#yes he is RIDICULOUSLY skilled | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chuluoyi · 4 months ago

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𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑

- xavier x reader

a new friendly colleague has joined your team, but your boyfriend is convinced he is up to no good... and that's why xavier is determined to show it that you are his

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—jealousy, fluff explicit smut: slightly rough sex, fingering, doggy style, based on xavier's card misty silhouette

note: skxmskcjsf bye don't look at me. this fanart and xavier's card messed me up :') this banner is so unhealthy for me i swear </3

Xavier knew he wasn’t the most patient person.

But even patience, he thought, has limits. And he had been patient and reasonable for a week, to be precise.

It all started ever since that damned new recruit entered his team. He didn't know why, but he kept coming to you for everything—directions, advice, even trivial nonsense like lunch recommendations. It was almost as if on purpose.

This afternoon was no different. Xavier had been looking forward to having lunch with you—just the two of you. You’d promised him, after all.

And yet—

“There was this one time I got trapped inside the N109 Zone—”

“N109 Zone!?”

“Yes!”

“Really?! What did you do then?”

“Hmm, so at first, I was in total panic, but then—”

For the past 15 minutes, your lunch break had been taken over by recounting your tales of valor as a hunter to the new recruit. Nearby, Xavier sat in brooding silence, scathingly sparing him a glance. The slight frown on his face said it all—blatant disinterest and a touch of irritation.

And you too... why are you engaging him so enthusiastically?

Then again, given his age, Xavier knew he had to be mature about this. He tried, really. If it had been someone like Jeremiah, he might have let it slide.

But there was just something about this new recruit—Sean, was it?—that rubbed him the wrong way.

“Whoa, you're so cool, Miss Y/N!” Sean exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with admiration. “Not only are you pretty and talented, but you're also incredibly skilled! What do you even lack, eh?”

“Really, it's not that much,” you giggled, brushing him off. The way you got sheepish only made Xavier’s annoyance flare even further.

“Let me guess�� a boyfriend!”

So that’s what it was. Now Xavier understood what about Sean that set him off. The entire time you’d been talking, he had been giving you those googly eyes.

He didn't like it one bit. He looked ridiculous while doing it.

Despite being silent as a mouse all the way, before he could stop himself, he blurted, “She has a boyfriend already.”

You turned to him in surprise, clearly not expecting him to announce it so bluntly.

“Oh...? Xavier, you know who her boyfriend is...?” Sean turned to him with curiosity.

He noticed it. How his expression fell ever so slightly upon he told him that you were already taken. Xavier huffed and stuffed his mouth with his ramen.

“Yeah. Her boyfriend lives next door.”

Technically, he lived upstairs, but the detail didn’t matter. He just needed to make his point known.

And somehow, for the rest of the day, the new recruit finally seemed to develop some sense—at least enough to stop hovering around you so frequently. Particularly when Xavier was nearby.

“Xavier... why did you tell him that?”

You fell into step beside your quiet boyfriend as the two of you headed home that evening, tilting your head as you replayed the events of the afternoon.

Xavier gave you a brief glance before looking straight ahead again, ignoring your question.

You observed him. There it was again—that gray cloud hovering over him. It always seemed to appear when he was in a bad mood.

Puckering your lips, you pressed further. “We haven’t even told anybody else about our relationship... And what you did there—you’re literally telling him we’re dating.”

“So what?” he shot back, his tone sharper than usual. “Are you afraid people might find out we are? Or—”

Xavier abruptly stopped in his tracks, turning to face you. His usually vibrant blue eyes darkened, piercing into yours with a sharp gleam. “Are you afraid he will find out?”

There was something in his gaze that held you captive—that made your silly heart skip a beat.

“N-no...” you looked away, swallowing the heat that were about to take over your face. Why does Xavier look kind of... hot like that...?

Your cheeks warmed regardless, but you had to appease him. “Like I told you before, I just thought it’d be easier if this stays our little secret. It’s less of a bother if they don’t know…”

Reaching for his hand, you gave it a reassuring squeeze and flashed him a soft smile. “Besides, why would I be afraid if he knows? My boyfriend is cool, handsome, and the best hunter there is.”

You watched as Xavier's expression softened, the tension melting away. A faint blush crept up his cheeks too, and the gray cloud that had loomed over him finally disappeared. He squeezed your hand in return, looking away as if to hide the way he got bashful.

Adorable. For all his brooding, your boyfriend was surprisingly easy to soothe.

For the rest of the walk back to your apartment, you two remained hand-in-hand, the tension of the afternoon slipping away with each step.

. . .

You were staying over at Xavier's place tonight. After a relaxing bath and a hearty dinner, the two of you found yourselves standing side by side in the kitchen, doing the dishes together.

It was mundane things like this that Xavier considered his favorite routine to do with you. Just as you handed him the last plate to dry, you spoke up, your voice breaking the quiet hum of contentment—

“Xavier, can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?”

“I was just thinking... Sean seems nice and friendly, but from what I’ve seen, you seem kind of... unwelcoming— almost hostile even towards him.”

At your words, a frown etched itself onto Xavier’s forehead as he turned to face you fully. You seemed so oblivious, standing there with a look of genuine curiosity.

“Do you really not know?” he questioned you incredulously.

You blinked. “Know what?”

Damn it. Xavier sighed and put down the dish he was holding, but the words faltered on his tongue as a sour expression crossed his face. “No matter,” he muttered under his breath.

He took a deliberate step closer, his movements slow and heavy, and you instinctively backed away—

“So,” he said, his voice low, his blue eyes boring into yours as he took one hot step forward after another, “while Sean is nice and friendly, I’m hostile and unwelcoming, huh?”

—only to find yourself pressed against the window, unable to retreat further.

He stood in front of you now, his arms caging you in, creating a barrier that sealed off any chance of escape.

Uh-oh. Apparently, you had flipped that switch—

The air between you grew thick, and you could feel your pulse quicken under the weight of his gaze. “That’s not what I'm getting at—”

“He’s been eyeing you all day, following you around... getting lunches with you—”

In that moment, your phone erupted to life, its ringtone cutting through the tension. It sat on the small table near the windowsill, and Xavier gave it a quick glance, his expression darkening upon seeing Sean's name flash on the screen.

“Oh?” His voice dropped lower, a dangerous glint flickering in his eyes. “He’s now calling you at nights too?”

“No!” you quickly refuted, your words tumbling out almost too fast. “Xavier, don’t get the wrong idea—”

He tilted your jaw to face him, holding your spooked gaze. “Then what idea am I supposed to be getting when he’s so blatantly pursuing you and you don't even do anything about it?”

The plot twist is... you know. Of course you knew it when a guy was trying to make a move on you, you just pretended not to notice it because it was easier that way. You didn’t know which devil had planted this rotten idea in your head that made you want to push Xavier to the edge, just to see how he'd react when he held nothing back—

The call tonight was a coincidence though, but definitely fueled your lover's ire even more. It was a dangerous game, but now that you’d crossed this line, you couldn't go back any longer.

Your lips curled into a bewitching smile then, and your boyfriend was almost mystified. "So, what will you do to me?"

Xavier looked at you with slightly widened eyes, not expecting your boldness at all. But then he grimaced, as at the same time, the irritation in his veins suddenly flared up—

With a swift, fluid motion, he turned you that you faced the window, his right arm wrapping around your waist from behind as he pressed his body against yours—his hardness pressing, almost poking you.

“You’re so clueless,” he growled into your ear before going after your neck, sucking hard and fast. His hips began to grind against you, pressing harder with each movement. “Too damn clueless...!”

His fingers that gripped your belly moved then, slipping inside your frisky nightgown to finger you— and you lost all your wits in that instant. “Ah-h—!”

Two of his fingers pumped in and out of you, dragging them almost rashly, and it took everything in you to stay upright. "X-Xavier!"

“Mmph,” he breathed against the skin of your neck, his other arm pressing you against him tighter, simultaneously squeezing your breasts. "You asked for it."

Your thighs were trembling in no time, and your breaths came in shaky moans. Your boyfriend was not exactly gentle, but this is probably the first time in a while that he was being rough without reservations. While you wanted to protest, it felt too good—

He turned your face towards him then, crashing his lips on yours.

It almost felt like you were punished, but you couldn't do anything about it. The tension in your lower belly was steadily building, ready to snap at any moment, and the way his fingers relentlessly hitting that one unforgivable spot was starting to made you dizzy.

"Ah—ngh!" You finally shuddered when you reached your climax. It was freeing when you felt yourself burst on his fingers, the release smearing your thighs.

And right then your knees buckled—

But Xavier immediately got a secure hold over you, lifting your body effortlessly into his arms, one hand supporting your knees, the other cradling your back. Through your teary eyes, you met his gaze once more. His expression was unreadable, a dark haze of disapproval clouding his features.

“I’m not done yet.”

He brought you over to his bed, gently lying you down despite the roughness of his voice. He parted your legs, getting himself between them—

Ring! Ring!

The shrill sound of your phone pierced the coolness of the room, and you almost jolted.

But your lover... the sound was like a spell to him, only intensifying his irritation as his features twisted with frustration, and you knew that he was about to take it on you.

As if changing his mind, Xavier suddenly flipped you over that you laid on your stomach and straddled you from behind. He quickly turned your head to face him and claimed your lips in a deep, urgent kiss.

“Mm, hmmp—!” The ringtone of your phone blared in the background, a jarring sound that wasn't pleasant at the slightest. It wasn’t until it finally stopped that he pulled away from the kiss.

You were gasping for breath, your chest heaving, and a stray tear slipped from your eyes. Xavier stared at you, and gently wiped it away with his thumb.

Flushed, sweaty, tearful... you looked so enchanting in his eyes in that moment. He almost felt bad that he had manhandled you this roughly.

Almost.

His hands gripped your waist, and he paused, his gaze locked with yours, silently seeking your approval— or more like, commanding you to give it to him.

In response, you arched your back— a silent affirmation, bracing yourself.

From then on, he was no longer holding back. He tugged your panties down and let his throbbing member out of his pants. It was laughable how insatiable he was— both of you were still clothed, save for his unbuttoned shirt, but he was already this aroused and hard.

He nudged forward, his tip breaching your entrance. The feeling of that familiar stretch left you keeling, babbles and whimpers falling from your lips as he slowly eased into you.

It was hard to take him in fully, and you were a mess of breathy gasps the moment you did. But you were in for the main ride when he started ramming into you, pushing in and out of you in a merciless pace.

"Ah... Xavier!" you panted between thrusts, feeling how it started to be too much for you the more he went on. "Ahh, hrah!"

