting your head to the side.

"That's good," Natasha praised.

"Do you want my shirt off?"

"Yes," Wanda nodded.

You reached down, pulling the shirt over your head. The cold air hit your bare skin, causing your arms and chest goosebumps.

"Now her nipples," Natasha murmured, watching Wanda closely.

Wanda nodded, her fingers finding your nipple and pinching it.

"Ooh," You gasped.

"She's more sensitive there than I am," Natasha explained.

"Not true," You moaned.

"Oh, hush," She smirked.

"Keep doing that," You urged as Wanda wrapped her lips around your nipple. You straddled her lap, effectively pinning her to Natasha as you looked into your wife's eyes.

"Look at her," Natasha smirked. "So pretty."

Wanda looked up at you, her lips still wrapped around your nipple. You cupped her cheek, smiling at her.

"Such a good girl," Natasha praised.

Wanda's eyes fluttered closed at the praise, her body melting into yours.

"She's perfect," Natasha murmured, her voice low.

"Mhmm," You agreed, running a hand through Wanda's hair.

Wanda's hands roamed your body, exploring every inch of your skin. She was so curious, so eager, and it made you smile.

"You're so sexy," Wanda said softly when her lips released your nipple with a pop. "Both of you."

"And so are you," Natasha cooed.

"You've got great boobs," Wanda hummed.

"Why thank you," You grinned.

"Do you mind if I kiss her again?"

"Go right ahead," Natasha replied.

Wanda pressed her lips against yours, her hands roaming your back.

"Do you want to touch her more?" Natasha asked.

"I think so," Wanda nodded. "But I don't know where to start."

"Just explore," Natasha replied.

Wanda's hands explored your body, her fingers tracing patterns along your skin.

"That's so good," You breathed.

"She's so responsive," Wanda smiled.

"Yeah, she is," Natasha agreed.

Wanda's fingers trailed down your stomach, her hand slipping into your pants. Her fingers found your pussy, sliding along the wetness.

"Oh, god," You moaned, your hips bucking forward.

"Does that feel good?" Wanda asked.

"Yes," You moaned.

Wanda's fingers moved up and down, sliding easily along your pussy. This was her first time touching another woman. She wanted to see and feel everything.

"Fuck," You breathed, your hips bucking.

"So wet," Wanda purred.

"Yeah, that's what happens when someone has you as a lover," Natasha said, her voice dripping with lust.

"Right there," You sighed as Wanda's fingers clumsily found your clit.

"Here?"

"Y-yeah," You moaned.

Wanda's fingers worked your clit, her pace quickening.

"Mm," Natasha hummed.

"F-fuck," You whimpered, your hips jerking.

"Good girl," Natasha purred.

Wanda continued her ministrations, her fingers rubbing your clit.

"O-oh," You moaned.

"That's it," Natasha encouraged.

Your thighs began to tremble, your orgasm building.

"C-close," You stammered.

"Come for her," Natasha said.

"Fuck, yes," Wanda growled.

"OH," You moaned, your body tensing as your orgasm washed over you. Wanda's fingers continued to work, her pace unrelenting.

"Fuck," You breathed, your hips grinding against her.

"That's a good girl," Natasha said softly.

"Damn," Wanda smiled.

"That was really good," You said, taking a moment to breathe.

"It was," Wanda nodded. She helped you pull the sticky underwear and sweatpants from your body.

"How much can you take?" You asked Wanda.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want Natasha to fuck you? Or do you want me to fuck you?"

"I don't know," Wanda admitted. "You choose."

"Hmm," You chuckled to yourself. You reached over to your nightstand, grabbed one of your favorite straps, and tossed it to Natasha. "She needs you."

"Is that so?" Natasha grinned, holding the strap-on.

"Yes," Wanda nodded, looking up at the redhead.

"How badly do you want it?" Natasha teased.

"I want it," Wanda answered, her voice shaky.

"Are you scared?"

"A little," Wanda admitted.

"We have you," You reassured her. Natasha removed herself from the bed to adjust the strap. It wasn't too big. Six and a half inches. It was perfect. She returned to the bed and kneeled between Wanda's thighs.

"We'll go slow," Natasha promised.

"Okay," Wanda nodded, taking a deep breath.

Natasha's hand slipped between her legs, testing her readiness.

"Fuck," Wanda gasped.

"That's good," Natasha smirked, pulling her hand back. "Ready?"

"Y-yes," Wanda said, nodding.

Natasha lined the dildo up with her pussy and pushed it in, her hands on either side of her hips.

"Oh, God," Wanda moaned, her eyes squeezing shut.

"How does it feel?"

"Good," Wanda whimpered.

"Just breathe, honey," Natasha cooed. From beside them, you offered moral support. You knew this feeling, and it was a good feeling.

"Fuck, it's a lot," Wanda panted.

"Do you need a minute?"

"No, keep going," Wanda urged.

Natasha obliged, pushing further into her.

"Oh, God," Wanda moaned.

"Good girl," Natasha murmured. Your eyes zeroed in on the strap pushing into Wanda's tight hole.

"Fuck," Wanda whined, her hips squirming.

"You're doing great," You praised.

"I know," Wanda groaned, her cheeks turning pink.

Natasha bottomed out, her hips flush against Wanda's.

"There we go," Natasha hummed.

"Oh," Wanda moaned, her body adjusting to the strap. Her clit brushed against Natasha's pelvis.

"That's better," Natasha smiled.

"Feels... different," Wanda admitted.

"Good or bad?"

"Just... different."

"You'll get used to it," You reassured her.

"Is that what it's like for you?" Wanda asked, looking at you.

"Sort of," You nodded. "But I usually have something inside me, too."

"Can I touch you again?" Wanda asked.

"Of course," You replied, spreading your legs.

Wanda reached over, her fingers finding your clit and rubbing slow circles around it.

"Mmm," You moaned.

"You have a pretty pussy," Wanda cooed.

"Thank you," You blushed.

"Do you mind if I taste it?"

"No, I don't mind," You shook your head. You knew the implications of what she was asking and obliged. In one swift move, you were straddling Wanda's head. She used one hand to wrap around your thigh and the other to dig into Natasha's back as the other woman thrust into her.

"Ooh," Wanda gasped as Natasha's hips met hers.

"Mm, fuck," You whimpered as her tongue lapped at your pussy.

"Tastes good," She muttered.

"You're so good," Natasha purred, her fingers digging into Wanda's hips.

Wanda moaned against your pussy, the vibrations sending shivers through your body.

"O-oh," You gasped.

Wanda's tongue flicked over your clit, her lips wrapping around it. You did the same to her earlier, and it drove her wild. She figured the same would be for you.

"Holy shit," You breathed, your hips grinding against her.

"Fuck, I can't," Natasha whined, her hips snapping.

"You're doing so good," You encouraged.

"Mm-hmm," Wanda mumbled, her tongue licking up your slit. If someone were to walk in right now, they'd either be horrified or incredibly turned on. The sound of the bed creaking against the floor and your mingled moans were the only things that could be heard.

"You're doing amazing, baby," Natasha praised, her hips moving faster and harder.

"You're going to make us both come," You groaned.

Wanda whimpered beneath you. She'd never experienced something as euphoric as this moment. Even if her neck strained and he tongue was tired, she was not giving up. She felt the delicious ache of the strap filling hr, and your arousal coated her tongue.

"Oh, god," You moaned, your thighs trembling.

"Fuck," Natasha growled, her hips thrusting.

Wanda's hands dug into your thighs, her nails leaving small crescent marks.

"I-I'm gonna," You stammered.

"Do it," Wanda murmured, her lips moving against your pussy. You came, reaching out to the headboard to hold you up as you thrust against her tongue. You tried to be mindful of the fact that she could suffocate, but Wanda only locked in more. She pulled you down, sucking gently on your clit, prolonging your orgasm. Not too shortly after, she was thrown into her own unexpected orgasm as Natasha thrust harder.

"F-fuck," Natasha grunted.

"Holy shit," Wanda whimpered, her hips bucking.

Natasha's hips jerked, her grip tightening.

"Shit," You swore.

"FUCK!" Wanda moaned, her legs trembling.

Natasha's body tensed, her thighs shaking.

"Oh, God," She groaned.

"Oh my," You breathed.

Wanda let out a shaky moan, her body writhing beneath yours.

"Wow," She whispered.

"You're doing amazing," You panted, climbing off her head.

"That was incredible," Natasha breathed, slowly pulling the strap out of Wanda's pussy.

"Thank you," Wanda smiled, her chest heaving.

"You're such a good girl," Natasha smiled.

"You are," You nodded. "I can't believe that was your first time."

"Really?" Wanda asked.

"Absolutely," Natasha replied.

"Well, I guess it was worth the wait."

"I'm sure," You laughed, crawling into the middle of the bed.

"Do you need anything, babe?" Natasha asked.

"Maybe a glass of water," You smirked.

"Okay," Natasha nodded. She kissed you and then kissed Wanda.

"You're going to stay, right?"

"If you want me to," Wanda smiled.

"We'd love for you to," You grinned.

"Then, yes," She nodded.

"Good," You smiled, kissing her gently.

"We're keeping her," Natasha said as she walked out of the room.

"Definitely," You grinned. "Can you go again?" You asked her as your hands trailed across her body.

"Y-yes," Wanda answered, her eyes fluttering closed.

"Good," You hummed, nuzzling your face in her neck.

"That was... wow," Wanda breathed.

"It was," You nodded, pressing soft kisses against her neck.

"I never thought I'd actually have sex with someone, let alone two people," She said.

"You haven't really dated before?"

"No," Wanda replied, shaking her head.

"We've known each other for a long time," You noted. "This feels natural."

"It does," Wanda agreed.

"It's like you're part of our little family already."

"I think so," She smiled.

"I'm glad you feel that way."

#natasha romanoff #black reader #natasha x reader #wanda maximoff #black widow x female reader #black widow x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #theloudhouseau

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grison-in-space · 22 hours ago

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you know what else fucks me up about the US election? one of the things that has left me reeling in bewilderment and grief this month?

I'm a scientist, y'all.

That means that I am, like most American research scientists, a federal contractor. (Possibly employee. It's confusing, and it fucks with my taxes being a postdoctoral researcher.) I get paid because someone, in the long run ideally me, makes a really, really detailed pitch to one of several federal grant agencies that the nation would really be missing out if I couldn't follow up on these thoughts and find concrete evidence about whether or not I'm right.

Currently, my personal salary is dependent on a whole department of scientists convincing one of the largest and most powerful granting agencies that they have a program that is really good at training scientists that can think deeply about the priorities of the agency. Those priorities are defined by the guy who runs the agency, and he gets to hire whatever qualified people he wants. That guy? The Presidential Administration picks that one. That's how federal agencies get staffed: the President's administration nominates them.

All of the heads of these agencies are personally nominated by the president and their administration. They are people of enormous power whose job is to administer million-dollar grants to the scientists competing urgently for limited funds. A million dollars often doesn't go farther than a couple of years when it's intended to pay for absolutely everything to do with a particular pitch, including salaries of your trainees, all materials, travel expenses, promoting the work among other researchers, all of it—so most smart American researchers are working fervently on grants all the time.

The next director of the NIH will be a Trump appointee, if he notices and thinks to appoint one. NSF, too; that's the group that funds your ecology and your astroscience and your experimental mathematics and physics and chemistry, the stuff that doesn't have industry funding and industry priorities. USDA. DOE, that's who does a lot of the climate change mitigation and renewable energy source research, they'll just be lucky if they can do anything again because Trump nigh gutted them last time.

Right now, I am working on the very tail end of a grant's funding and I am scurrying to make sure I stay employed. So I'm thinking very closely about federal agency priorities, okay? And I'm thinking that the funding climate for science is going to get a lot fucking leaner. I'm seeing what the American people think of scientists, and about whether my job is worth doing. It's been a lean twelve years in this gig, okay? Every time the federal government gets fucked up, that impacts my job, it means that I have to hustle even harder to get grants in that let me support myself—and, if I have any trainees, their budding careers as well!—to patch over the lean times as much as we can.

So I've been reeling this week thinking about how funding agency priorities are going to change. I work on sex differences in motivation, so let me tell you, the politics reading this one for my next pitch are going to be fun. I'm working on a submission for an explicitly DEI-oriented five year grant with a cycle ending in February, so that's going to be an exercise in hoping that the agency employees at the middle levels (the ones that know how to get things done which can't be replaced immediately with yes men) can buffer the decisions of those big bosses long enough to let that program continue to exist a little while longer.

Ah, Christ, he promised Health & Human Services (which houses the NIH) to RFK, didn't he? We'll see how that pans out.

I keep seeing people calling for more governmental shutdowns on the left now, and it makes me want to scream. The government being gridlocked means the funding that researchers like me need doesn't come, okay? When the DOE can't say fucking "climate change," when the USDA hemorrhages its workers when the agency is dragged halfway across the country, when I watch a major Texan House rep stake his career on trying to destroy the NSF, I think: this is what you people think of us. I think: how little scientists are valued as public workers. Why am I working this hard again?

This is why I described voting as harm reduction. Even if two candidates are "the same" on one thing you care about, they probably aren't the same level of bad on everything. Your task is to figure out the best person to do the job. It's not about a fucking tribalist horse race. A vote is your opinion on a job interview, you fucks. We have to work with this person.

Anyway, I'm probably going to go back to shaking quietly in despair for a little longer and then pick myself up and hit the grind again. If I'm fast, I might still get the grant in this miserable climate if I run, and I might get to actually keep on what I'm trying to do, which is bring research on sex differences, neurodivergence and energy balance as informed by non-binary gender perspectives and disability theory to neuroscience.

Fuck.

#us politics #science #biology #career #probably my last word on the subject for some time #but fuck yall when the government goes down i don't get paid and i have to go do something different #which generally is beholden to the interests of some rich private fucker #I'm just so fucking tired of feeling like i can relax and getting slammed in the face

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northwest-cryptid · 2 days ago

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With the amount of notes this has I'm sure someone has already explained something like this but probably in a much better way than I can. However I'll try to explain it as best I can. I want to emphasize here that this information is based on conversations and discussions that I have had, with people who openly refer to themselves as Right Wingers (or who were previously Right Wingers) on forums and websites. While I am a Leftist and can't speak to how the Right operates from personal experience, I can speak as someone who has spoke to individuals who do know from personal experience.

The general gist is that the thing you need to keep in mind is that, so many of us on the Left have an understanding of what the problem really is. We get that the problem isn't that someone happens to be a man because of how they were born of because of their gender identity. However as someone with far less (if any) understanding of those societal issues they do not. They see the Left as saying "men are inherently bad." It gives them no recourse to not be a problem, they may not even actively be part of the problem yet but they don't know that the problem is larger than "you're a man, and I don't like that."

Meanwhile that meanspo you speak of, gives them direction. It gives them a direct out from being a person who is looked down on; and promises them that if they can just do these things on a checklist, they'll be respected, they'll live a good life; they'll be an "Alpha" or whatever. It's an easy decision when you feel like one side is telling you not to be what you are, because what you are is somehow inherently a problem; and they (the loud majority) hate you too much to explain how. While the other side is saying you're just not as good of a man as you should be, you're just a beta male because you don't do X, Y, Z.

As someone who is a Leftist who spends a lot more time than I probably should; actually talking to Right Wingers online. This is literally something people have told/asked me outright.

"Do you expect anyone in their right mind, to side with people who say they're wrong for just being a man; when the other side would offer them a ladder to be on top?"

If you notice, this statement neglects the actual problems, it summarizes the issue down to "you're wrong for just being a man." Which isn't what many of us are saying at all, but is what the Right, and individuals who would be converted to it; are hearing.

You are correct in saying it's objectively worse, in that yes; the Right are horrible people. They thrive on treating others on their side poorly to stay "above" them. However they always hold the promise over others that if you make enough money, if you work out, if you have enough sex; then you can also be on the top. The top doesn't seem that great when the bottom is comfortable enough. They have to ensure you feel like garbage but make sure you also have a clear understanding that it's only because you're not doing enough to climb the ladder.

Leftists don't really offer any similar ladder. Our issues with sexism, inequality, the patriarchy as a whole; etc. are a lot harder to break down. Not to mention that a good man isn't really given any reprieve from these problems, he's simply aware of them. A good man, no matter how good; can't just end racism or sexism himself. We don't do a lot to actually give men a proper course of action, we don't give them an easy to follow guide on how to be a good man by just doing quantifiable things, it's not that simple. We just tell them they're bad because the culture they grow up in is predisposed to turn young men into sexist, racist, bigots.

Obviously we're not all actually just saying "men are bad, fuck men; fuck you if you are a man." Some of us, I'd argue a lot of us, are actually trying to educate people as to the wider issues around "being a man" so to speak. I think that's sort of what leads to this question of "how could anyone in their right mind willingly side with the Right?" It's really no different than how cults recruit depressed and desperate people. The Right isn't watching for people to sort of react poorly once to a Leftist and then immediately jump in like "hey kid come join the Right!" It's more that they prey on dejected men who don't feel like they have direction. The Right gives them direction, it's awful; but it's something quantifiable. Last week they were a "beta male" this week they're going to the gym, they're talking to women; they're applying to jobs that pay more or whatever. Because some "Alpha male" made a video, blog post, podcast; etc. that told them that these things will make them successful, get them out of the rut they're in; and fix their problems.

It's a problem that can't be simplified down to a singular answer unfortunately, it's obviously much larger than that. This isn't meant to be a catch all "I've solve the grand mystery of why people are bigots!" Rather I'm just trying to offer some insight into one such potential cause.

the idea that reactionary spaces are attractive to men because they treat them kindly unlike The Left is so odd because whenever I come across that content it's essentially the same dynamic as pro ana "meanspo". if you don't know what that is, it's "motivation" based on degrading the viewer to the point where they can't "make excuses" and not become anorexic, or in this case a true Alpha Male. I feel like thisis objectively worse for someone's mental health than The Left

#There's a lot more to it than this but this is sort of specifically what I've heard and seen in respect to the whole meanspo thing #which is very real and used by a lot of people from cults and right wingers to even capitalistic jobs #not to mention literally how most commercials function to try to make you buy a product.#It works because it simplifies a complex solution into an easy and quantifiable one and done step to betterment.#It's all a fraud sure; but the people desperate enough to listen to it aren't going to catch that.

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inkedinshadows · 12 hours ago

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Bound by Secrets

Pairing: Azriel x Beron’s daughter!reader

Summary: When you get caught sneaking around the Hewn City, you end up in one of the dungeon cells to be interrogated by the infamous Spymaster. But things don't go exactly the way the General and the High Lord thought.

Warnings: mentions of sex, allusions to torture and scars

Word count: 6.4k

A/N: Okay sooo, I got a bit carried away with the first part and it came out longer than anticipated, with Az coming in at around word 1.7k. I know it’s a lot without him since it's his appreciation week, but the build-up is worth it (hopefully) and seeing how long the whole fic turned out to be, I hope you don't mind too much. There's still a lot of Azriel, I swear! (and I might have gone a little bit off-topic but shh it's fine). Anyway, happy @azrielappreciationweek everyone!

You knew being here was dangerous.

The Hewn City was not a place you could simply sneak into, and yet here you were, lurking in a corner of the throne room, waiting for the right moment to slip out and search for the treasury.

You had been sent there with a mission: find the Veritas Orb. How your father knew where it was, or what he needed it for, was not information you had been made privy to. But the High Lord of the Autumn Court had been clear: you were to steal the Orb as soon as possible. Knowing the kind of punishment he dealt when disappointed, you always did your best to comply. That left you with little time to prepare and, apparently, a huge number of problems.

Because just as you were about to make an unseen exit through the hallway you had previously selected, every single person in the crowd stiffened, and the chattering stopped abruptly, plunging the room into a silence so deep you could hear a pin drop.

As you turned to see what had happened, you realized everyone was staring at the entrance doors, just as they swung open. One look at the two tall figures slowly stalking in, and you knew you needed to get out before it was too late.

You blended into the shadows against the wall as the Spymaster and the General of the Army made their way to the dais on the other side of the hall. A smudge of red and gold was all you caught out of the corner of your eye when the Morrigan entered, just as you bolted down the hallway.

The High Lord and High Lady would be next. And if they caught you not only in their Court, but in their underground city as well, you'd be in serious trouble. You couldn't risk it. You needed to get out.

Yet you couldn't leave. Not without the Orb. Fear seized you for a split second at the mere thought of the pain you would suffer at your father's hands if you were to fail, and then you broke into a sprint—or as close to a sprint as you could manage with the high heels you had worn to blend in with the Hewn City inhabitants.

A thrum of power reached you despite the distance you had already put between yourself and the throne room, a clear sign of the High Lord and Lady’s arrival. You needed to hurry.

“Damn heels,” you muttered under your breath. You stopped long enough to take them off, gather them in your hands, and resume your run. At least your night-black dress was loose enough around the legs to allow you to move freely.

You had no idea where the treasury was. Your father didn't know, merely telling you the Orb was likely kept there—as if that helped. But you wouldn't consider where else it could be, instead choosing to focus on one thing at a time.

You wandered through the hallways, peering into every room you could find. Most of them were studies, sitting rooms, or smaller chambers for holding court. None of them what you were looking for.

Pushing a heavy wooden door open, you discovered a staircase that spiraled down. The basement. Or dungeons, you guessed, summoning a flame in your hand to light the steps as you began the descent. It made sense for the treasury to be on a lower level—harder to reach and easier to hide. That was where your father kept his most treasured possessions as well.

The stairs ended in a long hallway with many other tunnels branching off. You chose one out of instinct and kept going like that for a while, trying to remember every turn you took. The place was like a maze and there was nothing to, with nothing to distinguish the different paths. But eventually, your seemingly random choices paid off, and/because you found yourself in front of large, unguarded double doors. Upon closer inspection, you realized they were warded, hence the lack of actual guards.

With a smirk, you placed your palm on the knob and summoned more of your power. Your hand became a bright shade of orange, and a thin circle of fire spread from it, growing over the surface of the doors until it burned the spell protecting them. A little trick your oldest brother had taught you years ago.

Pulling your hand away, it returned to its normal color as you shoved the door open and walked inside.

Piles of gold lined the walls, jewels and weapons displayed in glass cabinets, and everywhere you turned, something shiny caught your eye. You delved deeper into the room, discovering beautiful pieces of artwork scattered around, but you couldn’t let them distract you from your task. You began searching the place instead, opening boxes and trunks, anything you could find, but there were no signs of the Veritas. The more you looked, the clearer it became.

The Orb wasn't there.

A frustrated sigh escaped you, and you stifled a groan as you made your way back to the tunnels, picking up the heels you had left by the door.

There had to be another room where more treasure was kept. You just had to find it. You were so sure it would be somewhere nearby that you made a stupid mistake: you didn’t count your turns, didn’t memorize when and where you had gone left or right or straight.

Maybe you should have asked for help before coming here. You had considered it, but you didn't want to endanger more people than necessary—or, even worse, have the truth discovered—and you honestly had thought you could do this alone.

You were wrong, and now you were lost. Like a damn fool.

Too caught up in your worries and rising anxiety, you did not hear the approaching steps. As you turned around the corner, you bumped into a tall, muscular body. A strong hand gripped your arm to keep you from losing balance, and the flame still flickering around your hand went out.

Now only the low gloom of the torches several feet down the tunnel illuminated the darkness.

“There you are.”

You didn’t recognize that deep, almost rough voice, but your heart jumped in your throat at sight of the leathery wings and the black scaled armor adorned with seven crimson Siphons.

You already knew who you were facing when you looked up and met the wary gaze of the General of the Night Court armies, his face half-hidden in the dark.

“There I am?” you repeated, putting on a sweet smile that didn’t reflect your internal turmoil. “Were you looking for me, General?”

His eyes narrowed as he took in your bare feet and the heels you still held in your hand. “What are you doing down here?”

You couldn’t tell if he meant down here in the Hewn City or in the tunnels below the palace. What if he knew the truth? What if he knew who you were? It could have given you a way out, it could have—

But Cassian’s grip on your arm tightened at your silence. “Answer me,” he growled. “We know someone broke into the treasury. And I know it was you.”

You shivered at his tone, at the fear that began to settle inside you, knowing you had been caught. As you tried to find a way out, you heard the words coming out of your mouth as if they were someone else’s: feigned shock at the news, deep confusion at the accusation, refined politeness when you addressed him. Hopefully, it was enough to let you off the hook.

“Why, if I may ask, would you think that was me, General?”

He didn’t seem impressed by your display of innocence. “There are very few redheads in the Hewn City, and none with fire powers. You’re from Autumn.”

Well, shit. You were so used to seeing red-haired Fae in the Autumn Court that you hadn't considered how recognizable your hair—or your powers, for that matter—could be outside of your home.

“I…”

You didn’t know what to say. You had red hair. You were suspiciously wandering in the tunnels. You had broken into the treasury using your fire. How could you find an excuse for all of that?

Your hesitation was confirmation enough for the General. His grip on your arm became almost painful. “Who are you? What were you looking for in the treasury?”

Maybe telling him the truth would help. If you revealed that you were in the Hewn City because you had no other choice, that you were not only Beron’s secret daughter but also his spy, his undercover agent, would he believe you? And if he did, would that make things better or worse for you?

Again, you thought about it for too long.

Cassian’s eyes narrowed even more. “You’re coming with me,” he ordered, nudging you along. “And you will talk, one way or another.”

You didn’t like where this was going. You didn’t like it one bit.

You could burn him, you supposed. Use your fire on him to create a distraction and run away. But you knew what kind of pain it caused, and you couldn’t bring yourself to hurt someone that way, not even him. And even if you did, where could you run? You didn’t know the place, didn't know where the hallways led or where the hiding spots were. But Cassian did. You wouldn’t get far before he found you.

You let the General lead you even deeper into the dungeons, following him without a struggle, even as the cold air bit at your skin and your gut churned in fear.

After a few minutes, you were escorted inside a small cell. There was nothing but a wooden chair in the middle of the space, right next to a grate on the floor from which hisses and growls rose up. You decided you didn’t want to know what was on the other side.