Behind you, Xavier groaned in reply, his lips sucking your shoulder as his hips quickened, striving to bring you to the peak faster. One of his large hands dug into the skin of your stomach, urging your back to arch more, while the other clasped yours, fingers entwined in the sheets.

He watched intently as your face twisted and contorted in ecstasy, a surge of pride swelling within him, greater than he thought possible.

It was mind-blowing, slightly forceful, and your senses were all heightened. The harsh pace drew cries from your lips, your tears falling to the sheets, yet the pleasure also catapulted you into the stars—

The sinful delight of having him so deep within you.

The sinful rapture of being thrusted over and over.

“Ahhh!” And then, all at once, it was as if heaven and hell collided in a cataclysmic burst. Everything inside you shattered as you cried out—a scream morphing into a high-pitched gasp—as the two of you reached the climax together. Your body trembled uncontrollably, your walls clasped around him impossibly tight as Xavier filled you with everything that he had in one shot.

You collapsed against the sheets like a ragdoll, the pressure finally easing from your sore spine.

“Hello? Yes, it’s Xavier...”

The morning after. You stirred awake, your mind still foggy with sleep, as muffled voices filtered in from outside the bedroom.

“I have to take an urgent leave today...”

You were still utterly drained, your body heavy and unwilling to move. Instinctively, your hand reached out to your side, searching for your lover, but the spot was empty.

“Yes. Y/N too. She isn’t well today... We will be back tomorrow...”

You let out a soft, tired whine, your voice plaintive, as you lay sprawled across the bed, wishing for his warmth to return. Honestly, everything was still sore, and you were this close to tears again.

The door then opened with a creak not long after, and you let out a whimper, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Are you awake...?” Xavier's voice was soft, almost hesitant, as he stepped closer to the bed.

You blinked up at him, your vision still blurry. He was already dressed, his crisp appearance in stark contrast to your disheveled state. In his hand, he held a small plastic bag.

“What’s that...?” you mumbled, your voice hoarse as you struggled to prop yourself up, curiosity flickering through your tired gaze.

“Don’t get up too quickly,” Xavier murmured, his hands steady as he caught you mid-movement. He guided you back down and tucked the blankets snugly around you, his touch gentle yet firm. “Just rest for now.”

A low hum of contentment escaped you as you leaned into his touch. Your bleary eyes focused solely on him, and despite himself, Xavier found a smile tugging at his lips.

“I just went to the drugstore downstairs to get you some painkillers,” he explained, lifting the small plastic bag slightly. “Take them after you’ve had some breakfast later.”

He then fixed you a bashful grimace, looking down. “Sorry for... uh, last night... I think I’ve pushed you too far.”

His fingers reached out, brushing gently against your cheek. The same fingers that had driven you to the brink of madness the night before now so tender against your skin. “You were crying,” he murmured, guilt lacing his voice. “I feel bad.”

“Mm-hm, so that’s what happens when you don’t hold back at all,” you snickered softly, the corners of your mouth curving despite the lingering ache in your body.

Xavier shifted his gaze away, his confidence faltering. “Will you... hate me for it?”

It was hard to contain your smile from breaking out into a grin. Your boyfriend, a ferocious wolf in a sheep’s clothing, had no need for this shy charade when he had railed you that hard last night.

“No, but you’re going to have to make it up to me. I can’t even walk now.”

Xavier blinked before he patted your head. “Yeah, I’ll fulfill any of your wishes,” he sighed in relief, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice. “So, what is it?”

You paused for a moment, then with a mischievous glint in your eye, you said, “Take me to the bathroom? I want to have a shower first.”

And, of course, he obliged. With a effortless motion, Xavier scooped you up into a princess carry, holding you close. His arms cradled you with care, and you rested against his chest, the warmth of his embrace offering a sense of security.

Just like that, you spent the rest of the day as lovers, sleeping in with careless abandon, unburdened by your duties.

Epilogue

Later in the afternoon, you were once again deep in a sleep as Xavier cuddled you close, when suddenly the doorbell of his apartment rang incessantly.

Frowning, Xavier carefully eased himself out of bed, making sure not to disturb your slumber. He moved quietly towards the door, and when he saw the intercom, his frown worsened.

Sean, the newbie, was at his doorstep. He had half a mind to ignore him, but after a beat, he decided to open the door.

“What do you want?” his voice sharp with annoyance.

“Oh, Xavier!” The guy was stunned for a moment as his eyes lingered on Xavier’s chiseled abs, exposed through the his unbuttoned shirt. “O-oh, so... I’ve been trying to ring the doorbell to Y/N's apartment to give her a fruit basket to wish her a fast recovery, but she’s not answering—” he hastily explained, gesturing toward the basket in his hand. “Can you reach her—?”

Xavier felt like popping a vein at how meddlesome this guy was. Was this guy an idiot? Didn’t he realize by now that he was your next-door boyfriend?

Nevermind. The hard way it is.

“She’s with me.”

“H-huh?”

He shot him a pointed look. “Don't think you’ll have a chance with her, newbie.”

And with that, he shut the door in his face.

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rosegolden13 · 4 months ago

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Princess Treatment w/ John Price

His workaholic habits do not stop after he leaves base to come home to you...

We already know he's opening up every damn door for you. He has the magical skill of knowing when doors need a push or a pull so he never fails to laugh when you pull a push door. "Tha's why you shoulda left it to me, love. Stubborn thing, you are." He'll reach over your head to push the door open for you, plopping a kiss to your hair while he does.

His masculinity does not get in the way of holding your purse for you whenever you're out together, his big bear hands wrapped around the handle of your little black purse.

He refuses to let you carry your own luggage, doesn't care if it takes him multiple trips to get both of your bags into the hotel or rental house. He'll get all exasperated if you insist on helping. "You had a long drive. Lemme handle it, pet." (even though he's the one that drove...)

There's nothing he loves more than ordering for you at a restaurant. His voice is filled with an unreasonable amount of pride when he says "And for the missus..." before telling the waiter your order.

Speaking of food, if you ever eat anything that needs cutting or even doctoring up, expect him to jump in. "Now, now, doll, you know tha's my job." He'll tsk and gently take the knife from you to cut your steak into bitesize pieces or to butter your roll. Yes, he will go as far as to bring the fork up to your lips and feed you if you don't put up a fuss.

He will absolutely pay for your manicure and then coo when you offer him your hand to show off your new nails. "Real pretty, love... Don't go chippin' 'em now. Come sit."

Price always sets up a nice place for you on the couch or bed, blanket at the ready and pillows right where you like them. "Come on now, Mrs. Price." He'll pat the spot next to him like one would for a dog. Of course, he likes it best when he can be your pillow and personal heater (that man is always warm, always) but sometimes he's got to find a way to coax his little love into his arms and away from chores.

Naturally, he will swat your hands away when you bend down to tug on your heels or tie your sneakers. He'll crouch down to place your foot on his bent knee, patting your calf firmly and leaning in to press a kiss to your ankle once he's done.

If you nick yourself while shaving, he'll level you with a disapproving stare and then insist that he do it for you next time. After all, he has plenty of experience with keeping his facial hair so tidy. "Can't have my woman hurtin' herself, now can I?" You bet your bottom dollar he's using his fancy razors and shaving creams on you, extra delicate to make sure he doesn't mar your skin.

He's terrified to smoke around you after you coughed one (1) time and now he only will take his cigars out on the back porch or in his office with the window open. If you come in, he'll snuff it out asap and usher you out of the room, shushing your protests.

I'll probably eventually add a part two cuz soft Price is everything to me hehe... Can you tell my standards are ridiculously high?? Also, does anyone have an accent writing guide for TF-141?? I am painfully American.

#john price x reader #captain john price #captain johnathan price #cod modern warfare #john price fanfiction #soft john price #john price x you #princess treatment #cod x reader

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somnoir · 5 months ago

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My father's secretary

Danny Fenton did not expect to be secretary material but after 7 years of being a hero and having Jazz as his elder sister, he was damn good at it. He needed a job, he knew that, and Wayne Enterprises was willing to hire a 21 year old taking online college classes for aerospace engineering.

And he was fucking thankful for that cause Mr. Wayne was pretty neat and bought him good food and coffee whenever he looked out of it. Half his family were already in Gotham with only his parents in Amity. They were finally reformed and now their research finally advocated for the rights of ghosts and spread awareness on their culture. Good for them.

Jazz and Dante were in Arkham working as a psychologist and guard. Elle was still in school, enrolled into Gotham Academy once Vlad insisted on paying her tuition. To be fair, he was paying for Danny's tuition too.

But back to his secretary duties. His boss was Bruce Wayne, yes, but he did often work with the man's son and the current CEO. Tim was nice and had the same caffeine addiction as him. (Jazz highly discouraged this friendship in case they both made a monstrosity of coffee and energy drinks.)

But Mr. Wayne was the best. He was rather clumsy and a bit airheaded but he was the best fucking boss he could ever ask for. The man's paternal instincts were on point and Danny was almost intimidated when the man started handing him extra cash whenever Danny came to the office looking more tired than usual. When that failed, Mr. Wayne resorted to giving him more material things.

Now, he doesn't want to take advantage of this ridiculously kind man with a lack of self preservation (God, was this what Jazz felt about him?). But Mr. Wayne had given him this amazing coffee maker and then proceeded to give Danny the best toaster ever. And Danny has always been known to resolutely be against Billionaires adopting him. But Mr. Wayne?

Danny had honed his back talking skills to perfection to talk down arrogant elites that kept demanding for his boss. He mastered his customer service voice and that condescending look he saw the receptionists give people like they were tantruming toddlers. Danny was ready to fight for that man (Vlad was choking somewhere as the Fentons worriedly look at him).

Jason has heard about Danny Fenton a couple of times. Tim, Dick, and Bruce had mentioned him a lot. Bruce's new secretary that looked like he'd woken up from a coma and was comparable to a grumpy cat on his best days. He's seen the guy a couple times, noticed how he was almost as tall as Jason. Honestly, he kinda looked like a twig (but then that was because of Danny's suit that he made sure didn't completely fit him).

Seriously. Danny was willing to fucking fight anyone and everyone for Bruce Wayne.

The guy was strange. Very strange. Especially when the pits seemed to either become frantic or calm whenever he was around. It depended on the situation really, but mostly the pits grew calmer around Fenton. Like a cat that finally saw its favorite person. It was so weird.

He was drawn to Fenton, sometimes finding himself walking towards the man before he snaps out of it.

It's on this day where Danny was by Bruce's side, a stylus and tablet in hand. He was furiously tapping away at his phone, cursing under his breath about bothersome and stuck up cialiteses.