Cassian took your shoes, placing them next to the door as he gestured for you to sit. You obeyed silently and took a seat, waiting for the handcuffs, for the restraint, for the questions to start.

None of it came.

You just sat there, the General watching you intently from his spot against the wall, his stance relaxed yet alert in case you tried something. He said not a word.

You weren’t sure how much time passed before the door opened again and another male walked in. He was Illyrian too, a sword similar to Cassian’s was strapped to his back, and he wore the same armor. But his Siphons were a shade of cobalt blue, his black hair cut short, and he was surrounded by swirling shadows.

Your breath caught at the sight of the Spymaster.

Azriel’s eyes widened ever so slightly as they settled on you, his shadows frozen around his shoulders. He stood there, wings tucked tightly in, staring at you as if he could see right through your façade.

“Where is Rhys?”

The Spymaster didn’t tear his gaze away from you even as he answered. “He couldn’t leave.” His voice, cold as ice, sent a shiver down your spine. “This is the intruder?”

You held your head up high, reigning in your emotions. You wouldn’t let him intimidate you. You refused to. No matter the stories you had heard about the feared Shadowsinger of the Night Court, you wouldn’t cower. Not before him. You had suffered enough at the hands of your father to know how to deal with fear and pain.

“I found her wandering in the tunnels,” Cassian answered. “Not far from the treasury, hand wreathed in flames. She refused to say anything.”

The Spymaster assessed you, hazel eyes scanning you from head to toe. “Well, that’s about to change.” His hand lingered dangerously close to the black-hilted knife strapped to his muscular thigh.

Your brother's words echoed in your mind. “Tell him what he wants to hear.” “If you fight him, you'll only make it worse.” “Think of something nice, hold on to it, and it'll be over soon enough.” “Behave like the pliant little female he expects you to be.”

If Eris's precious advice had always worked with your father and his particular inclination for painful punishments, then maybe it would work now as well.

Azriel's gaze didn't falter as he stalked toward you, the dagger now clutched in his scarred fingers. You could have sworn his hand trembled for just a split second as he unsheathed it, but you were already looking down at your bare feet, letting your shoulders slump forward and your stiff back relax into a more submissive position.

A pair of black boots stopped right in front of you. Your heart pounded in your chest, your hands holding the armrests so tightly that your knuckles went white. The scent of night-chilled mist and cedar filled your nose as cold metal pressed just under your chin, urging you to lift your head.

You didn't fight it, meeting a pair of honeyed eyes that stared at you coolly. So close, you could see the tiny speck of green in them, even with his dilated pupils.

Cauldron, this male was beautiful. Painfully so. Bigger issues begged for your attention, but you couldn't help but admire him—the sharp features of his face, the perfect lines of his jaw, the plush lips, the way a few black curls hung over his forehead.

You didn't dare shift your position, but the urge to clench your thighs was almost overwhelming. The most inappropriate time ever.

Azriel seemed to somehow sense it, because his nostrils flared and the tip of the knife pressed a bit more under your chin, though still not enough to draw blood.

“What are you doing here?”

That voice, like silk and shadows and ice. Now you could understand why everyone feared the Shadowsinger of the Night Court.

“Why were you in the treasury?” he pressed, more demanding than before.

When you didn't answer his questions, he removed the dagger and took a step back. You glanced at the General, still standing by the door, but your focus quickly returned to the Spymaster, who had begun to circle around your chair.

Like a beast about to strike, toying with its prey before the killing blow.

“You know, this would be easier if you talked willingly.”

Shadows wrapped around both your ankles and wrists to prevent any possible movement. He was behind you now, his dagger trailing down your arm, sending all your senses on high alert.

“Or I'll have to resort to more… unpleasant methods.”

Your bindings tightened as if to prove his point and a small gasp escaped your lips. You had to say something, come up with some kind of excuse before it was too late.

“Tell him what he wants to hear.”

What did he want to hear? You couldn't very well give up the truth, could you? But maybe if you did, maybe if you tried…

Your eyes shot to the General. He was studying you with his arms crossed, nothing but distaste etched on his features.

Azriel, now on your left, noticed the direction of your gaze. He watched the other Illyrian for a few heartbeats before speaking in that low, quiet voice of his. “You know I work better when I'm alone.”

You stilled at the words. You, alone in a dungeon cell with the Spymaster? This changed everything—reshuffling all the cards, altering the odds of how this interrogation might end.

Cassian blinked, turning to face him. The two males stared at each other for what felt like ages, a silent conversation passing between them. Eventually, the General sighed.

“Fine,” he grumbled, fingers raking through his dark hair. “But alert Rhys immediately if something happens.”

The Shadowsinger seemed to hold back a scoff. “I know what I'm doing, Cassian,” he replied coolly. “I always get the information I want.”

You swallowed harshly, but Cassian gave a sharp nod and sauntered out of the cell.

As soon as the door closed behind him and his footsteps faded down the hallways, Azriel crouched in front of you, the dagger sheathed at his thigh once more. The shadows restraining you vanished.

“What the hell are you doing here, my love?”

~~~~~~

You and Azriel had met four years prior.

When you were born—the youngest and only female in a clutch of seven brothers—your father decided to keep you in the shadows. He never publicly acknowledged having a daughter, believing that no one would suspect a girl, thus raising you to serve as his undercover agent. Only your family knew of your existence, and if you hadn't gone mad over the years of confinement, it was only thanks to your sweet mother and Eris.

Beron had spent almost a century training you, molding you into his perfect little spy, and then sent you out into the world for just as long to do exactly what he had taught you.

You were attending a ball in the Day Court the first time you saw Azriel. You had already gathered the intel your father wanted about the honored guests from the Dawn Court, but you had no intention of going home earlier than scheduled. You still had until morning. And when the most beautiful male you had ever seen walked into the room as part of the Night Court delegation, you knew exactly how you wanted to spend your remaining time.

You watched him, taking in his muscular body, the massive wings, and the swirling shadows, until his eyes finally found yours through the crowd. You offered him a gentle yet unwavering smile, and your core clenched at the way he studied you as you approached him. Like he was already imagining pinning you beneath him.

It didn't take long for him to do just that. Within minutes, you found yourself in the room he was staying in, your dress discarded on the floor and his head between your thighs.

You had never felt so good as you did in those few hours.

It was almost dawn by the time you were both spent and sweaty, but you fought against exhaustion. You waited for Azriel to fall asleep, and then you slipped out of the room.

He woke up to an empty bed.

The next time you met him was a few months later. The High Lords and High Lady were all meeting in the Winter Court to discuss Prythian’s situation after the war with Hybern, but your father was paranoid. He ordered you to ensure the other courts weren’t plotting a coup against him.

You had just sneaked out of the suite reserved for the High Lord of the Summer Court and his entourage when shadows pooled at your feet, and your back was slammed against the wall. The air was snatched from your lungs at the impact, leaving you little time to take another breath before a dark dagger pressed against your throat.

Despite having spent just one night together, you immediately recognized your assailant by his scent alone.

“Didn't know you were into this kind of thing,” you drawled, looking up to meet Azriel's gaze. “Kinky. I like it.”

His eyes widened slightly as recognition dawned on him, the blade moving an inch away from your neck but no more. “It's you.”

You knew you should be bothered by the dagger, that this was a powerful male not to be trifled with, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when you could still remember how his lips tasted and how good he felt inside you.

“Strange way to meet again, uh?”

Azriel didn't return your smirk, nor did he step away. Instead, his voice was cold as death now that his surprise had faded. “Why are you sneaking into the suites?”

You had mastered the art of weaving lies so long ago that the answer flowed effortlessly from your lips.

“Cresseida was wearing a beautiful necklace at lunch,” you replied with a shrug. “I wanted to see if she left it in her room.”

His eyes narrowed. “So, you're a petty thief?”

Better than the truth, you thought, though a small part of you longed to confide in him, to tell him everything. A deep, innate feeling of trust had somehow bloomed in your chest. You ignored it.

“I'm a simple girl.” You offered him your most charming smile. “I see a shining jewel, and I want it for myself.”

Azriel hummed, knife still at your throat. His eyes scanned your face and you felt like he could see everything you were trying to conceal, all the secrets you'd kept locked away for years.

“You went through the suites of every Court except Autumn,” he mused, the tip of the blade tracing your jaw. You went utterly still. “Why?”

You didn't know how to answer. You didn't even know how he knew that. You'd been caught red-handed, and you had a feeling that any new lie you concocted would be pointless. So you decided to trust your gut.

“Alright.” You took a deep breath—or as deep as you dared with a sharp dagger pressed against your neck. “I work for Beron. He thinks someone might stage a coup, so he sent me to gather information.”

His eyes, which had been roaming over your features and perhaps lingered a second too long on your lips—though that could just be your imagination—snapped up to meet yours. The blade pressed a fraction harder against your skin, a clear sign of his distrust.

“For Beron?” he repeated. Not a hint of surprise or disdain marked his tone, just that icy coldness, so different from the warm voice he'd used to talk you through it in the Summer Court. “And he fears a coup?”

You wanted to sigh but didn't dare. If only he would sheath that damn dagger…

“Yes, that's what I said. And honestly, if someone does, I'm not surprised. I hope it works out for them.”

Azriel's brow arched.

“I mean, the male's horrible. He deserves it.”

You were aware of the dangerous line you were crossing, speaking of your father—your High Lord—like that to an important member of a rival court. You'd never voiced those thoughts aloud to anyone but Eris, and yet here you were. Beron would punish you if he found out. You were first his subject, then his spy, and only then his daughter.

A scarred hand cupped your jaw, Azriel's face now only inches from yours. You could feel his warm breath on your cheeks. “Why do you work for him, then?” he snarled.

His grip on your chin made it impossible to look away, forcing you to meet his golden eyes. In that moment, you let him see your truth, the honesty and vulnerability you never revealed.

“Because I don't have a choice.”

A heartbeat passed, and then his expression softened. You stilled as his hand moved from your jaw to your cheek.

You had seen his scars months ago and immediately recognized what had caused them. Cauldron knew you always kept yours hidden with a glamor, allowing it to dissipate only in the privacy of your bedroom.

Thinking about all your father had put you through made the reality of the situation slam into you. What if Azriel told your father what you had just said? The Night Court and the Autumn Court were not on good terms, but who knew what political machinations were at play behind closed doors. Beron would consider your words a betrayal and punish you accordingly.

Your worry must have shown on your face because Azriel's thumb brushed over your cheekbone, gentle and reassuring. “Your secret's safe with me,” he said softly. He studied you for a moment, and whatever he saw in your expression seemed to convince him to finally put his dagger back into its scabbard at his thigh.

You took a deep, shaky breath, unsure whether it stemmed from believing him or simply from relief at no longer being threatened.

Now free, his fingers brushed over your throat where his blade had been. There probably was a thin pink line there. His featherlight touch sent shivers down your spine.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured.

Your voice was barely a whisper. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You stared at each other, time seeming to slow down. His shadows peeked from behind his broad shoulders, a few tendrils swirling forward and weaving through your red locks, but your gaze locked on his, your heartbeat quickening. His other hand still cradled your cheek.

“I'm sorry,” you murmured.

“What for?”

‘For lying to you.’

‘For sneaking into your Court’s suite.’

‘Because I can't tell you the whole truth.’

So many easy replies, and all of them true. But one in particular pushed at the corner of your mind, one you hadn't been able to shake for months.

“For walking away right after you fell asleep.”

Something flashed in his eyes, there and gone in an instant, but you didn't recognize what it was. You didn't know him well enough to read every subtle change in his expression. Part of you wished you could.

You waited for him to say something—either to tell you he didn't care or that it wasn't a big deal—but as his silence stretched on, you debated whether you should change the subject or perhaps apologize for bringing it up.

Just as you opened your mouth, Azriel spoke again, but his words were not what you had expected.

“I looked for you the day after,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “But you were gone.”

You couldn't help but stare, so caught off guard that you were completely speechless. You had thought about him often since that night, but you never imagined he might have looked for you in the morning. You were torn between feeling even worse about leaving him and the rapid beat of your heart.

A grin curled your lips as you rested your hands on his chest. Even with his armor on, you could recall the lines of the tattoos swirling across his golden skin, a sliver of black ink peeking from his collar. “I was that good?” you teased.

Azriel chuckled under his breath, the sound like a song to your ears. “You were that good.” He leaned in, his mouth brushing against your ear, teeth grazing your earlobe. “You felt that good wrapped around me.”

Your breath hitched at his words, and you could feel his hard length pressing against your thigh, igniting a desire that made you want to moan.

“Do you want to do it again?”

He barely gave you time to finish that sentence before his lips claimed yours, eliciting a surprised whimper. Your fingers tangled in his curls, his hands cupped your face, and there was nothing sweet or gentle about the kiss as his body pressed yours against the wall and you began to grind on him.

You parted only to catch your breath, but Azriel was already nipping at your neck, and you tilted your head to grant him more access.

When distant footsteps echoed from a nearby hallway, he didn’t even pull away as shadows wrapped around you both. In an instant, they winnowed you into a bedroom you didn't bother to register, too busy pushing Azriel on the large bed and climbing on top of him.

After that time, you began to plan your meetings. It was often a real challenge to find a moment when both of you could slip away from your duties without raising suspicions, but you couldn't risk your families discovering that you were regularly sleeping with a spy from a rival court.

Then, somewhere along the way, it happened. Sex slowly transformed into making love as you both developed feelings for one another, and around one year later, the mating bond snapped into place. You wanted to accept it, but you couldn't shake the dark cloud looming over your head. It was then that you decided to tell Azriel the truth about who you were, who your father was. He was gone for twenty days after your revelation, and you were left wondering whether it was because you had kept it hidden from him for so long or if he truly had a tight schedule and couldn't make time for a secret rendezvous. But when he finally returned, he assured you that whoever your father was wouldn't change or diminish his love for you. That very night, you offered him food, relief washing over you like a balm.