"Jason!" Bruce happily greets, "Don't mind Danny for a bit. He's telling of some investors for trying to meddle with the company. Tim is too sleep deprived to handle it."

"Where is Tim?"

"Danny threatened to throw the company's coffee maker out the window if he doesn't take a nap." Bruce chuckles, glancing fondly at his fiesty secretary. "Danny?"

"Give me a minute, Mr. Wayne. Some people are trying to squeeze into your schedule when I specifically told them that they can't." Danny says, clearly irritated but looks at Bruce with an apologetic gaze. "No—Mr. Luthor, neither Mr. Drake nor Mr. Wayne are available on that day—"

And it dissolved into Danny telling of what Jason assumes was Lex Luthor to stop his attempts. In other words, corporate for Fuck off.

"He's good, isn't he?" Jason humms as he follows Bruce down the hall, glancing at the tired employees that looked utterly exhausted and horrifically motivated. "Looks like adoption bait."

"Unfortunately, Danny is a very much against Billionaires adopting him. His godfather is one and has attempted multiple times." Bruce sighs, feigning a sorrowful look as he sends Danny a small pout. "What did you do when he tried the fifth time again?"

"I blew up his car, Mr. Wayne." Danny nonchalantly says, "But that only made him want to adopt me more."

Jason blinks, baffled before he's laughing at the utter absurdity of the situation.

"That sounds similar to—"

Gunshots tore through the air as people immediately screamed. At the entrance of the building was the Joker in all his insanity, guns blazing. Jason froze, sucking in a deep breath as he took one step back. They weren't in costume, they weren't the Red Hood and Batman in that moment.

"Nightwing, Robin, and Spoiler are on their way." Oracle says through the comms but that doesn't comfort him in the slightest.

It's chaos in moments and people are ducking their heads to avoid the bullets. Jason and Bruce look right at each other, taking cover as bullets ruin the walls and furniture. But Bruce is dragged from his spot, pulled towards the Joker who laughs maniacally as he pressed a gun against Bruce's head.

"Mr. Wayne!" Many people yell as they all stared in horror as the Joker threatens Gotham's beloved prince.

Jason immediately remembers an explosion and a crowbar.

(Reminder, Danny Fenton was very much ready to go to war for Bruce Wayne).

A tablet and a stylus was suddenly shoved into his arms. Jason blinks, turning to Danny who tugs at his tie and rummages through the counter for something. The Joker sees this, clearly irritated.

"You! Eyes on me!" The Joker practically demands, hysterical that not everyone was paying attention.

Danny apparently doesn't give a damn before looking the Joker straight in the eye.

"Eyes in me." Danny repeats.

A second later something was thrown and a cutter was cutting through the Joker's eye.

Jason gaped at the seemingly harmless secretary, unable to comprehend that this man had just thrown a fucking cutter into the Joker's eye.

Bruce is set free.

Everyone is frozen in place.

Everyone watched as Bruce Wayne's tired and overworked secretary beats the shit out of the Joker, saying something about how he wasn't going to lose a good boss.

No one particularly knows what to do once Danny pulls out the cutter with the Jokers blood and... Fucking shit, was that his eyeball?!

Dick and Damian arrived at some point, also too shocked to do anything. When Danny was done and satisfied, with the Joker still alive, groaning and whimpering from the pain that Danny inflicted.

As if he hadn't almost killed the Joker, Danny turns to them with a tired smile.

"Mr. Wayne, I implore you not to die. I can't lose the best boss that I've had." He plainly says and takes the tablet and stylus back from Jason.

Jason thinks he might just marry this feral man.

Yeah.

Yeah, he was definitely going to marry Danny Fenton.

Part 2 | Masterpost

#danny phantom #batfam #dc x dp #dpxdc #dead on main #jason todd #jason x danny #danny fenton #Danny us tired and overworked by Bruce pays him very well #Danny is willing to go to war for his boss because like hell he'd let himself lose a good job #Everyone in WE thinks Danny is tired kinda fiesty but fairly harmless #They are wrong #he will bite and stab #jason thinks he might just end up swooning for his dad's crazy secretary #Ny Father's secretary

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hyperlexichypatia · 21 days ago

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I've seen basically two response arguments to Kennedy's slurs about autistic people being unable to pay taxes, have a job, play baseball, go on a date, write a poem, or use the toilet.

Both the responses are good and necessary, but I think they're incomplete. The two response arguments are essentially: 1. "That's not true, there are plenty of autistic people who have jobs and go on dates and play baseball," and 2. (largely in response to 1.) "Autistic people deserve acceptance and dignity even if they can't pay taxes or write poetry or use the toilet; people's value isn't determined by their abilities or productivity."

And, again, both of these responses are true and good and necessary. But what I'm not seeing people talk about enough is why Kennedy listed those specific skills, and what he's trying to imply with them. Because, see, when people are reduced to a dehumanized stereotype, "Not everyone is like that dehumanized stereotype" isn't sufficient, and neither is "Even people who are like that dehumanized stereotype deserve respect." The problem is the dehumanization. So let's look at the list of things we supposedly can't do, which Kennedy is using to conjure an image of "Inhuman Unthinking Blob."

Having a job. This is the big one. In American culture, your value, your personhood, is solely dependent on Your Job. Are you a valuable cog in the capitalist machine, or are you a cheap cog in the capitalist machine, or are you so worthless you're not even in the capitalist machine, and therefore have no reason to be alive? So it's good and necessary and important to spell out "A person doesn't have to have a job to be a person with dignity and rights." But there's a larger question out there, which is: What, exactly, constitutes "a job"? Yes, absolutely, everyone should have dignity and rights (and material needs like guaranteed housing, food, and consensual healthcare). But also, most disabled people, including ""severely"" disabled people, can and do perform productive labor benefiting their communities. It's just often labor that capitalist society doesn't classify as "a job," like caregiving, studying, or making art. It's important to say that people shouldn't need "a job" in order to deserve rights or resources. It's also important to point out that disabled people have been doing labor this whole time, just without the dignity, rights, or pay associated with "a job." In a socialist utopia where everyone had their material needs guaranteed, labor would still be done, and a lot of it would still be done by disabled people. That's important. Disabled people's contributions to society matter. And erasing that is something ableists do on purpose -- excluding the labor done by disabled people from the category of "job" is integral to excluding disabled people from the category of "productive" and thus the category "worthy of life."

Paying taxes. This is the most transparently ridiculous one, because absolutely everybody in the U.S. pays taxes. Poor people pay taxes (too much). Rich people pay taxes (nowhere near enough). Undocumented immigrants pay taxes. You buy a Snickers? It's priced $1.79 but you pay $1.92. That's a tax. You live somewhere? You're paying property taxes. You rent your home? How do you think your landlord pays their property taxes? From your rent. You're paying property taxes. You have a crappy underpaid minimum wage job? You're paying FICA. Everybody pays taxes. What Kennedy probably means to imply is "They're too poor to owe federal income taxes." Politicians love pretending that "taxes" means "federal income taxes" so they can claim to "lower taxes" while shifting the tax burden somewhere else (cf. Trump's attempt to claim that tariffs aren't taxes). And. And also. There's another subtle implication in there, that I see a lot from parents and ableists. Because of the deep intersection of ableism and classism, Kennedy is implying "They're too poor to owe federal income taxes" (therefore they're inferior) but also "They're not smart enough to do something complicated like file a tax return." When ableists talk about disabled people who "can't take care of themselves" or specifically "can't pay their bills" or "can't pay taxes," they're intentionally trying to conflate an economic state (having enough money to pay bills/taxes) with a cognitive ability (having the skills/executive function to manage money, budget, pay bills on time, or file a tax return). Kennedy probably doesn't file his own tax return either. I'm sure he has an accountant for that. Presumed-neurotypical people are allowed to do that. The world is full of rich people who lack executive function or money-management skills, whose wealth insulates them from the consequences of that, because they can either afford to just lose money, or they can afford to hire someone to handle it for them. The world is also full of poor people for whom one missed payment has ruined them. The world is also full of disabled people for whom one missed payment has gotten them declared mentally incompetent, institutionalized, or placed under guardianship -- by abled family members who probably hire an accountant to manage their own money. Again, all this is deliberate. Kennedy and other ableists/classists/eugenicsts are intentionally trying to conflate "lacks money," "lacks money management abilities/skills," and "lacks General Intelligence" as one more-or-less interchangeable phenomenon (Note: If you've read this far and haven't figured out my angle yet: There is no such thing as "General Intelligence" and the very concept is harmful).

Write a poem. Again, this is deliberately ambiguous wording -- pretty much anyone can write a poem, including people who can't write or speak. Have you ever expressed an idea in which the words you used had an additional meaning on top of their literal meaning? Boom, you can write a poem. Maybe not a good one. But Kennedy didn't say that autistic people's poetry is bad -- plenty of neurotypical people's poetry is bad too, after all. There is a somewhat positive stereotype floating around that neurodivergent people are creative. We may be tragic, burdens on society, our parents' heartbreak, worthless, stupid, subhuman, but at least we're creative. Probably due to being more animal-like, "closer to nature." And neurobigots like Kennedy absolutely hate this stereotype. No matter how much dehumanization the "positive" stereotype is rooted in, we cannot have any positive attributes at all. They must never let us forget that we have no redeeming value whatsoever. We must be rendered as completely lacking in thought, feelings, expression, and creation. I'm seeing some echos of 18th century racism, too -- a common belief among 18th century white Europeans was that even if non-Europeans were superficially clever, they could produce no "higher culture," no great art or poetry or literature, because they were intrinsically a lower tier of human. This seems to be the root of Kennedy's implication -- not that autistic people "can't" write poetry (anyone can), or that autistic people are bad at writing poetry (most beginners are), but that an autistic person's creative output cannot constitute true poetry, true "high culture," because it comes from an inferior mind.

Play baseball. This is an especially slippery one, because like writing poetry, it's a learned skill with gradations of skill level, not an intrinsic ability that someone does or doesn't have. Most autistic people aren't pro-level baseball players, but neither are most allistic people. And again, Kennedy didn't say "Autistic people are bad at baseball." He said that we would never play baseball. "Has ever played or will ever play baseball" is such a ridiculously low bar that even I can meet it. Technically speaking, I can play baseball. I have played baseball, in school gym class. I know how! You sit there minding your business until it's your turn to stand up, and then someone hands you a bat, and then someone throws a ball, and you're supposed to try to hit the ball with the bat, and in theory, after you fail three times, you're supposed to be allowed to sit back down again and go back to imagining wild self-insert fanfic, but the coach gives you "extra tries" out of pity, so you have to humiliate yourself with five or six attempts instead of three. Yeah. I can play baseball. So what's Kennedy going for with this one? Baseball in the U.S. is associated with two things: American identity, and idyllic midcentury childhood. If autistic people can't participate in America's Pastime, can we really even be Americans? Do we really count as citizens? I don't think Kennedy is personally, ideologically all that committed to xenophobia himself; he's just hitched his wagon to a deeply xenophobic administration because they indulge his medical conspiracy theories. But he knows how to align his goals to the administration's. He knows that his boss is deeply committed to narrowing and restricting who counts as "an American," who's not really part of "our culture," who's not really a part of baseball and hot dogs and the Fourth of July, if you know what I mean. Okay, okay. Maybe I'm reaching with this one. But I'm definitely not reaching with the other association he's going for: Idyllic Midcentury Childhood. All kids play baseball. By which I mean, all boys play baseball. I'm not sure Kennedy knows that girls can play it too, or that he cares. The point is, baseball is part of childhood, and autistic people are never children. We don't play, we don't learn, we don't go through developmental stages, we're just forever Mindless Blobs. That's why things that would be considered cruelty if done to neurotypical children aren't cruelty when they're done to us. We're not really children. We never become adults, either -- how can we, if we don't go through childhood first? You can tell we're subhuman because we don't go through the universal experiences of Real People Life.

Go on a date. Okay. This one. This is the one where I get actively angry at the well-meaning, "inclusive" responses. "Just because an autistic person has high support needs and can't do XYZ doesn't mean --" no. Stop right there. There is no such thing as a disabled person who "can't" date. There is no impairment or disability that prevents someone from dating. There are people -- autistic and otherwise, disabled and otherwise -- who for whatever reason, choose not to pursue dating. Maybe they're aromantic, maybe they're loners, maybe they have religious objections, maybe dating just isn't something they're interested in. Fine. That's their choice. But there is no such thing as a disabled person who "can't" date. There is no such thing as a disability that renders people incapable of romantic relationships. There is no such fucking thing as being "too disabled" or "too severe" or "too profound" or "too high support needs" to have a romantic relationship if two or more people want one. That is not a thing that exists. That is a thing ableists made up. There is no such thing as an autistic person who "can't" go on a date. There are autistic people who aren't allowed to go on dates, because their family or caregivers control them, infantilize them, restrict their freedoms, or treat them as mindless blobs. But all disabled people (yes, all) can pursue romantic relationships. All disabled people (yes, all) deserve the human right to pursue romantic relationships if they choose to. With other disabled people. With abled people. With whomever. And yeah, dating doesn't necessarily have to be romantic or sexual, but let me be perfectly clear -- disabled people, autistic people, "high support needs" autistic people have a right to have sex, too. A multiply disabled autistic person who needs 24/7 assistance deserves the absolute, unreserved right to have wild, kinky, balls-to-the-wall, whole-chicken sex with the entire starting lineup of the Detroit Lions, if xe so chooses to, and if said Lions are on board. We should not accept the premise that there is any such thing as a disabled person who "can't" go on a date.

Use a toilet without assistance. This is the Kennedy playbook trump card, but unlike some of the other claims, this one is actually true. There's no such thing as a disabled person who "can't" date, but yes, there are in fact plenty of disabled people, including autistic people, who need help with using the toilet. So what's Kennedy going for here? He's trying to evoke two things: Disgust and infantilization. We have a visceral disgust around excretory functions. Needing to eliminate waste reminds us that we're animals made of meat, not the higher intellectual beings we pretend to be. Everyone poops. So we do it in private, we describe it with euphemisms, and if someone needs help with it, well, they're not keeping up their end of the social compact to collectively pretend we're not animals with animal bodily functions. So people who need assistance with the waste process are disgusting, subhuman, a violation of imagined purity. And of course, they're babies. Babies wear diapers. Babies need help using the toilet. So an older child or adult who needs diapers or toileting help is basically a big baby. We have entire election cycles centered on "Which candidate has incontinence issues?" as a proxy for "Which candidate is a big baby unfit to lead?" as though someone's bladder leakage has any bearing on their wisdom or policy positions. And of course, since people who need help with toileting Are Babies, we're meant to assume that they can't do any of those other things, either. They can't even use the toilet, let alone write poetry or go on a date. In reality, plenty of people who need toileting help are writing poetry and going on dates. One of the biggest misconceptions that holds disabled people back from education or, in some cases, from basic communication, is this myth of linear "developmental stages" -- that if someone isn't "smart enough" to master an "easier/earlier" skill, then they can't possibly be "smart enough" to master a completely unrelated skill that some abled person thinks of as "more advanced." This is literally the primary barrier to communication access for speech-disabled people, and the reason nonspeaking people who type to communicate are so often disbelieved -- if someone isn't "smart enough" to master a "baby skill" like talking, they can't possibly be "smart enough" to read and write! Nevermind that for many speech disabled people, reading and writing are much easier than speaking. And if someone isn't "smart enough" to use the toilet unassisted, they can't possibly learn any advanced topics at all, because they must the "mind of a baby." (The only people with the minds of babies are babies. A 50 year old with incontinence has the mind of a 50 year old.)

So. To sum up: Kennedy is intentionally evoking the concept of autistic people as The Abject Unthinking, and neither "Plenty of autistic people can do those things he says we can't do" nor "Disabled people deserve respect and dignity even if they can't do those things" fully addresses the dehumanization he's trying to conjure. Maybe I'm just jaded, too, about calls for "respect and dignity" for disabled people that don't challenge the concept of The Abject Unthinking. I see behavioral therapists, institution staff, and parents pursuing adult guardianship talking about "respect and dignity." I see articles about how to restrain and forcibly drug people with "respect and dignity." Ableists literally murder disabled people in cold blood in the name of "respect and dignity." I don't know what "respect and dignity" means to these people, but it's sure not synonymous with "bodily autonomy" or "civil rights." By this point, I consider "respect and dignity" about as meaningful as "thoughts and prayers." All disabled people can, and deserve the right to, express themselves. All disabled people can, and deserve the right to, make their own decisions about their own bodies. All disabled people can, and deserve the right to, participate in their communities. All disabled people can, and deserve the right to, pursue relationships with other people of their choice.

#us politics #eugenics #ableism #actually autistic #infantilization #neurobigotry #psych abolition #anti institution #this is one of those longposts where i link to a bunch of my previous posts because i'm arrogant like that

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shawtuzi · 3 months ago

Text

✰ YOUR TEETH IN MY NECK ✰

a/n: i’ve been getting a lot of requests for more musician!eren and his fav fan girl and this is also ur reminder to go read the reverb series bc we would not be here without her

cw include: black fem!reader, sexting, exchange of nudes, mention of drug usage (eren was high per usual), sloppy kissing, oral f&m!receiving, unprotected sex, mating press & prone bone position, see from the side, multiple orgasms, eren nuts in and on her lmao, lots of dirty talk, an ‘i love you’ confession bc they’re so obsessed with each other, eren has a god complex andddd i think that’s it lmao/// wc: 5.2k

new message from renny ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

i’m in the city. i wanna see u.

the cursor of your laptop circled around his message, a giddy smile spreading across your lips. you clicked on the message, your manicured fingers typing messages upon messages of how much you missed him, and couldn’t wait to see him.

it had been almost a month since you last saw eren. after your sexcapdes on his tour bus eren had invited you to join him on his pj to the next city, and you had no other choice but to say yes! that dick was entirely too good to pass up.

you can happily say you’ve now joined the mile high club, because the second you got on the jet eren demanded privacy so he could indulge in you once more. you were sure jean and his security team could hear your screams of pleasure, the way you begged for eren to fuck you harder, deeper, but you didn’t care in the slightest.

after turning his bones into mush from your ridiculous riding skills, eren returned the favor by fucking you in mating press until your eyes crossed, and drool was slipping past your puffy lips.

your night in his hotel went the exact same way. eren folded you into every position he could while you chanted his name like a prayer, soaking the hotel sheets with your essence. he liked you. he liked the way you had just as much stamina as him. he liked that you were just as nasty as him, like how you stuck your tongue out for him to spit on, or how you begged him to put you in a chokehold while he hit it from the back.

what he really liked about you though, was the way you looked at him. eren already a sort of god complex, and you definitely didn’t help the way you looked at him as if he created the moon and stars.

after a very tearful goodbye on your end you headed back to your city, but that didn’t stop you from texting everyday. sometimes he replied, sometimes he didn’t because of his busy schedule. he always did call you though, usually it’d be past midnight but that didn’t matter to you—especially when he’d always say bye to you by tapping his tip against the screen, muttering a sultry ‘we miss you.’

new message from renny ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

i miss u too mama.

send your addy, i’m coming to you.

you squealed into the soft cotton of your sheets, your sock covered feet kicking wildly against your mattress. thee eren yeager was about to come to your lil ol’ apartment, like this couldn’t be real.

you carefully typed out your address, your toes wiggling in excitement. you shut your laptop and rolled out of bed, quickly shuffling your feet to your closet.

you figured he’d have you out of your clothes minutes after he got here, so you settled on ditching your pajamas, and wearing just your pink robe.

message sent to renny ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

are u gonna do all that stuff you said in your messages?

you pupils dilated when the gray bubble popped up, your teeth clamping onto your bottom lip. eren texted you a lot of dirty promises, making you squirt on his dick in the prone bone position being the one you were most excited for.

whenever you were bored at work, or before you fell asleep at night, you’d imagine him having you in a tight chokehold while he fucked into your sore pussy from behind. that usually led to you sending eren explicit videos of your rubbing your pulsing pussy desperately, whining n’ babbling about how you wish it were him making you cum instead.

eren would only make it worse by feeding into it. while he recorded himself stroking his cock, he’d be growling out filthy praises about your cute cunt and how good she’d feel wrapped around him.

new message from renny ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

you’ll see

[attachment: 1 imagine]

just know i’m ready, been thinking about your pretty pussy all day.

a whine bubbled in your chest as you zoomed in on live photo of his very prominent print. his tatted hand was gripping onto it, and if you clicked on it, the live photo would show him squeezing it softly. the cuban chain on his wrist glistened obnoxiously from the flash—you couldn’t wait to the feel the cold metal against your neck when he choked you.

you loosened the knot on your robe, exposing your breasts more than they already were. your nipples were peeking out, giving eren just the perfect peek to what is to come.

message sent to renny ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

hurry up :((

[attachment: 1 image]

while you were giggling to yourself, eren was gripping his phone in frustration. he needed you, now. ever since he last saw you all he could think about was you. your face, your scent, your voice, your pretty moans. he was totally smitten.