~~~~~~

And here you were, three years and countless secret meetings later.

“What are you doing here?” Azriel repeated, his voice carrying the usual softness he used when speaking to you, but with an edge of nervousness and impatience.

“My father sent me to retrieve the Veritas Orb,” you explained with a sigh. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't want you to have to lie to your family even more. And… I thought I could do this alone.”

Azriel fell silent, his back stiff, his posture rigid. The shadows had retreated behind his wings. Finally, he asked, “What does he need it for?”

You gave him an apologetic look. “He didn't bother to share that information.”

He nodded, as if he had expected that answer. Rising to his feet, he offered you a hand to help you up from your seat. You took it, his skin cold against your palm, and stood with a frown.

“What do we do now?” you whispered, anxious despite Cassian’s absence. “I didn't mean to bring you into this mess, love.”

Azriel let go of your hand to cup your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Don't apologize. I know he didn't give you a choice.” He pressed his soft lips to your forehead. “But I can't let you walk out, angel. We need some excuse.”

Right, because letting you leave unscathed and without any information would only get him in trouble with his High Lord. But leaving without the Orb would get you in trouble. And yet, you would rather endure whatever punishment your father would concoct than let your mate deal with the consequences of your reckless actions.

You stepped back, out of the warmth provided by his body. You had a plan, one you knew he wouldn’t like, but it seemed like the only solution to get you both out of this mess with minimal repercussions. Well, for him at least. You doubted Beron would take pity and turn a blind eye to your failure, but it was worth a shot.

“I need you to hurt me.”

His eyes widened, but you went on before he could object. “You can tell Rhysand I was acting alone, that you made sure I won't be a problem anymore, and I’ll go back to Autumn and tell my father I was caught and tortured. But I need you to hurt me and I need you to make it look believable.”

Azriel was gaping. You had never seen him like this before. You knew how your idea sounded, but you needed him to understand the criticality of the situation and agree to it.

“Az, I—”

“No.”

You blinked. “No?”

Something ticked in his jaw, a subtle clench of his muscle. “No,” he repeated, voice firm and unyielding. “I'm not hurting you, love. You can't just ask me to do that. I won't. I can't.”

You studied him for a moment, but you knew he wasn't going to change his mind.

“Fine,” you sighed, extending a hand toward him, palm up. “Then give me Truth-Teller.”

He frowned, and the shadows swirled around him nervously, as if sensing the direction this conversation was taking. “And why would I do that?”

“You won't hurt me, so I'll do it myself,” you replied, as if the answer was obvious.

His eyes widened. “Y/N—”

“Just a few cuts here and there,” you assured him. “Nothing too bad. But my father has to believe it's real.”

Once again, Azriel stared at you, pale as if he had just seen a ghost. “You can't be serious.”

“You have a better idea?” you retorted. Without waiting for his answer, you reached for the dagger at his thigh. The sooner you could get this over with, the better.

Azriel easily sidestepped you, grabbing both your wrists to prevent you from trying to take his knife again. “I'm not letting you hurt yourself either,” he stated. His grip on you was gentle, but his tone was cold. It was the kind of tone that told you he wouldn't take no for an answer.

But neither would you.

“We don't have a choice, Az,” you countered, your voice steady despite the rising tension. Yet you didn't try to free your hands.

Something shifted in his eyes, in his expression. His thumbs brushed over your wrists in soothing motions, and a pleading note entered his voice when he spoke again. “I can't stand to see you hurt, my love. I don't care about the reason.”

For a few seconds, you just stared into each other's eyes. You were still tense and rigid, and fear coiled in your gut at the thought of going back and facing your father. But Azriel's gaze was soft, scarred fingers never ceasing their gentle caresses. In that moment, you realized that he would rather tell his family the truth than let you go back home battered.

And then it hit you. Though you loved the Autumn Court, it wasn't your home. No, your home was Azriel. He had been for years now. Your safe place, the person you could always count on, the one who knew you better than anyone else. Your mate.

“He won't let me leave,” you whispered, and you hated how weak and vulnerable you sounded.

“You're already here.” Azriel lifted your hands to his mouth and pressed a warm kiss on each palm. “You don't need to leave. You just need to stay.”

You shook your head, tears rising to your eyes. “He sent me here. He knows where I am, and he'll come looking or send someone to find me, or—”

“We'll deal with him,” he interrupted you. “But you'll be safe here. I promise.”

You couldn't hold back the tears, then. He sounded so sure, as if it could ever be that simple. As if you could just make the choice to stay and never go back. You wished you could. With all your heart, you wished it could be as simple as that.

“Az, I… I can't,” you murmured, voice trembling.

He let go of your wrists to cup your cheeks, wiping away your tears. “I will protect you,” he reassured softly. “My whole family will, once they know the truth. You will be safe in the Night Court. And if not, then… then we'll go somewhere else, somewhere far away where Beron won't find us.”

We. Us.

For how long had you wished to hear those words? Even after you two had met, you had never truly been a couple. You had stolen moments whenever you could, but it was always you and him—your duties and his. Never a ‘we’, never an ‘us’.

“Stay.”

You closed your eyes, unable to hold his pleading gaze any longer.

“Stay in the Night Court.”

You swallowed, the weight of the decision heavy on your shoulders as if it were a physical burden. “Az…”

“Stay with me.” His voice broke, vulnerability spilling into every word. “Please.”

What if it were that easy? What if you could make the decision and simply not go back to the Autumn Court? What if you could spend every day and every night with the person you loved with all your heart, with your mate, and not having to hide, to carefully plan every meeting, to weave lie after lie to everyone around you?

When you opened your eyes, Azriel was staring at you. He was still brushing away your tears, but even through their veil, you could see how beautiful he was. How desperate. How broken.

And you nodded.

“Okay,” you whispered.

His eyes immediately lit up. “Okay?”

“Yes,” you confirmed despite the quiver in your voice. “Yes, I'm… I’m staying. With you.”

You barely had time to finish the sentence before he pulled you into his arms, your face pressed against his chest as he held you tight. You let yourself go, surrendering to the tears and the sobs shaking your body, clutching his leathers to keep your hands from trembling.

“Thank you,” he murmured against your hair, over and over. “Thank you, my love. Thank you.”

You didn't know how long you just stood there. Minutes, hours, days—it didn't matter. You were together now, and you would always be from this moment on. You were home, and never again would you suffer at the hands of your father.

His shadows swarmed around you, caressing your back and arms, twisting in your hair as if they, too, were excited about what would happen next. You didn't know. For the first time in your life, the future was bright, and happiness was within your grasp.

You pulled back only when your tears ran dry. Azriel pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead, and you both smiled, brightly and lovingly, knowing you would not leave each other again.

“Let's get you out of here,” he said eventually, taking your hand and intertwining your fingers. “There's so much to do.”

Like meeting his family. Revealing your identity, who you were and what you did, and hoping they would understand and not hold it against you.

As Azriel stepped back to turn toward the door, you hesitated.

“Can you promise me something?” you asked, your voice quiet and still a bit hoarse from crying.

He stopped, worried eyes immediately searching your face for any sign of discomfort or concern. “Of course, love. Anything you want.”

“It's nothing too big, just…” You offered a small smile and squeezed his fingers. “No more secrets, Az.”

His hazel eyes softened, and his lips curled into a beautiful smile. He nodded, tugging gently on your hand to lead you out of the cell and into your new life. “No more secrets.”

2nd a/n: if the lines "Stay / Stay in the Night Court / Stay with me" reminded you of another very similar quote, you are correct. I had originally written "Stay in the Night Court. Just... stay with me" and it made me think of that quote, which is one of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite books and said by one of my favorite characters ever, so I decided to include it (a little easter egg, if you will). Kaz and Azriel 🤝 simping for the girl they like

General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings

Azriel Week: @fourthwing4ever

#azrielappreciationweek2024 #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel fic #sjm #sarah j maas #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #azriel fluff #azriel angst #fanfiction

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maneskinwh0re · 3 days ago

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Hellooo, would u be able to do a sevika or butch logan (don't mind who) reacting to the reader pulling a knife on them in a fight?Please and thank you ❤️

yes omg !! i love ur loki pfp btw 💚

lemme get a small sevika fic on here before s2 comes out tmrrw !! :3

wlw nsfw >> no smut :c …this time

🔪 but she would DEFINITELY look at you like this vvv

»»----------►

⊳ “ready for round 2?”

⊳ you groan in frustration as you push sevika off your body onto the floor next to you. she chuckles and rolls to her side, leaning up on her elbow to look down at you.

⊳ “you’re a jerk,” you grumble, clearly pissed off over how your muscular girlfriend successes every time you train together.

⊳“are you mad at me, beautiful?”

⊳ of course not. how could you be? you’re just frustrated with yourself. as one of silco’s newest guards, you have to improve on hand to hand combat in order to protect him and your fellow colleagues. you enjoy your new job—it comes with the privilege of getting to see your girlfriend every day, but the tasks do take a toll on your strength. that’s why you need to work both smarter and harder.

⊳ you pout at sevika and stand up, pulling up the waistband of your grey sweatpants and smoothing out the fabric of your black compression shirt. sevika herself wears wrist wraps and a black sports bra — and god, she just loves distracting you with peeks of her boxers when she “adjusts” her own baggy sweatpants. her toned abs are on full display and framed by her deep v-line. her short, dark hair is pulled back into a tight bun while a few wisps fall against her gorgeous, scarred face. has it been mentioned her appearance distracts you?

⊳ “let’s just go again,” you huff as you shake out your wrists and prep yourself into a defensive stance.

⊳ sevika’s movements are just as quick as before, but this time, you’re quicker. she is taller, stronger than you, but not by much. it takes a moment, but you find her fighting pattern. her jabs and punches are soon dodged by your swift motions, and by the time she processes your leg sweeping her feet out from under her, her back hits the wooden floor and a groaned curse leaves her lips.

⊳ the wind has been knocked out of her, but you know that’ll only fuel her attitude to not take things easy on you. before she can catch her breath, you pin her to the ground, straddling her hips and holding her flesh wrist down above her head. in your free hand, you lift a beautiful, black knife made with serrated steel against her neck.

⊳ “i win,” your chest heaves with exasperation. you announce your triumph as if sevika isn’t literally under your panting body, but you want her to admit it. she needs to admit it or else it didn’t happen in her mind. “i fucking won, say it.”

⊳ she seems surprised at first, your boldness catching her off guard before she zones out to admire the sight above her. sweat coats your flushed skin, baby hairs stick to your face, and you can’t help but breathe into her mouth. she loves every aspect of this perfect position — both of you feeling trapped in this moment yet more than satisfied with never wanting to leave it.

⊳ her widened eyes then narrow as she looks at the blade against her neck, then up at you — and she can’t help but chuckle softly at her own dirty thoughts. “where’d y’ find this little trinket?”

⊳ you smirk above her, that glint in your eye forming once you realize she likes this. because of course she does. you tilt your head slightly, studying her gaze as if she’s waiting for you to take things further and commit to taking the control you’ve worked so badly for. “got it jus’ for you. why?”

⊳ she looks back down at the blade, her smile widening before returning eye contact again. “’s nice… almost makes me wanna let y’ win.”

⊳ her words settle in as you watch a bottle of shimmer pump through the gears and wires of her mechanical arm. you move fast to pin one of your knees against the geared surface of her shoulder and sheathe the thin knife through her robotic wrist and into the floor without a moments’ hesitation. the magenta, vibrantly-drugged liquid bubbles and spurts out of sevika’s machinery, the gears whirring for only a moment before hissing in defeat.

⊳ it doesn’t hurt her, she can’t feel a thing, but that doesn’t stop you from realizing the weight of the action you took. with how advanced it is, sevika’s robotic limb takes time to adjust, fix, upgrade, etc. and when training/fighting with anyone, she only uses a small dose of shimmer as a last resort. but now that the arm is useless and her body is pinned under you, your girlfriend is now completely at your mercy.

⊳ although the thought doesn’t settle as nicely as it usually would. especially when her eyes briefly look over the mechanics in the prosthetic, seeing slight steam rise from the misplaced gears in her wrist. oops. you remove your hand from the knife yet the blade keeps her pinned to the floor, unless she were to remove the prosthetic altogether. her eyes return up to you, playful yet there’s a slightly warning, piercing glare. a further intention.

⊳ naturally, guilt first washes over you for the amount of repairs your girlfriend will have to make. but she isn’t mad, you know that. she doesn’t need to say a word. however, she now looks forward to using this as an opportunity to make show of punishing you. you know that as well, and lift your hands in surrender.

⊳“i’ll fix it…”

»»----------►

sorry this is kinda rushed^^ note for pt 2!!

manifesting happy ending for sevika in s2 🙏🙏✨✨✨ requests are open my lovelies and if you’ve sent one, i haven’t forgotten about you!! i have lots of works in the drafts rn and hoping to get them all out asap <3

-🐝

#sevika #sevika x reader #bee #maneskinwh0re #lesbian #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #wlw ns/fw #wlw yearning

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stevenose · 23 hours ago

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for anonymous - thank you for voting!! and for the good prompt hehe

contains: gender unspecified reader; reader with a vagina; teasing; edging (reader receiving); kind of mean!steve; slight overstimulation; this one kinda got away from me and was not supposed to be this long 😳

“Steve - Steve —!”

“Aw,” he says flatly. “Do you want to cum or something?”

“Yes,” you grit.

He hums, applying harder, steadier pressure on your clit before going back to feather-light strokes. “Not coming with that attitude.”

He’s brought you close twice now, leaving you right on the cusp before pulling back. With the little resolve you have left, you reach down for his arm, trying to stop him from moving away.

“Hey,” he warns, grabbing your hand and pinning it above you. “Hands up here, remember?”

You huff.

“There you go,” he encourages. “Just gotta be nice to me and I’ll give you what you want, okay?”

His thumb presses down on your clit and he stops his movement all together. You jolt, twisting your legs beside his, slotted between yours. Your hands grasp the sheets under you and you curl the soft fabric up in your fists.

“You’re never nice to me,” you pant.

He pinches your clit. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

You do know it. He can be so tender with you. But he’s not right now, and you want to cum so badly, want him to move his fingers again until you’re shaking.

“What do you want me to do?”

He grins down at you. “You’re so easy. Want you to beg me. That’s not below you, is it? You’ve begged me for things before.”

You swallow your pride and ignore his comment. “Please let me cum, Steve.”

“Oh, not like that,” he says, his thumb moving, keeping the pressure hard. “Want it to be organic, you know? Instead of talking back while I’m making you feel good.”

His thumb really does feel so good. You moan breathlessly, hands still curled, your toes clenching. You want to grind, but you know that’ll get you farther away from what you need.

Steve kisses down your neck and collarbone. “Uh-huh, there y’go.”

His lips find a nipple, tongue laving over it. You moan louder, squirming. You breathe harshly, your orgasm quickly coming to the precipice. “Please,” you whimper.

White teeth scrape against your sensitive skin, catching on your nipple. “I’m gonna need a lot more than that.”

“Steve, please.” You’re coming undone. “It’s - it feels so good, I need more, I need to feel it.”

A finger slips down to your entrance while his thumb keeps rubbing at your clit. His lips resume their work, his finger never entering.

“Yes, please!” you pant. “Please, please, finger me.”

“You’re wet,” he says against your skin. “You love this.”

“I love this,” you agree mindlessly. “Steve, I wanna cum, want you to feel me.”

He moans now, slipping his middle finger inside of you. You clench around him and he whines.

Your hands tug the sheets, desperate. Your chest rises and falls, breath heavy. “Please, I’m so close, please don’t stop, Steve, please don’t stop!”

“Who’s making you cum?”

“You, you, you —“

“What’s my name, honey?”

“Steve,” you squeak, stomach tightening.

He pauses. Your eyes sting with tears, thinking he’s not letting you, but his pace continues with hard strokes and you’re cumming. Your hands fly to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, legs wrapping around his hips. You cry in ecstasy, shaking, pussy refusing to let him go until you’re overstimulated.

“Ah!” you whine. “Too — too much.”

Steve hums, eyes locked on yours, his thumb moving lightly against your twitching clit. “It’d be fun to keep playing with you, don’t you think?”

#category: blurbs #hehe…

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daddyd0nt · 8 hours ago

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Why are you okay with them continuing what has been an ineffective and in many cases failed attempt to bully the left into voting for a slightly less right wing but still right of center candidate we want an actual left or even true centrist candidate if appealing to centrists and moderate conservatives was a good strategy it would have worked in 2016. Also Hillary paid bots to spam pro-Bernie communities on social media with CSAM right before the nomination was announced and to keep his supporters from organizing because numbers wise a way larger and more vocally passionate number of people were supporting Bernie and instead they try to get us to settle for an entitled elite oligarch offering nothing that he was offering simply by virtue of her not being trump. Two possible candidates were selling out rallies and merch and being immortalized by tattoos and going viral on social media, Bernie and trump. They nominated Hillary because it was “her turn” after losing the nomination in 2008 to Obama she’s an entitled aristocrat who isn’t interested in anything but keeping herself and her people in power. She and Kamala both offered nothing other than the fact that they were not trump, almost like trump was supposed to be some kind of plant to bully people into voting for them and when they lost the election the American people called their bluff twice. The American left is done voting for the slightly less right wing but still right wing candidate. If the democrats want to do anything or any of them want power or to further their careers they have to offer more to the American people. People on the right are excited about trump. You will never beat a candidate with a devoted fan base with a candidate that people are miserably settling for out of harm reduction. If the democrats want voters on the left to support them, they need to offer something more than being the bite of the shit sandwich with the most bread. Also the democrats are doing a sexist gaslighting thing I think it’s called the glass basement? The cement ceiling? I read an article about it forever ago. Right before something crashes and burns they put a woman in power so when it collapses they can blame a woman for it. I’m not saying sexism didn’t play a role in their loss, it absolutely did but the fact that they are putting a woman front and center to offer us absolutely fucking nothing from a corrupt and crumbling party is in itself sexist. The American left wasn’t satisfied with choosing between a threat or absolutely nothing when the right got to have a candidate that they were excited about. We want a left wing trump who is fat and genderqueer and pansexual and substance dependent and black and autistic raised in poverty by a single teen mother with stupid neon hair threatening to make public sodomy mandatory at brunch and restore the American poor to a first world standard of life after composting the oligarchs so we on the left can say “well theyre more extreme than me but I agree with them and they are working in the interests of me and my values” like the right gets to say with trump. If the left wants us to vote for them and give them power they have to give us something we want not just threaten how much worse the other person will be while they are both serving the same agenda. the American public with the internet knows much more about each candidate than our parents generation knew watching 3 major news channels and reading a few cherry picked quotes in the papers, the democrats need to work harder than they did before to get power and like I said the American left is sick of choosing between two right wing parties they are going to have to actually appeal to the rapidly growing left if they want votes from this generation. Also more women CEOs means nothing in improving the daily existence of the female population I don’t need the empty icon of a female president so badly that I’m willing to happily accept a capitalist imperialist genocidal oligarch cop just because her crotch looks more like mine than his.

I voted against trump but I certainly wasn’t happy to vote for Kamala and the democrats have 4 years to come up with a candidate that actually appeals to voters because they won’t be able to threaten us with a sad orange clown next time. Repeating the attempt they failed at in 2016 is their fault not the fault of the voters. It didn’t work the first time. Instead of changing their approach and appealing to the left they did the same thing that already failed. They have nobody but themselves to blame for their loss. They let the American people down not the other way around. Stop licking boot and demand your needs be addressed as a constituent.

Idk guys, maybe people are blaming leftists who refused to vote because of genocide because I literally saw them holding political rallies last weekend in a swing state telling people not to vote

Like it wasn't just tumblr leftists saying not to vote for Kamala, or at all, because of Palestine. Those were real people I walked past last Saturday in Pennsylvania, a key swing state. They had megaphones in front of Philadelphia city hall and a sizeable crowd. I feel like we can, in fact, say they are partly culpable here.

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nocasdatsgay · 1 day ago

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A Lesson in Heartbreak

2 of 3: Words are Painful Weapons

Rating: T | Word Count: 3983 | Pairing: Azris/Reader

Summary: Eris and Azriel made promises they didn’t keep. When you confront them about it, Eris says some things he instantly regrets. Now him and Azriel have to fix what they broke.

Neapolitan Bonds Masterlist| Read on A03| Part 1| Read Below

Warnings: Angst, Eris has a sharp tongue, alcohol, drunk!Eris

A/N: HI so… yeah… I am alive. Sorry this took so long. A second shout out to @daycourtofficial for inspiration with Azriel and his comments when he comes back.

Tagging: @myromanempiree @pit-and-the-pen @lilah-asteria @thisblogisaboutabook @hieragalbatorixdottir @mybestfriendmademe @paleidiot @div94 (if you are tagged by accident or want to be tagged in the future, let me know)

“There. A letter to Tarquin and a letter to her.” Eris sent them with a flick of his wrist.

Azriel calmed enough to sit while Eris penned the letters. They needed you to come home so they could talk with you in person. Deep down, Eris was thoroughly embarrassed over the whole situation. Not only at himself but for you leaving to another court. He wondered if this was how Tamlin felt all those years ago, when Feyre ran off to the Night Court. Eris suddenly had empathy for him in retrospect.

He slumped back in his chair and sighed. He needed a stiff drink. But he wanted to be sober if you came home. Azriel sat across from him, arms crossed against his chest and brows furrowed like he did when he was deep in thought. His eyes were still rimmed in red from earlier. The Shadows were nowhere in sight.

“What?” Eris looked at his mate.

Az cut his eyes to Eris, still frowning. “I want you to tell me exactly what you said to her.”

“I’m surprised your shadows didn’t already tell you.” Eris didn’t hold back his eye roll or his sigh. “I don’t fully remember.”

Everything was a blur from earlier. When he got like that, he never remembered what he said.

“Well think fucking harder.” Eris could see Azriel’s fingers dig into his sleeves.

“She came in screaming at me about missing dinner.” It reminded him too much of his mother. The way she would yell at his father when he was a youngling. Eris tried to focus, to put that aside. “I told her the high lord meeting was more important. We were hosting, and.”

After a moment Az said, “And what, Eris”

He cursed under his breath. “I said she would understand that if she had bothered to help. Since she isn’t helping, she doesn't get to complain that we are busy. She knew what she was getting into when we mated.”

Azriel recoiled where he sat. “How could you say that to her?”

“It’s the truth, Azriel.” Eris brushed back his hair with his hand. “This is what it’s like to be mated to a High Lord. We have responsibilities. Yes, I was wrong for implying she didn’t want to help because she asked and I told her she didn’t have to. I admit that.”

Shadows came out as Az replied. “And we made promises we didn’t keep.”

“I know I did. It eats me alive that I broke them but what else am I supposed to do? It’s our first time hosting, I’ve only been High Lord for a decade and a half. She’s worked for multiple courts. She knows these things have to be perfect or others will talk.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t take a break to have dinner with her.” Az countered.

Eris glared at him. “Do not act like you are any better. You weren’t there either.”

He winced. “You’re right. I wasn’t.” Then he glared back. “But maybe I would have been there if you let other people do their job instead of making it our problem.”

“Oh you’re going to blame me?” Eris was on his feet. “By the gods. I’m always your scapegoat because it’s easy to blame me than for you to look in a fucking mirror.”

“Eris.” A warning, as shadows built around him.

“Am I wrong?” Azriel didn’t answer. Eris and his sharp tongue kept going. “You blamed me for centuries when it came to Mor. To this court. To my father. Let’s just add this to it.” He paused. Before he could stop himself he added. “It wouldn’t even be a fucking issue if it was just us.”

Eris felt the shock through the bond from Az before he shut him out. Even the shadows recoiled from around Az.

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t have to repeat myself. We work well together,” he gestured between them, “because we know what to expect from each other. She wants so much more than either of us are capable of.”

Shadows shrunk back again. “That’s not true.”

“It is!” Then words spewed from his mouth like viper venom. “I wish Elain never told us. I wish I never let you get your fucking hopes up, looking for a third bond in every fucking fae you brought to our bed. But I love you, so I let you do it.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Azriel was on his own feet, siphons on his hands flashing. “I always got your consent, you said it was fine. You brought your own-”

Eris’s mouth ran away from him again. He didn’t raise his voice; his tone did the work for him.

“Maybe I lied. I only took other lovers so you wouldn’t feel guilty. I was just trying to make you happy because I was never enough for you. Even the Mother herself knew. She knew I wasn’t enough for you so she sent us her.”

Az looked like he’d been struck. Guilt and insecurity Eris had buried for decades laid out on full display. At that moment Eris hoped Azriel hurt just as much as he did. The silence between them was heavy and loud. It was finally Azriel who spoke, his own words sharp and stinging.

“I never asked to be mated to you. You say this is easier for me and you, but it’s only easy for you. What’s easy is loving her. It’s not my fault you’re too fucked up to know that too.”

Shadows grew thick around him and he winnowed out of the room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You showered and changed into a soft seafoam colored nightgown, given to you by Samira. She was sitting by a small side table reading when you came back into the bedroom. She set her book down and got up from her seat.

“Did you tell him, Tarquin?” You asked.