“we’ll be arriving shortly,” the driver said in a monotone voice. eren hummed, unlocking his phone to tell you he was almost there.

he was thankful you didn’t leave in the city, the last thing he would want are fans or paparazzi invading your privacy. but it was california after all, and unfortunately there were rumors he was seen at a hotel with a mystery girl, but he made sure his team squashed those rumors from circulating any further. fame can be intense, he’d be crushed if his lifestyle scared you away.

“m’not sure how long i’ll be here so, uh, just tell jean i said don’t wait up,” eren’s tone was cool as he spoke, but inside he was actually excited to see you. he pulled his hoodie up, scoping the scene before stepping out of the car. as eren walked towards your apartment building he heard—

‘psst! up here!’

he slowly looked up and there you were, standing on your balcony, wearing nothing but a robe and a pair of slippers. your hair gently moved with the light breeze, and you had the giddiest smile on your lips—this shit felt like it was a scene out of movie.

you bounced on the balls of your feet as you waited for eren to make it to your door, and finally you heard three knocks. you couldn’t deny that you were nervous—he was a celebrity after all. someone who was known globally and loved by many, he was just a very intimidating guy.

the second you opened the door, you were yanking him in by his hoodie, your chests clashing together. “damn girl, miss me?” eren grinned, wrapping his arms around your waist. you bit your lip, looking at him with nothing but swirls of love and lust in your eyes. “yeah, i did.” eren nudged his nose against yours, blindly kicking the door shut behind him and locking it.

when he heard the click! his lips were on yours, a strong scent of vanilla and jasmine hitting his nose. “w-was the flight here okay? you look tired,” your hands cupped his jaw as you examined the under his eyes. you way you looked at him and touched with such care, as if it were natural, had eren feeling things. weird things. he always told others he’d probably never fall for a fan yet here he was, leaning into your touch like a lovesick puppy.

“yeah it was fine. just been a busy week is all, but don’t worry about that. it’s good to see you. you look good. i look this robe on you.”

when he smiled you saw flashes on gold on his teeth, and that had a gush of wetness dripping from your pussy. “thanks . . . i like your grills. like a lot.” eren breathed heavily through his nose when your thumb ran over his bottom lip, getting a closer look at the grills.

you whined when his lips smushed into yours again, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip. you parted your lips, and he wasted no time slithering his tongue into your mouth, groaning when your tongue swiped across his grills. “take this shit off,” eren’s fingers fumbled with the strings on your robe, slowly pushing it off your shoulders when the knot was undone.

you puffed your naked chest out, giggling because you had left eren utterly speechless. he stepped closer to you, and then closer, and closer until you were backed up against the wall. “i’d try to keep my legs steady if i were you,” his breath was hot on your neck, sending shivers up your spine.

your hands pushed against his hard chest when his hand pushed between your thighs, his ring and middle finger dipping between your folds. “y’know i had to postpone so much shit because i just couldn’t go another day without seein’ you? doesn’t that sound insane? we barely know each other, yet i just can’t get you or this pretty pussy outta my head.”

your lips trembled, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers rolled around you swollen clit. “g-good. i did what i was supposed to do when we fucked then,” your words had eren groaning, his head dipping into your neck to kiss and suck at the sweet smelling skin. he kissed his way down your neck, and eventually your chest, taking his time as he rolled his tongue around each nipple.

he kissed the skin above your naval, smirking at the hello kitty jewelry pierced into the skin. “such a pretty girl, knew you were special the second i saw you in the crowd,” and it was true! out of all the fans that were in the audience, you caught his attention the most. the cheered the loudest, knew the words to every song, and you looked damn good sharing a blunt with your friends as you sung along to his songs.

your back slumped against the wall when you felt his hot tongue circle your clit, his hands snaking behind you to grab at your ass cheeks. every slurp and suck had your legs shaking, so much so that eren just said fuck it and threw your knees over his shoulders.

he was a sloppy eater. his tongue switched from french kissing your clit, to fucking into your clenching hole, all while moaning drunkenly against your pussy. you weren’t scared to rough him up either, your hands tangling themselves in his hair and fucking his mouth. “m’so close renny.”

that only encouraged eren to increase his assault on your clit, flicking the bud back and forth until your thighs were clamping around his head. wave after wave of your cum coated his tongue, and eren happily lapped up all of it. god, you were fucking sweet.

you gasped when eren lifted you off his shoulders, “w-wait stay close to me.” eren nearly lost his balance when you jumped into his arms, your legs wrapping around his slim waist. out of instinct eren cupped your behind, holding you closely to him. “i wasn’t goin’ nowhere mama, now where’s yours bedroom?”

you gave eren directions to your bedroom, all while you were kissing his neck and jaw. “it’s cute in here. it’s really . . . pink,” eren chuckled as he looked around your room. what caught his attention the most was the mountain of plushies on your bed, all varying from sanrio characters to anime characters.

he laid you down gently on your bed, smirking at the pout on your glossy lips. “thank you. now drop your pants m’hungry,” your pink, freshly pedicured foot pressed down on the bulge in his sweats, then pushed against his abdomen. eren lifted your foot up and kissed your ankle, “whatever you want baby.”

eren shed his hoodie and sweats, leaving him in a white wife beater and briefs. you eyed the small, wet patch stained into his briefs, your mouth watering at what was hiding underneath. you sat up, your arm hooking around his thick thigh to pull him closer. eren’s head tilted back when you mouthed at the print in his briefs, your tongue lolling out to lick at the wet patch.

your teeth clamped onto the waistband of his briefs, tugging them down until they were mid thigh. eren’s jaw dropped the tiniest bit when you nuzzled your face into his cock, your tongue peeking out to lick at the base. “c’mon. open that pretty mouth,” his tongue ran over the gold on his teeth as he watched you like a predator stalking its prey.

your mouth parted once more, sucking the tip of his cock in your mouth. you hummed around the muscle, your mouth watering at the salty, yet very sweet taste of him.

“let me fuck your mouth, pretty girl. open up,” you whimpered around eren’s dick as he pushed more into your mouth, strings of saliva dripping from your lips and onto your thighs. your tongue rubbed over the protruding veins on the underside, this earned you a pat on the head, followed by eren cradling your jaw. his thumb ran over the bulge in your cheek, “you’re so pretty.”

you took more of his cock into your mouth until your nose nudged against soft tufts of hair. suddenly you felt a hand squeeze at your throat, the action had you choking around his cock, fat tears now running down your cheeks. “ooou shit, that was tight. do it again for me, baby.” he squeezed at your throat ever so softly as he fucked it, his head tilting back out of pure pleasure. seriously, where have you been all his life.

your cheeks hollowed around his dick, sucking harshly until he had to pull you away by your hair, a thin line of spit still connected to your lips. “mmph, hang your head off the bed. you know what to do.”

indeed you did. after a night of dirty texting you found out that eren was quite fond of throat fucking—especially if a girls head was hanging off the side while he did it. there was something about hearing those violent gags and chokes that had his balls tightening every time he thought about it.

you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, even though you’ll just get messy literally all over again, and laid down on your back, your head hanging slightly off the side. eren took this opportunity to grasp at your tits, flicking your pretty brown nipples with his thumbs. the cool metal from his rings had them hardening in seconds.

“mm so pretty, now open up gorgeous,” eren tapped his tip against your lips, chuckling when you stuck your tongue out to get the exact same treatment. he rubbed the tip of his cock over the curves of your lips, before running it over your tongue. you greedily swallowed the pre that dribbled onto your tongue.

without warning, eren thrust his hips forward, sheathing more than half his cock down your tight throat. hot tears already began to brim at your lash line as he began a steady pace, the obnoxious noise of you gagging echoing throughout your room. “mmph, good lil fuckin’ throat. you’re fuckin’ perfect y/n ‪‪❤︎‬” eren’s head tilted back in a moan, his adams apple bobbing.

he preferred his head very sloppy, and you were perfect for that. you didn’t mind the spit bubbles that foamed up at the corners of your lips, or the snot that trickled from your nose. you were fine with all of it. all just to please him. his hips stuttered when your hand reached up to toy with his balls. “fu-ck yeah, play wit’ ‘em while you suck it. that’s a good fuckin’ girl.”

his praise had your heart fluttering, and your pussy drooling with need. you were perfect for him. that’s all you could’ve asked for.

your nails dug into eren’s muscly thighs when his hips pushed forward, forcing the entirety of his cock down your throat. you suddenly felt something warm in the back of your throat, and hummed. it wasn’t until you were choking pretty hard that eren pulled out, his half had cock resting on your face. your thighs clenched together when the musky scent that was him wafted into your nose.

“heh, cute. you ready for me to fuck you now mama?”

your tongue ran along his cock, savoring the taste of him, “i love your dick ren, could stay here forever.” eren’s head tilted back as you sloppily kissed all over the base of his cock. he was fully hard once again in no time, the veins on the underside thrumming against your puffy lips.

he backed up to give you some room to get up, only for you to yank him back again. you propped your chin on his hard stomach, batting your freshly done lashes up at him. “what position you want me in renny, m’all yours please tell me what to do.”

there was that look again. that fucking look. that look where you stared at him like he was reason for your very existence. “i’ll do anything you want,” you murmured, pressing little kisses all across his abdomen. you whimpered when eren used both hands to grip your jaw, forcing your gaze at him.

“i think i might love you.”

he didn’t know what kinda fucked up shit this was but he didn’t even care, he loved it. he loved . . . you ❤︎

his pretty lil fan girl. his number one fan. someone that would kiss the ground he walked on if he asked. you were perfect.

“that’s really sweet renny, but i think you’re just high and tired,” you giggled, teeth clamping onto your bottom lip. “you sayin’ you don’t love me back baby?” eren grinned, moving one of his hands to your throat, squeezing rather roughly. he needed to hear you say it, even if you didn’t mean it.

“of course i love you ren. loved you since you first debuted, i knew i had to get my hands on you. now look at you; in my very pink room, telling me you love me because im the best you’ve ever had.”

he couldn’t even object or give snarky remark back because unfortunately you were right.

his hands moved to your shoulders, gently pushing you back.

“i may be high, and i may be a little tired, but i do know that i really like you.” his teeth nibbled on his bottom lip as his hands wandered across your naked body.

“well good. i don’t ever wanna see anything about you and other girls in the blogs again or i’ll block you ‘kay?” eren was laughing until you interrupted him saying a monotone ‘i mean it.’

he leant over you, his chain dangling over your face. his thick brows were pulled together, and if you looked close enough you could see the pout on his lips. of course he’d only see you, but the thought of getting blocked by you had his heart tightening. “i only want you to myself from now on, can you handle that superstar?”

eren gasped when your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to you. his dick sat right between your sopping folds, the tip nudging deliciously against your clit.