In your haste to get away, you didn’t think about the implications of your actions. Namely as High Lord’s mate seeking refuge in another court. You liked Tarquin a lot. He was kind and you were so happy when Samira and him hit it off. But he was still a High Lord of another court. Samira didn’t look you in the eyes from where she had sat on the edge of the bed.

“I only told him what you told me.”

“That’s fine,” you said quickly. You got onto the bed and crawled up beside her. “I understand. If you hadn’t told him, I would have.”

“That said,” she put her hand over yours. “You’re here as my guest. Any correspondence will come directly to me unless there is a threat to the court.”

You winced and she gave you a sympathetic look. Your mates were both known for their tempers. Azriel was well known for his impulsive behavior. You prayed to the Mother that neither of them acted irrationally. A hard thing to hope knowing you sealed this room the moment you entered.

“Did you want some tea or do you want to rest for the night?”

“Tea. I need to talk if you’re willing to listen.”

“Always,” she smiled.

You grabbed a light robe and moved into the small sitting room. She waited as Samira had tea brought to the room. She fixed you a cup, and then she sat down and took her own in her hands.

“So what happened?”

You let out a heavy sigh, trying to figure out where to start.

You explained the best you could. How they both made a promise to go to dinner and neither showed. You explained how distant they’d been for months. You explained how Eris told you that dinner wasn’t as important as whatever he was working on with the upcoming summit.

“He said I knew what I was getting into when we mated. As if I’m not managing his court while his nose is stuck in itinerary lists.” You added bitterly.

She winced. “And Azriel? What did he say about all this?”

“He said he was sorry. He lost track of time. Conveniently he was silent when I asked why his shadows didn’t remind him.” You stared down at the tea in your hand. You could feel your eyes water again. “He hasn’t- he has always been more physically affectionate than Eris. Out in public, at least. But he hasn’t even-“

You stopped yourself, your face burning. Samira didn’t need to know how Az hadn’t even called you by a specific pet name in weeks. Eris even longer. And how was you supposed to explain they even stopped just casually touching you? It was childish, to be upset about something so silly. Yet thinking about it just made you cry again.

You wiped your eyes. “It just feels as if they don’t want me anymore.”

“They're your mates, of course they want you.”

“Mates doesn’t always mean love, Samira. They did just fine without me for what? Two decades? Maybe longer. Maybe they miss it just being the two of them.”

“Now you’re talking nonsense. Stop it,” she gave you a pointed look.

“What if it’s the truth?” You were so sick of crying. You sniffled and wiped your eyes. “They know each other so well. What do they need me for?”

They didn’t.

That was your whole issue. They didn’t need you. Eris and Az could practically communicate without words. They moved around each other seamlessly. Eris knew exactly how Az liked his tea. Az knew to move papers closer to the inside of the desk when Eris was on a rant, his hands moving about as he talked. Eris knew when to make the spare room without even asking Azriel if he needed it. You tried to watch, to listen. Five years and you still weren’t in tune with them.

Samira shuffled in her seat, drawing your attention back to her.

“Eris wrote a letter to Tarquin. I got it while you were bathing. It wasn’t much, just him requesting to know if you were here and if so, that you get this.” She held up an envelope with his seal on it. “I wrote back that I would handle communication and you’d be staying the night.”

She laid the letter on the table in front of you. Your chest ached, begging you to open it immediately. You shoved it down.

Samira added, “I informed him that if you want to stay longer, I can’t make you leave. Tarquin has already agreed to allow you to stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” you whispered and stared back down at your tea again.

“Sleep on it. You can have breakfast with us and decide what you want to do in the morning.”

You nodded. Sleep sounded nice now that the adrenaline of the evening had crashed. You drained the rest of your tea and bid Samira good night. You left the letter on the table. You’d read it in the morning.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eris poured himself the stiffest drink he’d had in decades. The shame and embarrassment of everything was still burning in his chest. He downed his drink in one swing and poured another. Both his mates were gone. He walked over to his desk where the correspondence with summer sat. Your friend had written back instead of Tarquin. He downed his second drink.

To make things less complicated, I will be handling correspondence until this is resolved. Unless there is a threat to the court, I will not involve the high lord. I promise I will give her your letter in the morning. She was distraught when she arrived and I’ve just gotten her calmed. She’s currently bathing and I will get her some tea to help her sleep.

There was a break in the letter and she added.

She has yet to tell me what happened fully, but as her friend I am warning you both that you two better make this right. I will try to convince her to return in the morning, but she is a grown female. If she requests to stay, Tarquin has already told me she may.

Eris tossed the letter back onto the desk. He doubted once you found out Az left too that you’d come home. It’s what he deserved.

He was a fool to think he could do this- have two mates. To think he could be any better than his father. Three years mated to you and he still couldn’t control himself. Couldn’t toe the line between work and leisure. Fifteen mated to Az and he still spewed venom in his direction the moment he was cornered. And Eris finally got a taste of his own medicine when Azriel spewed it right back.

With a heavy sigh, Eris pulled out more parchment and ink. There would not be a high lord summit- not with all of this happening. He’d draft the letters and send them in the morning. If he could sleep at all, with no one sharing his bed. He went and made a third drink. He opened his bonds and see if you or Az would respond.

Still shut out. The urge to down that third drink was strong. He needed to be sober in the morning even if he didn’t want to be.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Azriel flew until his emotions settled. Eris’s foul words rung in his ears still. ‘I wish Elain never told us’ he’d said. ‘Even the mother herself knew I wasn’t enough for you so she sent her.’

His eyes watered and it wasn’t from the wind in them. There was an ache in his chest- both bonds were shut out. He and Eris fought plenty, before and after they reconciled and the bond snapped. Somehow this was still the worst. He ignored his own words that spewed like venom in response to what Eris had said.

Azriel was angry and hurt. He left- if he stayed any longer the whole Forest House may have been burned to the ground. He circled the border between Autumn and Winter. He couldn't go back, not tonight. He landed in a clearing, stretching out his wings before tucking them back in. He didn’t want to go to Valeris. He had one other option. His shadows seemed to agree, as they circled him and he winnowed.

He landed outside the wards of Rosehall. The fae lights shown through the window.

She is awake. a shadow whispered.

He thought about turning back. He didn’t want to disturb his mother, to bother her with his problems. Yet his feet carried him forward, the wards rippling around him. He tucked his wings in tight and walked to the door. He didn‘t have to knock; the wards were designed to let only few in and to notify her when someone arrived. He could hear the rush of footsteps inside and braced himself as the door opened.

“Azriel?” His mother answered the door, a navy shawl you made for her wrapped tight around her shoulders, sides shaped to accommodate her wings. “What has happened?”

”I had a fight with my mates.” He said quickly. “They’re fine; I just- I couldn’t stay.”

His mother brushed back loose hair to tuck it behind her ear. He realized her hair was half braided. She nodded, and stepped aside to let him in.

“I’m sorry, I can go.”

”Nonsense, come in. I just made tea.”

His shadows swirled past him, one or two weaving around his mother. They always loved her; probably more than him if he was honest. He stepped through the frame and looked around. He had visited two weeks ago and already things had changed. His heart skipped, looking into the sitting room. Feyre had taken to decorating his mother’s house with portraits and paintings. The one above the fireplace was of him and his mother. It was a new one on the wall to the left that wasn’t there two weeks ago that made him stop in his tracks. It was of his mother, himself, you, and Eris. From your mating ceremony, based on the clothing and how close together you all were.

“The High Lady spoils me,” his mother said from his right. “Says my house is too empty. You should see the garden painting she had mounted in the hall a few days ago. Come.”

He felt her hand grab his own. He could only grip back loosely. He didn’t realize how cold his fingers had gotten from flying. If she noticed, she didn’t say. She led him to the kitchen where a kettle sat on the stove. He sat at the small table and watched almost numbly while she gathered cups and poured the tea.

“Zemër, tell me what happened.”

Az looked down at the cup as she sat it in front of him. He wrapped his hands around it, letting the warmth ease the stiffness in his hands. If he was home, Eris would do it for him. He pushed that thought away. He took a few sips, relishing in how the warmth flowed through his chest. His mother waited patiently across from him, braiding the rest of her hair for bed.

“I said some things I shouldn’t have.” His shadows nudged him on the shoulder. “I made a promise and didn’t keep it.” She hummed and tied off her hair. His voice cracked a little when he added. “I don’t know if I can fix it.”

There was a beat of silence and his mother took a sip of her tea. “Why do you think such a thing?”

“Because she left!” He snapped. His mother flinched and shadows hissed at him for raising his voice. “I’m sorry. She left and he- we’ve been so busy and she asked for one dinner and neither of us went. Then she left. And Eris said things. So I said things back.”

He hated that hot tears fell down his cheeks. And that his mother was looking at him with pity. She reached over and took his hand, holding it tightly in her own.

“Words are painful weapons and you are the best warrior in all prythian.” That made Azriel snort and she smiled softly. “This is a fight. Not a war. You haven’t lost yet. They are your mates. You love them. If you haven’t given up your love for them, what makes you think they have so easily given up their love for you?”

She had him there. He gave her hand a squeeze, a gesture of thanks. Then a shadow swirled up his arm quickly.

We must go. He furrowed his brows. He walks to our balcony. We must stop him. We must go. Go.

“Shit.” Azriel winced at himself. He hated cursing in front of his mother. “Mama, I have to go. Thank you. For the tea.”

She watched him stand, not letting go of his hand. “Be careful, my love.”

Despite the tugging of the shadows he gave his mother a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll see you in two weeks. I promise.”

She nodded and he winnowed away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

At some point, Eris wasn’t sure when; he grabbed the whole bottle instead of pouring himself a glass. He couldn’t sleep. Not alone, with his thoughts and past memories hovering around the edges of the bed. They we’re waiting in the dark to grip him when he was most vulnerable. So instead he drank. Drank to numb the emptiness like he used to in the days before.

One minute he was in his chambers and the next he was stumbling up stairs. There were several balconies in the forest house but there was only one nearest to the roof. He built it for Azriel. It had no railings, just a place for him to take off when he went flying. Az swore he didn’t need it; but he still used it. In Eris’s mind, Az would use the balcony when he came back home.

Because he had to come home. You both had to come home. Eris didn’t think he could bear it if you didn’t. It took him a moment when he reached the door to focus enough to grab the handle. Gods, he hadn’t been this drunk since his youth. Pushing into the room, it was bare- save the single old couch, rug, and unlit fireplace. His gaze fixated on the double glass doors that led to the balcony. If he could just get out there, he could wait.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Eris nearly fell over, balance upended by Az’s voice behind him. He grabbed Eris by his shirt to pull him steady. Shadows that had been absent swirled in his vision, grazing his hair and neck as if checking him over. It took a moment for the world to stop spinning and his focus fixated on the male before him.

“You came back,” Eris whispered.

“Of course I did.” Azriel’s nose crinkled at Eris’ breath. “You're drunk.”

“Can’t sleep.” He felt his eyes water. He reached for Azriel’s shoulder but Az held him in place. “I’m sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“Look at me,” Az’s hands were cold as they cradled Eris’ face, forcing him to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry too.”

“Your hands are cold.” He muttered, his own reaching up to cover them. He wasn’t sober enough to focus his magic like he wanted to.

“They are.” Az gave him a soft smile. “I’ll live.”

Eris frowned. “Why did you come back?”

To Azriel’s credit, he didn’t seem shocked at the question.

“I came back because I love you.” And Azriel meant it.

“But you said-“

“I said it’s not easy.” He paused for a moment. “It’s not easy but I choose you. I will always choose you. Because I love you.”

There was silence between them for a moment.

“She’s not coming back.”

Az grimaced. “Eris, it’s late. She’s safe in Summer and probably sleeping. Like we both should be.”

“But I need her here.” Eris could hardly bear it. He needed you back. He needed to apologize. “Can’t we go get her?”

“So you want to start a war with Summer?” Az’s face was serious but there was a tilt in his voice.

“You’re laughing at me.” Eris replied solemnly.

“You’re drunk. It’s hard not to.” He sighed, his wings slumping and shadows buzzing about them. “Let’s go to bed and sleep this off.”

Eris was silent but seemed to concede. Az guided him out the room and back to their chambers. He would have winnowed if Eris hadn’t been so inebriated. He really didn’t feel like cleaning up vomit.

“You’re too good to me,” Eris muttered as they made their way down the hall.

Az tightened his arm around him. “I could argue the same.”

More silence passed. “Do you think she’ll come back?”

Azriel didn’t reply. He could only hope. His shadows whispered as much as he helped Eris undress in their chamber and get him to bed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In Summer, you tossed and turned. The air was too warm even with the cool magical breeze that floated through the open windows. The bed was too small. Too empty. You finally cast a spell on your blanket and pillows, making them colder. How funny you’d gotten used to Autumn's colder climate.

The spell worked too well. You were suddenly too cold, too cold without Eris and Az’s body heat to keep you warm. Tears fell on your pillow. They were probably sleeping fine without you. Your mind went to the letter you left in the other room. You were too afraid to open it. They probably only wanted you home until after the High Lords’ meeting. Or maybe they never wanted you to come back. You pulled the blanket tight around yourself. Whatever the letter said could wait until morning.