“fuck, yes. yes i can handle it, i can’t handle being blocked by you though. best fuckin’ pussy i’ve ever had y/n ❤︎. don’t break my heart like that,” he rocked his hips slowly, coating his cock in your essence. you had him right in the palm of your hand and god, it felt so good. “don’t make me write some corny love songs about you, because i will.”

“would that really be so bad? i wouldn’t mind having a song written about me.”

“i’ll write one for you anyway, i’ll write ten fucking songs about you and this pussy, shit,” eren’s nostrils flared the tip of his cock accidentally slid into your pussy. he couldn’t help but just bottom out completely, his balls sitting snuggly against your ass.

your mouth parted, a breathy moan slipping past your lips. “mm, do it. i dare you renny.” eren just moaned in response, his eyes fluttering shut. heaven. this was heaven.

“i will baby, i will. i pr-promise.”

each time he pulled out a loud squelch followed. you sucked the cross attached to his chain in your mouth, whimpering around the cool metal. eren settled for fast, deep thrusts, the angry tip of his cock bumping harshly into that spongy spot deep inside you. “so fuckin’ hot. you’re so fuckin’ hot,” eren was damn near panting like a dog, his tongue dangerously close to dangling out of his mouth.

your body moved up slightly with each hard thrust, your breasts bouncing wildly in his face. the sharp canine part of eren’s grill grazed your nipple, his hot tongue coming out a second later to soothe the sting. “you smell so good, y-you’re so good.” embarrassingly enough eren’s thrusts were already getting sloppy. he was close.

“are you about to cum? hm? gonna nut in my pussy ren?” all eren could do would moan, his face nuzzling itself into the crook of your neck. you sobbed out eren’s name when he pushed your knees up, the angle of his thrusts reaching deeper inside you. he licked his thumb, bringing the digit to your swollen clit.

“c’mon baby, make that pussy cum. wanna feel that shit.” your legs shook violently as you second orgasm of the night hit you. eren fucked you through it, growling out curses each time a steam of your cum hit his lower stomach. his cock slipped out ad second later ribbons of cum were painting your tummy in thick, white strands.

eren’s head fell forwards, wispy strands from his disheveled half up, half down bun tickling his forehead. “shit, m’still hard girl. you’re gonna kill me,” eren’s hands cupped your face, smushing his lips against yours in a clash of tongue and teeth.

he pulled out briefly to turn you around on your tummy. “i’m gonna borrow one of those real quick,” he murmured, tatted hand reaching above you to grab one of your many plushies. he arched your back, placing the plushie underneath the pudge of your stomach. “comfortable mama?” his nose nudged against your cheek, his lashes tickling you.

“yeah . . . put it in.” eren tapped the tip of his cock against your clit before slipping in, groaning at the warmth that welcomed him. he yanked your hair back, exposing your neck. “o-ohhh fuck,” your eyes rolled into the back of your skull when eren’s bicep hooked around your neck, putting you in the perfect chokehold. not too tight, but not too lose either. his strokes were slow, but deep, allowing you to feel every vein and ridge on his dick against your sensitive walls.

“this what you wanted the most right? always talkin’ about my muscles, you satisfied now baby?” all you could do was moan pathetically, nodding your head rapidly. “you’re g’nna make me cum again renny, y-you’re gonna make me cum!” your feet kicked wildly against the bed, tears free falling from your cheeks and onto your sheets.

eren grunted, tightening his hold on your neck, “do it.” your body thrashed beneath him, shaking violently as your orgasm hit you in intense waves. the soft cotton of your sheets was basically rubbing your clit raw, adding way more overstimulation than you needed.

eren’s thrusts were relentless, his pace never once faltering as you came. he pressed his hips snuggly against your ass, rolling his hips until you were clawing at the sheets. “keep fucking me l-like that, god yes!” eren groaned, pulling his hips all the way back before slamming back in.

“thas’ right baby, m’your god. your everything,” his teeth nibbled at your ear, licking over the shell of. ugh yes he was your everything :(( you loved him, you adored him, you were his biggest fan. you’d do anything for him if it meant you got fucked like this on a regular.

“hah! ah! ah! o-oh shittt,” you sobbed out, tears soaking your chubby cheeks. eren cursed under his breath when his dick slipped out, a stream of your cum following seconds after. you clawed at the sheets, trying to get out of his grip, but eren kept you steady, shushing your whines with kisses.

“no more renny,” you whimpered, your face nuzzling into the crook of his bicep. “ngh, you don’t mean that baby,” he cooed at you, pressing a kiss to the side of your face.

eren laid on his side, pulling you close to his chest. his heart was beating so fast, it felt like he was high. this must be what people call being ‘pussydrunk’ because he swears if he was asked to speak a full sentence he’d fail.

he lifted your thigh up, slipping his cock between your folds. your body quivered, arching against his chest. “you wanna be my girlfriend? c’mon i know you wanna say yes, just say it,” you didn’t even have time to process his words before his tip was slowly sliding in. the question must’ve been good right? you’ll just say yes.

you squeaked out a yes! when he bottomed out, your backside pushing against his pelvis. he couldn’t believe you actually said yes, he couldn’t believe he actually even asked you that. what were you doing to this poor man?

eren hiked your thigh up, starting up a fallow n’ shallow pace. his lips crashed into yours, moaning into your mouth with a scrunched up face. “we’ll figure somethin’ out, you just—just gotta be mine.”

“i will renny—hah! all i’ve ever wanted is to be yours.” your thighs clamped around eren’s wrist when you felt his fingers strum against your clit. most people would look at you like you were nuts for even accepting such an offer, but they wouldn’t understand. you’ve loved eren and his craft since he first debuted six years ago. his music got through some of the hardest times of your life and for that you were eternally grateful to him—so yes, you’ll worship the ground he walks on and love him like no other.

his free hand shimmied underneath your back, wrapping around your waist. god he was so fucking close. he needed you as close as possible.

“cum with me mama. i’m about to nut, c’mon take it, take it, take ittt,” his hips pushed up against your backside one last time, emptying his balls inside you for what won’t be the last time tonight. he just needed a breather.

your body thrashed against his as you came with a scream. eren covered your mouth, whispering filthy praises in your ear as you rode our your high. he stayed snugly inside you, caressing your stomach with light touches.

it was silent for ten minutes as you both caught your breath, eren not once loosening his grip on you, he didn’t even pull out when you turned around to face him.

“you meant what you said right? about me being your girlfriend?” eren cracked an eye open and was met with your brown ones staring right back at him. was he sure about this? i mean the man didn’t even really know you like that but . . . fuck it, why not. he shrugged, brushing his hair out of his face. “yeah, as long as we keep it on the dl for now. i got a lot—”

“that won’t work.”

eren’s brows furrowed, “what do you mean that won’t work? you’re not in charge here at the end of the day.”

two days later . . .

‘breaking news! well known musician eren yeager was recently seen out shopping in beverly hills with what looks like a new boo! my, my look at all those shopping bags, seems like this girl has got our boy whipped! we believe this is the same girl he was seen with, about a month ago, heading into a hotel in chicago. fans are buzzing like crazy trying to find out who this mystery girl is! it seems to be she has no social media, but never fear my sources are working day and night to find out who she is! until then this is . . .’

jean shut off the tv, pure anger radiating off of him. “you wanna tell me what that’s all about? who the fuck even is this girl—”

“i’m his girlfriend,” you came from around the corner, wearing nothing but one of eren’s shirts. you approached eren from behind, where he was sitting on the couch, a bored look on his face as usual. he visibly relaxed when he felt your hands massage his shoulders. “yeah, she’s right. as of two days ago we’re official.” eren turned his head to press a kiss to the top of your hand.

“eren, you still have the international leg of your tour to do! there’s no way you can focus on that with a distraction—” eren let out a long sigh, his head flopping against the back of the couch. “jean, you’re really not talking about shit i wanna hear right now.” he just wanted to spend time with you, granted you both had been holed up in his hotel room for two days, besides the random shopping trip you just had to go on.

you weren’t a fan of keep your relationship a secret, hence why you made him take your ass the most expensive strip mall you could find. you’d never shopped in a luxury store that was completely empty until eren made his security clear the area so you two could shop in peace. he had so much power over people, it turned you on a lot.

“she’s not gonna be a distraction. she’s gonna come on tour with me, and keep me company. i’d ask if was a problem, but i really don’t give a shit. i pay you entirely too much for you to be bitching at me like that.”

jean’s mouth parted, but no words came out. it wasn’t uncommon for eren to talk to him like that, but it was certainly new to have an audience watching.

you combed your fingers through eren’s hair, frowning at the annoyed look on his face. “is there anything else you wanna discuss?” eren’s ring clad finger tapped against the couch impatiently. jean looked at eren, then you, then back to eren, and back to you. “ah, no. i guess that’ll be all eren.”

“i need you to schedule me a session at the studio, m’workin’ on a new song,” eren called out just as jean was about to shut the door. “dumbass better have heard me.”

he looked up at you through his lashes, “i know i sound a little harsh, but if you’re not an asshole to that guy he’ll run you over. only reason he still has a job is because he’s damn good at it.”

you shrugged, making your way around the couch to sit on eren’s lap. you wrapped your arms around his neck, “i don’t care about none of that. now tell me about this song you’re writing! what’s it about?”

“i think you know what it’s about, mama.”

#eren smut #eren yeager smut #eren jaeger smut #eren x black y/n #eren x black reader #eren x black fem!reader #eren yeager x black reader #eren jaeger x black reader #eren yeager x reader #eren x reader #attack on titan x black reader #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan smut #aot smut #aot x black reader

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santaasi · 3 months ago

Text

bet on you

pairing: james potter x grumpy!reader

summary: james bets you that if he wins his next match, you owe him a date. he wins, of course — but you’re not going to make it easy for him.

warnings: fluff, grumpy x sunshine, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 3.0k

a/n: there are so many of you who followed me for james content after obviously blind so i just decided to give you a little thank u for all your love and support.

ᯓ★ now playing…

niall horan - must be love

"YOU’RE TOO COCKY FOR SOMEONE WHO WAS NEARLY THROWN OFF HIS BROOMSTICK LAST MATCH, POTTER."

Your voice was dry, unimpressed, but James only grinned wider, twirling his wand between his fingers as he lounged on the Gryffindor common room sofa. His Quidditch robes were still rumpled from practice, the fabric clinging in places where the sweat hadn’t entirely dried. His hair — Merlin, his hair — was an absolute disaster, even by James Potter standards, the dark curls damp and sticking up in every possible direction, like he’d flown straight through a hurricane and come out victorious on the other side.