You sighed and tried to go to sleep.

Part 3

#neapolitan bonds #eris vanserra #acotar #azriel #azriel/eris/reader #reader x Azris #part 2 #a lesson in heartbreak

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rekino2114 · 9 hours ago

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Cute ways the jjk girls (+ genderbends) use jujutsu in your relationship

A/n:I initially had this ideal with fem!gojo, but then it expanded to other characters. Let me know if you have any ideas for a part 2 or something with other characters

Also I kinda did something similar with fem!inumaki here if you're interested

Fem! Gojo

Lapse blue

Y/n:Hey babe, do you mind grabbing me that glass of water?

Fem!gojo:sure thing sweetie

[She uses blue to make the glass float toward you, but the water splashes on your face]

Y/n:......

Fem!gojo:s-sorry

Infinity

Y/n:Come on, tori, I already told you I'm sorry

[You try to hug her, but infinity stops you]

Y/n:Can you please deactivate your technique?

Fem!gojo:No way! You ate my last mochi. That's basically the same as cheating. I'm not letting you hug me

Y/n:[sighs] I'll buy you some other ones ok? And some more cakes

[Gojo immediately turns off infinity and hugs you]

Fem!gojo:Thanks, y/nnnnn! I knew you loved me

Six eyes

Fem!gojo:Hey y/n, what happened?

Y/n:what do you mean?

Fem!gojo:Your shoulder, it's all hurt and purple

Y/n:.....how did you know? I'm wearing a sweater

Fem!gojo:I have really good eyes remember?

Y/n:oh yeah, I forgot about the six eyes, sorry I got hurt during a mission and just didn't wanna bother you

Fem!gojo:it's never a bother for me, I'll just call shoko and bring you an ice pack

Fem!sukuna

Heian era form

Y/n:Kuna.....is this really necessary?

[It shows you being carried by 2 of sukuna's arms while an other one is stroking your hair]

Fem!sukuna:Of course, are you saying you don't like this?

Y/n:No, I do it's just......why?

Fem!sukuna:uraume said I should try being more affectionate with you. This is how I do it.

Y/n:I guess your arms are pretty comfy

Fem!sukuna:good, I don't want to hear you complain

[She kisses you while you blush harder]

Yuki tsukumo

Star rage

(Tbh I forgot if this is exactly how the technique works)

[You're trying to open a jar, but it's too tight]

Yuki:Do you need some help, baby?

Y/n:Yeah thanks

[You give her the jar, and she opens it without problems]

Yuki:here you go

Y/n:Thanks

Yuki:could I get a kiss for that~?

Y/n:[giggle] sure

[You kiss her cheek, and she smiles brightly]

Yuki[talking to herself] yes! I know using my technique was worth it

Y/n:......what do you mean using your technique?

Yuki:o-oh nothing

Y/n:Wait, did you put mass in the lid so I couldn't open and jar and you'd get a kiss?

Yuki:..........noooooo what are you talking about? Hehe

Y/n:If you wanted a kiss you could have just asked for one you know?

Garuda

Y/n:...........yuki, can you tell your shikigami to stop following me?

Yuki:Why? It's not that bad

Y/n:it wasn't but I think it's taking it a bit too far

[Garuda completely wraps itself around you]

Y/n:see

Yuki:that just means it likes you, just like me

Y/n:....I guess that's nice then, but it's still kinda uncomfortable

Yuki:ok, I'll tell it to stop, we both know you very much prefer my hugs anyway

Yorozu

(I've decided i wanna write for her too, I'll add her to the masterlist now and I chose her instead of mai not only because her creation is better but also just because I kinda like her more)

Creation

Yorozu:y/n! Look what I made for us

[She shows you two rings with your names engraved on them]

Yorozu:it took me a while, but I finally did it! Now we will be bound together even more than we already are

Y/n:Oh thanks, that's so sweet....even if we aren't married yet

Yorozu: Those are just details. What's wrong with thinking ahead

Y/n:hehe, alright

[You start to take the ring with your name on it but she stops you]

Yorozu:Oh no, darling, you'll be wearing the one with my name so that everyone knows you're mine, and I'll wear the other one so that everyone knows I'm yours

Y/n:Oh, that's....sweet

Yorozu:I'm glad you think that, I can't have anyone thinking my darling is free to take, here I'll even put it on you myself

Fem!megumi

Ten shadows:divine dogs (and mahoraga)

Y/n:Please, gumi, I swear I won't ask you anything else ever

Fem!megumi:[sighs] you're really like I love you.....alright

[She does the hand sign and summons the dogs]

Fem!megumi:Go smell y/n and find their hoodie

[The shikigami do what she said and start searching for it]

Y/n:Thanks, you're a lifesaver megumi

Fem!megumi:you're welcome just don't get used to it

[The dogs eventually find the hoodie and give it to you]

Y/n:Oh, thanks so much to you two too. You're such good boys

[You start petting them while megumi gets closer to you]

Fem!megumi:wait minute.....that hoodie isn't it nobara's? Why does it have your smell on it

Y/n:oh no I can explain she just gave-

Fem!megumi:I don't need any explanation. With this treasure I summon

Y/n:wait no stop it!

Fem!geto

Cursed spirit manipulation

Gojo:Hey, geto, what are you waiting for? We're gonna be late for the mission

Fem!geto:don't be so impatient satoru, I'm just waiting for y/n

Gojo:Come on! Your partner can wait, I just wanna get this over with

Fem!geto:if they don't come, I'm not going either

Gojo:fiiiine, you're the only thing that makes missions interesting anyway

[After waiting for a bit geto looks at the sky]

Fem!geto:oh looks like they arrived

Gojo:hm?

[They look up to see you riding rainbow dragon]

Gojo:You made them ride on your curse?

Fem!geto:they were gonna be late and asked me

Gojo:that's so cool you have to make me ride on it too sometimes

Fem!geto:[sighs] I suppose one time is ok

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commanderyes · 2 days ago

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Hey folks

My head is full of storms right now so thought I’d yell a little before I go back to the aether

Hatred and ignorance triumphed this week. There’s no mincing it. No matter how much some of us pointed, and pleaded, and cried out and shook shoulders, the monsters still won. They’ve won in ways we never thought we’d ever see in our lifetimes, and the skies are only gonna get darker and darker from here on out.

I’ve spent these last days trying to comfort so many of my friends, because they are terrified of what’s to come. Because their livelihoods are at risk. Because their LIVES are at risk.

I’ve had to hear them say they are so close to end it all.

And as someone that doesn’t actually live in America I can’t even begin to describe how helpless I feel. To think that I have no power to do anything but listen and encourage and sometimes throw money at them. And then there’s that feeling in the back of my head that even telling them to not give up is nothing but hollow platitudes, -because- I do not live there. Because I have the luxury to “unplug” from all of this. That it’s not my place to speak about not giving up because it’s not -my- ass on the line

But what else am I supposed to do?

I’ve heard friends say the beliefs that helped them pull forward until now have been shattered. I’ve seen people on the internet swear they’re only gonna care for themselves and their families from now on, and the rest can burn for all they care. And I can’t say I don’t feel where they’re coming from. So many of us want to think people can be better. We want to think humans are fundamentally good. I’ve spent six years making fanfic doodles about why we should keep fighting for a world that over and over refuses to be rescued. And now I find myself walking out during breaks at work and just staring at the sky

Why indeed

Because if we give in, if we decide to stop caring entirely, then their victory over us will be absolute.

Because if we are to brave this ocean of blood and shit all over again we are going to do it together. Cling to everyone in your life that matters, cling to love and kindness, cling to happiness, cling to SPITE if that’s what it takes, and then hold on to it with all your fingers and toes and teeth, because no matter how relentlessly ugly it gets, there are still good things in this world, there are good people willing to care and try, and that is worth waking up every morning for, that is the world that needs you in it.

As others have said before, for every moment where we think “It’s So Over” there eventually comes a “We’re So Back”.

If you’re a woman, or poc, or LGBTQ+, or all at once, if you’re any minority whatsoever, or you’re just someone trying to fight the good fight; it’s going to be terrible out there, and that you have to keep on fighting harder than you’ve ever fought before is the cruelest goddamn thing. But even so, please, you have to try. You have to care. You have to endure. You have to stay strong. You have to love yourself.

Take all the time you need to grieve and rest and lick your wounds, and then get back up and continue the fight. Even if the skies get darker, the sun is still out there. Tomorrow is another day.

You are going to make it through this. You are going to outlive the monsters and see the end. You are going to smile and laugh and love again. You are going to survive this, and you are going to live

You get to live.

#guild wars 2 #commander yes

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chaifootsteps · 2 days ago

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does the 'we're only halfway through' squad realize that half of a show is more than enough time to expect actual character development to happen? because it hasn't and I suspect it won't, because Viv is terrible at actually making character changes stick

Blitzo - he's fared the best of everyone but it's still not much to look at - he's still an impulsive jerk who's mean to Moxxie. He's decided to stop butting in on M&M not because he respects either of their boundaries more now but because he's pining for Stolas for no adequately explained reason. His relationship with Loona hasn't changed, he's still a bit overbearing and overprotective. He's made up with Fizz but it doesn't really feel like he's changed meaningfully to become a person who wouldn't make the same mistake again because the first mistake was just an accident he couldn't have foreseen. Regressed in some ways because Stolas has totally wrecked his confidence and made him behave out of character by making Loona, his beloved daughter, burn taxidermy owls and neglected to pay his employees i.e. hurt the people who should matter to pine over his abuser.

On his end he's treated rephrensibly by the people who are supposed to love him - Stolas obviously, but also treated poorly by Fizz, M&M and Loona as not one of them think how Stolas treated him is messed up. IMP in particular are actively aware of Stolas being the meal ticket and assume it's fine to pimp out their boss since he's not complaining about it?

Moxxie - learns he needs to be confident in his own skills. Repeatedly. Occasionally calls Blitzo by first name but still uses 'sir' often, so he hasn't really changed there. No relationship to speak of with Loona. Mostly happy together with Millie

Millie - her only plots are helping the men get their shit together. Stopped calling Loona hellhound for no explained reason

Loona - made a friend in Tex, kind of. No change in most of her relationships with the cast because she barely has one

Via - repeating the same 'why does dad keep neglecting me' arc until she cuts him off, at which point he'll probably win her back in five minutes (then go right back to ignoring her)

Stolas - developed to learn the deal was wrong but not really since he's ending it principally because Blitzo wouldn't date him at the same time as Stolas was sexually extorting him. Still treats Blitzo like an object whose feelings inconvenience him. Still neglects his daughter. Learnt to stand up to Stella out of nowhere, so there's that I guess. Regressed harder than anyone else in terms of development since he's incapable of ever admitting when he's done wrong - it's not cheating since he says so, and gives lip service to the idea he's hurt Blitzo before being Shocked and Appalled whenever Blitzo confirms outright 'you hurt me'. Still talks down to imps. Has yet to acknowledge any of the members of IMP by name or show gratitude for them saving his life. A waste of flesh and screentime

Fizz - changed from a chaotic sassy king to a scared abused woobie. Managed to get free of Mammon in the space of one episode. Made up with Blitzo. Feels bad about not being equal to Ozzie but we're going to sweep that under the rug since classism storylines are a problem for making stol1tz happen

Striker - went from a legitimately scary antagonist who had a point, tempted Blitzo with great chemistry to a laughing stock who not only always loses but is called a supremacist despite only having ever pointed out the rich have all the power and mistreat the poor (a thing the show has proven him right about time and again). Goes from smooth seductor to joke with a hygiene problem

like, we can admit this is a tiny amount of development for two whole seasons and 50% of the entire show, right?

You can really tell the people in this fandom who actually watch other forms of media from the ones who don't, and by that I mean "haters expecting everything to be revealed in episode one." Shows don't reveal or even necessarily plan everything from day one, but I can't think of another cartoon that wobbles around as much as HB does.

#Anonymous #viv stuff #helluva boss critical #actual blog post

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sleepyparalysisdmon · 3 days ago

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I saw this and thought of you

An Ah! Love one shot in which Jeonghan gets a little gift for Y/N.

Requested? Yes!

Genre: just a massive amount of fluff. I am so soft for this couple.

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: You definitely don’t have to read Ah! Love to enjoy this, but if you would like the full context, you can find it here. Fair warning, the word count got away from me a bit...

Jeonghan is in the bathroom brushing his teeth when he hears Y/N huff. It’s loud enough to be heard over the scrubbing of the tooth brush in his mouth and he peeks his head out. He hasn’t live with Y/N officially for very long, but it also didn’t take long to do so once finally getting together. He’d kind of already lived a lifetime just trying to figure out how to get here and he felt a ton of relief in being able to say that he’s in a shared bathroom, next to a shared bedroom, in a shared apartment. He liked sharing things with Y/N. Loved it even.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He says through the tooth paste, careful not to dribble any on his shirt since he’s already dressed for work.

Y/N is digging through her side of the closet, tossing shoes around. “Can’t find any shoes to wear with this.”

He dips into the bathroom to finish brushing his teeth before stepping out and giving Y/N a once over (or maybe a few times over) and finally says, “Boots? It’s getting kind of cold, after all.”