You sat across from him, arms folded tight against your chest, doing your best impression of someone completely indifferent to his presence. The common room was warm, the low glow of the fireplace painting everything in shades of gold and crimson, and yet you wrapped your blanket more tightly around your shoulders, as if that might stop the ridiculous, treacherous pounding of your heart.

James tilted his head, eyes twinkling behind the reflection of the flames in his glasses. Too charming for his own good.

“You wound me, sweetheart,” he sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "I was merely faking vulnerability — to lull the Slytherins into a false sense of security.”

You snorted, gaze fixed on the fire. “Right. And I suppose you meant to drop the Quaffle against Ravenclaw?”

James gasped, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose in a performance of deep, personal offense. “First of all, I didn’t drop it — I strategically redirected it. And second, I think you underestimate my skills, and frankly, that hurts.”

You rolled your eyes, fully prepared to come up with something scathing in response, but then James — the menace — moved.

He dropped onto the couch beside you with all the grace of a kneazle leaping onto its favorite perch, effortlessly invading your space, his weight shifting the cushions beneath you. You sucked in a sharp breath as his arm draped over the back of the sofa, boxing you in.

A strangled noise escaped your lips before you could stop it. You shoved at his shoulder in a pathetic attempt to create distance, but James only laughed, low and amused, his body warm beside yours, radiating that post-match heat.

That sound — that deep, genuine laugh — sent something fluttering through your stomach, something entirely inconvenient. You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to scowl harder, hoping to smother whatever the hell was happening inside you.

James, of course, remained completely unbothered. If anything, he leaned in closer, his grin widening. “Plus,” he murmured, voice lilting with amusement, “how can you expect me to play properly when the most beautiful girl in Hogwarts is watching me from the stands, sweetheart?”

Your head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. His smile was positively criminal — all mischief and confidence, his hazel eyes glinting with unspoken challenge.

James and his bloody charm.

Your frown deepened, but it was becoming harder and harder to hold onto. He looked so pleased with himself, sitting there with his damp curls tumbling over his forehead, a few unruly strands falling into his eyes. Your fingers twitched — traitorous things — itching to push them back, just to feel how soft they were.

Absolutely not.

You turned away sharply, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way your breath hitched.

Damn James Potter.

You needed to think about anything else.

Quidditch.

Yes. Quidditch.

James was a good player — some might even say exceptional (and maybe you were one of them, in the privacy of your own thoughts). But you’d rather kiss the Giant Squid than admit that to his face. His ego was already large enough to smother the entire wizarding world; the last thing he needed was your praise fueling it further.

It was your duty — no, your moral obligation — to keep him grounded. To roll your eyes at his dramatics, to scoff at his flirtations, to challenge him at every opportunity.

Even if, in moments like this, when the firelight danced across his face and his laughter filled the spaces between you, your resolve felt dangerously fragile.

Even if, against all reason and logic, you were already hopelessly, disastrously in love with him.

But he didn’t need to know that.

So you bit your bottom lip, let out a quiet chuckle, and looked back at him with a slow, knowing smirk.

“Right,” you said, voice dripping with amusement. “Because obviously your Quidditch skills depend entirely on me.”

James grinned, delighted, like you’d just paid him the highest compliment in the world.

“Exactly,” he said, nudging your shoulder. “Finally, she admits it.”

You huffed, shaking your head, but even as you turned away, you knew he could see the smile threatening at the corners of your lips.

Damn him.

James leaned forward, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips again. “Alright,” he drawled, mischief dripping from every syllable. “Let’s make this more interesting.”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, but the way his hazel eyes glinted in the firelight sent a prickle of warning down your spine.

“If we win against Slytherin this weekend,” he continued, his voice low and coaxing, “you have to ask me out.”

You blinked.

What did he just say?

For half a second, your brain short-circuited, your thoughts stuttering to a halt like a broomstick caught in an unexpected gust of wind. But you recovered quickly, forcing out a chuckle that (hopefully) hid the way your pulse had just launched itself into orbit.

“You say that like it’s some kind of real challenge,” you scoffed, tilting your head. “Gryffindor always wins.”

James only shrugged, all casual confidence, but his smirk deepened. “Then you’ve got nothing to lose, do you?” He leaned in slightly, his voice laced with unmistakable amusement. “Unless, of course, you’re afraid.”

You rolled your eyes, exhaling through your nose as you turned to face him fully, arms crossing over your chest. Your faces were too close — close enough that you could make out the faint freckle just beneath his left eye, close enough that you caught the lingering scent of grass and wind still clinging to his robes.

And yet, you refused to back away.

At least outwardly. Inside, your heart was performing a particularly violent tango with your liver at the mere thought of going on a date with James bloody Potter.

“I just don’t think it’s a fair bet,” you replied smoothly, ignoring the treacherous heat creeping up your neck. “Gryffindor wins practically every match.”

James hummed, tilting his head as if considering this, though the glimmer of mischief in his gaze suggested he already had a counterattack prepared. “Alright,” he conceded, pretending to think. “Then name your terms. If we lose…” He paused for dramatic effect, then grinned. “I’ll do whatever you want. No complaints. For an entire week.”

Your lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he echoed, looking far too pleased with himself.

You feigned deep contemplation, tapping a finger against your chin, though in reality, you were far too aware of the way James was watching you, waiting, expecting you to take the bait.

“That’s quite the offer,” you mused. “But don’t expect me to go easy on you when you lose, Potter.”

James laughed, bright and easy, before holding out his hand. “Shake on it?”

Your fingers clasped his, and the moment your hands met, a strange sort of certainty settled in your stomach — heavy and inevitable.

Because James Potter had never lost.

And somehow, you didn’t think this time would be an exception.

THE DAY LEADING UP TO THE FINAL MATCH FLEW BY FASTER THAN THE GOLDEN SNITCH IN THE DYING MOMENTS OF GAME.

James was a blur of scarlet and gold, barely more than a passing shadow in your periphery. You caught glimpses of him at breakfast — hair even messier than usual, eyes alight with that reckless, competitive fire — before he was gone again, dashing out to the Quidditch pitch to practice some new, impossible maneuver.

He was taking your bet far too seriously.

And you hated the way your stomach clenched at the thought.

By the time the match arrived, the air at the Quidditch stadium was thick with tension and the unmistakable electric hum of anticipation. The whole school had turned out, huddled together under the late spring sky, the Gryffindor stands an unbroken wave of red and gold. And you — against all better judgment — were sitting among them, wrapped in James’s scarf, the same one he’d tossed around your shoulders before the game with an infuriating grin.

"For good luck," he’d said, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear like it was the most natural thing in the world. And then, lowering his voice, he’d added, "Enjoy the view, sweetheart. After I win, you’re in for the most unforgettable date of your life."

Cocky bastard.

Now, watching the game unfold, you realized with a sinking feeling in your chest that James hadn’t been bluffing.

Gryffindor wasn’t just winning.

They were annihilating Slytherin.

And James — Merlin help you — was everywhere.

He weaved through the air with impossible speed, dodging Bludgers with infuriating ease, stealing the Quaffle like it had never belonged to anyone else, and scoring goal after goal as the Slytherins scrambled to keep up.

Then, just because he could, he banked his broom hard, looped right past the Gryffindor stands, and — of course — paused just long enough to wink at you before somersaulting through the air and landing another goal.

Show-off.

You scowled. The worst part was, it was impressive.

By the time the final whistle blew, Gryffindor had obliterated Slytherin by at least a hundred points. The stands exploded — cheers ringing through the stadium, banners waving wildly, students practically falling over themselves in celebration.

Amid the chaos, James ripped off his helmet, ran a hand through his already wind-wrecked hair, and turned — scanning the crowd, searching.

His gaze found yours in an instant.

And then he winked.

Smug. Smug, insufferable bastard.

The taste of defeat curled bitter on your tongue as you shot to your feet, yanking James’s scarf tighter around your neck before storming toward the exit.

Behind you, James’s name was being shouted from every direction, his teammates tackling him in celebration, the crowd chanting in triumph.

And yet — somehow — you knew his eyes were still on you.

You may have lost the bet.

But you weren’t about to make this easy for him.

THE COLD NIGHT AIR CURLED AROUND YOU LIKE AN OLD FRIEND, slipping through the courtyard’s stone archways and brushing against your skin. You leaned back against the weathered wall, staring up at the sky as the first stars flickered into existence — tiny, distant lights swallowed by the vast darkness above. This was your sanctuary, your quiet refuge from the chaos that raged inside Gryffindor Tower.

And tonight, there was plenty of chaos.

Sirius had cranked up the music, turning the common room into a swaying, smoke-filled mess of bodies. The scent of butterbeer and firewhiskey clung to the air, laughter rang out over the sound of a badly tuned guitar, and James — bloody James Potter — was undoubtedly at the center of it all, basking in his victory like the smug, overgrown golden retriever he was.

You had slipped away the first chance you got. You never did well with crowds, especially after a match like that. The noise, the movement, the suffocating heat of so many people in one space — it was too much. You preferred the quiet, the stillness.

But, of course, James Potter never let you have nice things.

You sensed him before he spoke — his presence a familiar, buzzing warmth in the air. And knowing this, he didn’t waste any time.

“So,” came his voice, smooth and laced with amusement. “About that date.”

You sighed, long and dramatic, tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze. He stood in front of you, still wearing that victorious grin, hair a tousled mess from the game, his uniform untucked like he had just thrown his robes aside before heading out to find you.

"I suppose I did agree to this," you mused, drawing out the words.

James nodded eagerly. “You did agree.”

You hummed, pretending to think. “Alright, then. You can take me to Hogsmeade this weekend.”

James beamed, already straightening up. “Brilliant! I’ll pick you up at—”

“But,” you interjected, holding up a single finger, “only if you prove that you’re worth my time.”

James halted mid-sentence. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, and his hand came up to scratch the back of his head — his signature I-don’t-like-not-knowing-things move.

For a split second, he looked adorably confused, like a puppy who’d just been denied a treat. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

“What does that mean?” he finally asked, narrowing his eyes at you in suspicion.

You shrugged, pushing off the wall. “Let’s see how dedicated you are, Potter.”

His lips curled into a lopsided grin as he folded his arms across his chest. “Are you testing me?”

“Obviously.”

You took a step closer, your head tilting slightly as you met his gaze. His brown eyes gleamed under the soft glow of torchlight, catching every flicker of warmth from the flames. The moment stretched, charged with something unspoken, something electric.

Then you exhaled, a small cloud of condensation forming in the night air, and added, "Think of this as a trial."

James let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Merlin, you’re a menace.”