“Eh,” Y/N groans. “You're right, but I have to be on my feet a lot today. They won’t be very comfortable.”

“Oh. Well, then just wear your chucks. They’ll look fine with that,” he reassures. He thinks she could pull off a trash bag, much less sneakers and dress clothes.

“Can’t,” Y/N laments. “They ripped last week. Badly.” She pulls out another pair of sneakers, though far less loved than the aforementioned chucks that she's in mourning for. “Will this look okay?”

He nods, because really, what’s the difference between one pair of black sneakers over another at the end of the day? Her expression tells him there is most certainly a difference. “That’s tragic,” he says genuinely. “We’ll need to get you another pair.”

“Oh, yeah. But maybe next month,” Y/N says. Money is not exactly free-flowing for two grad students working entry level jobs and trying to afford an apartment in a major city. They’ve made it work, but he knows she’s aggressively penny pinching and will probably continue to for the foreseeable future. “Anyway, they were like ten years old. An incredibly long life for a pair of shoes I wore nearly every day.”

“Chan will be devastated. He puked on those. They were special.”

Y/N bursts into giggles, pelting a pair of socks at him. “You have no idea how gross that was! Wonwoo and I both almost threw up ourselves as a result of trying to clean that up.”

Jeonghan giggles too, returning the socks and kissing her. “Oh, I have no doubt. I had to take care of him that night, remember? I pretended he didn't exist for a week afterwards.” One more kiss to her lips and he finally sighs. “Don’t be late, I’ll see you later.”

“Love you!”

His heart still races a little hearing her say that so freely like it's an old habit, but he really, genuinely doesn’t have time to run back and kiss her again, so he yells, “Love you too!” on the way out of the room. He'll make up for it by smothering her with affection when he gets home later.

A few weeks later, he meets Seungcheol for lunch. They both work around the block from each other and regularly meet like this, mostly as a way to avoid the awkward lunch conversation with coworkers in their respective break rooms. It's also becoming harder to coordinate time to hang out now that their worlds center around a pesky little thing called full-time employment. Thankful as he is for it, he misses his friends.

They’re walking back from lunch when they pass a store and something catches his eye in the window. Jeonghan stalls out and Seungcheol raises an eyebrow.

“Are you shopping for you?”

Jeonghan elbows him in the ribs. “No, dumbass. Who do you think it would be for?”

“I know, I’m just messing with you,” he admits with a smile. “Her birthday is coming up, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but… you know how she is about gifts,” Jeonghan trails off. Outside of a single gift exchange for Christmas last year, gifts are just not something that the two of them do. Some couples do all of the gifts - birthdays, major holidays, and just because. He doesn’t know if Y/N will ever be that kind of person, no matter how much he’d like to spoil her. It’s equally endearing and frustrating how non-materialistic she is.

Seungcheol’s shrugging. "You've mentioned it… but this one is functional. She’ll use the shit out of this.”

It’s like a lightbulb goes off above Jeonghan’s head. Seungcheol’s absolutely right and Jeonghan has no idea why he’s hesitated outside of this store for so long. “You won’t hear me say this often, but you’re right,” he tells his friend. “You can go on if you want, I’m going inside.”

Seungcheol waves him off, saying he needs to get back to the office anyway.

Y/N’s birthday dinner is chaotic. Somehow, everyone managed to make themselves available. Seokmin even came into town to visit specifically for this. This dinner is at the tail end of a particularly hellish week for Y/N in grad school - one filled with a few all-nighters and presentations - in addition to working her normal hours at her full-time job. Jeonghan can see she’s burnt the candle at both ends and she doesn’t want to say anything to ruin the celebration, but Jeonghan will. He makes an excuse that it’s his turn with the birthday girl and lets them take it however they want as he guides her out of the restaurant. He expects the group to go bar hopping anyway, something that he knows Y/N would bail on in a split second.

In the car, he buckles her in, patting her thigh lovingly. “You did good, baby,” he praises, knowing how reluctant she was to show up to her own birthday dinner. She loves her friends and would never dream of disappointing them, but loathes that kind of attention being on her.

Y/N gives him a weak smile, “Thanks. And thanks for the escape route, even if it was kind of suggestive.”

Jeonghan laughs. “It doesn’t have to be suggestive, but it could be. That’s up to the birthday girl.”

He helps her peel off her shoes at the door and they both change into pajamas, piling up on the couch. He knows this is how she really wanted to spend her birthday, so he puts on the show that they’ve been binging and lets her cuddle into his side.

“Hey,” he pats her thigh eventually to get her attention, but he ends up waking her. She blinks up at him sleepily. “I got you something, but you can’t be mad, okay?”

Y/N frowns. “Hannie, no. You know I don’t need anything.” Despite the protest, he’s getting up to pull a box from a hiding place in the hall closet.

“Open it. If you still think it’s unnecessary, I’ll return it,” he promises, placing the box in her lap. She sighs, resigned, and rips the wrapping paper, scoffing when she sees the logo on the box.

“Hannie, you didn’t have to do this. I would have gotten another pair myself eventually,” Y/N scolds, hands brushing across the top of the box of chucks.

“I know, but I beat you to it. Take a look,” Jeonghan gestures.

Y/N looks at him, perplexed. “Aren’t they just black?” She doesn’t really wait for an answer, curiosity getting the best of her. Her jaw drops and she pulls out a glittery pair of black chucks. “No way,” she starts in disbelief. “No way!” This one is a little choked and he watches as she tears up.

“I couldn’t help it. I saw it and thought of you. You know I’ll always feed both your chuck habit and your glitter habit.”

Y/N puts the shoe back in the box, hands covering her face as her shoulders shake a little bit. He wraps her up in a tight hug. “Is this a good cry or a bad cry?” He asks, mostly because this happens so rarely that he’s not sure. He can count on one hand the times that he’s seen her cry, and she’s usually quick about wiping her eyes and moving past it. He likes that she's tough like that, admires it even, but also likes that she'll let her guard down like this in front of him. Like he's a safe place.

“Good,” Y/N answers, voice jagged. “It’s nice. Thank you, Hannie. I like that you see me. Really see me, you know?”

Jeonghan does. He’s always felt that way about her. When he met her nearly a year and a half ago, he was totally unnerved by how she saw right through him, but now he loves it. He wants her to know that he’s trying to get her the same way she gets him.

“So, I don’t have to return them?” He asks with a hesitant smile, though he thinks he knows the answer already.

Y/N gives a watery laugh, wiping her eyes. “No, you don’t. I’ll keep these. You’ll never be able to take it from me.”

“At least not for another decade,” Jeonghan muses. “I’ll find you another pair then.” He hopes her heart is even half as full as his is.

#seventeen #svt #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #jeonghan #Yoon jeonghan #jeonghan x reader

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deusfoundry · 1 hour ago

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18+ only mdni pls thank u :D also its my first time writing smut/something this explicit so please be kind 😭

kissing sylus is always such a dizzying experience, one that you can swear drives you to borderline insanity.

you usually catch him in one of two moods.

one, is when he likes to take things slow.

it's a few hours past midnight, hours past the time you should've went to bed if you wanted to get up early for work tomorrow. but you don't mind. really, every single bone in your body is screaming at you to stay where you are, perched right on sylus' lap.

your legs settle on either side of his thighs. they’re beginning to feel like jelly, nearly numb from being in the same position for so long. both of your hands are on his shoulders. your fingers dig into the fabric of his sweatshirt. an attempt, but ultimately a feeble one to ground yourself.

likewise, sylus' hands are glued to your thighs. his palms glide over the bare flesh, fingertips brushing against the hem of your shorts. beneath the thin fabric, he draws circles with his thumb, each drag of his rough pads on your skin brings him closer to the lace of your underwear.

he’s got no sense of urgency as he pulls away, lips lingering just a hair away from yours before leaning his head to give your neck the same amount of attention. you turn your head to the side for his convenience, and he gladly takes it as an invitation to smother the entire length of your neck.

sylus works diligently, lips moving in an almost snail-like pace as if to say that you've got all the time in the world. he doesn't move to another patch of skin until he's sure there are marks in the greater vicinity of each area he covers.

his lips travel down to your shoulder, leaving wet kisses in his wake. he takes the thin strap of your camisole between his fingers, toying with the fabric enough that it slips off. his teeth sink into your skin.

your breath hitches when that delightful mix of pain and pleasure hits your senses.

it's almost too much, the way he's taking his sweet time with you. how he pours the same amount of utmost care and attention over each inch of skin he comes across, until you somehow find yourself resting on your back at the couch.

the flimsy fabric of your camisole rides up. you find it harder and harder to breathe as he runs a hand over your bare stomach. sylus plants his lips right above the garter of your shorts.

he tugs at the garter while he holds your gaze, an unspoken way of asking for your consent. your nod is accompanied by a quiet hum that he takes as his cue to pull your shorts all the way down, tossing the garment carelessly over his shoulder.

you're left in your camisole and underwear. it's far less skin than you've shown sylus before, who's seen and memorized every little nook and cranny of your body, but you still feel the urge to squirm. to shy away from his touch and to hide from his eyes that nearly burns holes into your skin from the intensity of his stare.

but he doesn't give you the chance to do either when his hand flies to your inner thigh, slightly spreading your limbs apart.

“don't go hiding on me now, sweetie.” his lips replace the hand on your thigh. the teeth that digs into your skin makes you whimper. “relax, we've got all night.”

other times, he's overtaken by the carnal need to devour you whole.

he's got you pinned down on the mattress. the cool silk beneath a stark contrast to your flushed, heated skin. it serves as a reminder of how sylus can get you all hot and bothered with little effort.

you two have been going at it for what feels like hours, but it's barely been ten minutes since he dragged you from his office by the waist, the cookies you baked for him sitting long forgotten on his desk.

sylus pulls away, just enough to have you rising from the bed as your parted lips chase after him on instinct. he can feel the ghost of your lashes as your half lidded eyes flutter open.

you pout. sylus struggles to hold down the chuckle blooming from his chest.

"stop being mean.”

"i don't know what you're talking about, sweetie." sylus acts innocent, but he's got a shit-eating grin on his face that lets you know he's messing with you. "am i not allowed to breathe?"

he says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. like he's never pushed you to the boundaries of how long a human being can last without oxygen. like he doesn't place a firm hand on the back of your head to keep you from catching your breath.

sylus full-on laughs when you turn away from him, shifting your body as much as his tight grip on your wrists will allow so that you're angled away from him.

cute. he thinks. did you really think he can be denied that easily?

sylus releases his hold on one of your wrists. his now free hand finds your chin, fingers lingering above skin for a moment before he uses just enough force to turn your head towards him.

you gasp. the tiny sound you make that's barely louder than a whisper travels straight down.

for half a second, you lock eyes. but you're determined to keep up this little charade despite the hand on your chin, eyes darting to look at anything but him.

“kitten,” he feels the way you squirm beneath, can almost feel the shiver running down your spine. “look at me.”

with little hesitation, you will yourself to face him. and when your eyes find his, sylus wastes no time in capturing your lips between his own.

it's awfully pathetic, you think, the way you gasp for the second time in less than a minute. but you don't think you can pin the blame on yourself entirely when it's sylus.

sylus, who's rapidly starting to fill your senses, consuming you wholly. he's in each breath of air you take through your nose, a mix of leather and cedarwood fogging your mind. he's all you can ever think of tasting as his tongue works wonders inside your mouth.

hell, he's even in the back of your eyelids. a picture forever burned in your mind, a memory carved so deeply into your soul.

he slots himself between your legs, dragging one of his thighs up the sheets until it meets with your core.

sylus swallows each sound you make, from the quietest whimpers to the most shameless of moans, as he grinds his thigh against you. the muscle presses into you with pressure that's enough to drive you crazy, but not enough to send you careening over the edge.

he knows this. of course he does. he notices it in the shortening of your breath, chest heaving and contracting deeply. in the frantic way in which your fingers travel across the large expanse of his back. in your soaked pajama shorts that's slowly seeping through the fabric of his pants.

“what's the matter?” and he'd be happy to give you more, to give you that push you need to reach blissful release. “tell me, sweetie, what do you want?”

only if you ask nicely.

“sy-” you manage between baited breaths. “please, i- i need more.”

“i’m not sure i get what you mean. care to help a poor man out?” his pace relents, leaning forward in a mock curiosity. satisfaction courses through his veins when he hears you whine.

his pants are starting to strain uncomfortably, the last bits of his restrain wearing thin. he wants you, as much as—no, a lot more than you want him. but he wants to make sure you get your fill first.

it's you above everything, after all.

“sylus, i need you-”

“you have me.” sylus presses against your clothed clit. “or is this not enough for you?”

you shake your head, desperate for release. “need you inside, please.”

“well,” he smirks, reaching down to move your underwear to the side before sliding right into your hole. the gasp that falls off your swollen lips is music to his ears as he starts rapidly thrusting two of his fingers in and out. “since the kitten asked so nicely, who am i to deny her request?”

#might be a tiny bit ooc SAWRY #i kinda chickened out so its not like full on smut #i TRIED ok 😭#sylus love and deepspace #love and deepspace #sylus x reader #sylus smut #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace smut

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