You smirked. “What, afraid you won’t be able to impress me?”

James didn’t falter. If anything, he leaned in, closing the space between you just enough that you caught the scent of his cologne — something warm, like cedar and a hint of cinnamon.

Your breath hitched when his fingers brushed against your cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

His voice dropped, smooth as velvet. “Oh, sweetheart, I know I can make an impression on you.”

Your heart lurched, traitorous thing that it was.

For a moment, just one moment, you were completely caught in his orbit. Your eyes flickered to his lips — damn him for standing so close, for smelling so good, for looking at you like that. Heat crept up your spine, and you nearly leaned into him, nearly—

But then you recovered.

Rolling your eyes, you stepped past him, shoulders brushing as you went. “We’ll see, Potter.”

And with that, you left him standing there, his victorious smile turning into something else entirely — something intrigued, something thrilled.

James Potter lived for a challenge.

And Merlin, you had just given him one.

JAMES POTTER TRIED.

He tried so hard.

It started small. He brought you textbooks between classes, even the ones you definitely didn’t need, just so he had an excuse to linger. He saved a seat for you at breakfast, nudging aside a stunned first-year with a casual, “Sorry, mate — reserved.”

Then, he got bolder.

A bouquet of daisies — enchanted to float in perfect formation — drifted onto your desk in Transfiguration, twirling in the air before settling neatly beside your parchment. You watched them with narrowed eyes as James, sitting two rows back, shot you a wink.

At one point, he even physically shoved Peeves aside when the poltergeist attempted to douse you in ink. “Bugger off, Peevesy,” James said cheerfully while you stared, half-impressed, half-mortified.

It was cute. It was infuriating.

The final straw?

A stunning display of desperation: an entire stash of Chocolate Frogs left on your bed, stacked like a damn shrine to your stubbornness.

That was it. Enough was enough.

That evening, you stormed into the Gryffindor common room, where James lounged on the couch with Sirius and Remus. Sirius was draped across the armrest, half-asleep, while Remus read with an air of deep patience, no doubt enduring whatever nonsense James had been spouting for the last hour.

James looked up as you approached, his brown eyes wide, pupils dilating like a puppy seeing its favorite person walk through the door. The firelight caught in his glasses, flickering gold against the lenses. It was annoyingly reminiscent of the night you had made this stupid bet, and that alone made you want to hex something.

He blinked. “Uh—”

Before you could think twice — before your pride could scream turn around and flee — you grabbed him by the front of his shirt, yanked him up to his feet, and kissed him.

The room went completely still.

The kiss was quick but firm, proof of your surrender, of your utter defeat at the hands of James bloody Potter. His lips were warm and slightly chapped from the cold, and for the first time all week, he wasn’t talking. When you pulled away, James looked thoroughly wrecked — eyes wide, lips parted, hair even more disheveled than usual.

Sirius, naturally, ruined the moment.

“Finally,” he muttered with a long-suffering sigh.

James, still stunned, exhaled sharply. “Damn it.”

You huffed, flustered beyond belief. “You’ve won. Come back tomorrow at two. Bye.”

And with that, you spun on your heel, eager to escape before your brain caught up with what had just happened. But James, damn his Quidditch reflexes, recovered faster than you did. His hand caught your wrist before you had taken a full step, and in one smooth motion, he pulled you right back into his chest.

A disgruntled noise escaped your lips as you landed against him.

James grinned down at you, his voice low and maddeningly smug. “Oh, I know.”

You glared up at him, rolling your eyes so hard they might have fallen out of your head — but your lips twitched, betraying you. James saw it, of course. Smug bastard.

Without missing a beat, he tugged you down onto the couch beside him, tucking you against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world. His arm settled around your waist, warm and comfortable, and when he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, you swore your heart forgot how to function.

Sirius groaned. “Great. Now we have to deal with this.”

Remus, without looking up from his book, simply hummed. “Called it.”

James ignored them entirely, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles against your hip as he returned to whatever ridiculous conversation they had been having before you stormed in.

You didn’t move away.

After all, a bet was a bet.

hey-hey! <3

thank you so much for taking the time to read my work — it truly means the world to me. if you enjoyed it, I’d love to hear your thoughts! comments, likes, and reblogs not only make my day but also inspire me to keep writing. seriously, every little bit of support fuels my motivation!

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– your santi 🪐

masterlist

#– santi 🪐#james potter x grumpy!reader #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter x you #james potter imagine

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cheer-nympho · 6 months ago

Text

Steve had been conned into chaperoning the kids to a ren faire.

Admittedly with very little resistance, but he was keeping that to himself. Once there and with their bags packed away into some apparently theme appropriate tents he had shrugged on some medieval casual clothes and…immediately lost track of all of them,

But a figure he did spot was a long haired Jester entertaining a small entourage with juggling,

Steve finds himself laughing slightly condescendingly at the jingling man. Why do people find juggling so impressive?

He picked it up straight away with some hackey sacks while bored between practices. He’s just good with his hands.

When he looks back up to get another glance in however, the jester isn’t perched on top of his little rock anymore and the crowd has merged with the other dweebs.

Steve stares at the empty space for a moment before a jingle right by his ear spooks him into turning around.

“Art thou not impressed by my amazing skills, your lordship?” The jester asks, swaying on his feet and causing the bells all over him to ping, grin wide and mocking.

And up close Steve notices one very important, very dangerous thing.

This court jester is really fucking hot.

He looks like an idiot, a nerd, a dweeb. Its hard not to in a pointy hat. But he also wore it too well, looked too perfect like that.

Steve notices the…is that..? Yes, the corset wrapping tightly around the mans waist, red and black diamonds decorating the sides and leading to small puffy shorts. His legs are covered in tight black leggings which should look ridiculous. It should.

An obnoxious cough and head tilt-jingle make Steve aware that he has been staring at the mans waist for way longer than was ‘bro code permitted’

He looks up with a wince, expecting a look of disgust ranging from mild embarrassment to punch-your-lights-out.

He was, instead, greeted by a smug and knowing smile. The red and black triangles painted over the mans eyes warped where the grin reached them. “Or maybe thou art impressed, but skills are not what draw thine eyes.”

Shit. Fuck. The stupid hot nerd is using stupid nerd speak on him. And Steves stupid nerd, apparently ‘very accurate’ pants are getting tighter. He needs to say something. Anything.

“You’ve got…bells.” Okay, maybe not anything. He used to be better at this shit.

He is rewarded with a wild, joyous laugh as the jester throws his head from side to side. “I do! Isn’t it amazing?The staff insisted on it so they could hear me coming.”

“It certainly makes an impression-“

“Eddie, names Eddie. And what does my lordship go by?”

“Steve is fine.”

“That he is…” The comment was punctuated by a less than subtle glance, almost a leer. “However, Fine Steve seems unimpressed with my merrymaking. As the official court jester, I cannot let that stand.” He stamps his foot, causing another cacophony of jingles.” “Therefore…”

“…Pick a card any card!” A pack of standard cards was presented to him with a flourish, but all he could do was roll his eyes.

“Come on, really? This shit is basic. All I have to do it watch your hands. You’ll swipe my card out and put it back in later, or mark it somehow.”

“Ooo his highness has it all figured out doesn’t he. Well then, princess, you have nothing to lose by picking a card, do you?” And that was…true. Plus he could maybe try to fix his previous fumble and try to claw a number out of this disaster.

So with another bitchy roll of his eyes, Steve plucks a card from the deck and hides it behind his palm. Two of Hearts.

Then out of nowhere… “You know, Stevie, if you think I’m pretty you can just tell me. I know the kingdom would approve not of a noble like yourself marrying a commoner like me, but they need know little of how we…” He begins to reshuffle the cards, motioning for Steve to place his chosen one back in before making some very obvious, very crude movements with his fingers. “…get to know each other in the meantime.”

He was going to die. In the middle of a nerd fest.

“Well, my lord…” Eddie continues, circling him while dragging a finger across his arms and shoulder blades before coming to a stop in front of him. A very bold hand takes Steves jaw and forces his head up, pretending to inspect something on his costume for any bystanders.

“If you would like some more…close up demonstrations…” He leans in tightly, still holding Steve’s jaw in a tight grip. “You can pay me a visit in staff cabin 23 tonight.” He strokes a piece of hair gently behind Steve’s ear before pulling out a card, as if from said ear.

Steve was glad that Eddie took the initiative to carefully pull his hand up and place the card into his palm, because currently Steve was too preoccupied with staring like a fish out of water into Eddies eyes. Everything about him was just so captivating, so alive.

Maybe that’s why he did little more than step forward aimlessly, with small grabby hands when Eddie pulled away. Before Steve could even process it, the bells and jingles had mingled back into the crowd. But that was…that was okay. Cause he could go to the…cabin?

But how was he supposed to- Oh. He looks down. On the card was a loosely clipped room key with a ‘23’ crudely engraved into the edge as if by a pocket knife.

The card itself, to his horror, was the Two of Hearts.

Shit.

He forgot to watch the fucking hands.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #mini fic #my writing #fic #ren faire #prompt #as in feel free to write a bigger fic with this idea

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mcrdvcks · 5 months ago

Text

—please me

chapter summary: After dating for a while, you want nothing more than for Logan to really please you. Or, you beg Logan to finally fuck you.

word count: 2.2k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: here was the request

i don't have a lot of experience with the corruption kink, but i think this is it?? or maybe not, feel free to correct me😅

warnings/tags: old man logan, age gap, porn no plot, implied oral (f!receiving), pet names, begging, unprotected piv, corruption kink, praise kink, teasing, overstimulation, slight crybaby!reader(?), creampie

Normally you wouldn’t beg for something like this. You were a strong, independent woman who didn’t need no man, yet were more than happy to have one.

You weren’t like most girls your age either, moving from guy to guy never staying with one. It just wasn’t for you, you were never a super horny teenager, nor a super horny adult.

But when you started to date Logan, it was like you could feel the shift in your ovaries, and to make matters worse he never went the extra step, no matter how much you said you were ready.

It was always him going down on you, giving you beard burn that you delighted in, with the addition of his lovely thick fingers that always pushed you over. And sure, you went down on him, but that’s where it ended.

And you couldn’t help but want more, but Logan being Logan always made up an excuse about you being too young, or how he didn’t want to ruin a pretty little thing like you.

Logan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his beard glistening from the evidence of what he’d just done. You were still trembling, clutching at the sheets as the last waves of your release rolled through you, trying to catch your breath.

He shifted, moving up to sit beside you on the couch. The lazy smirk on his face told you he was proud of himself, as if he didn’t already know how good he was with his mouth and those ridiculously skilled fingers.

“You good, doll?” he asked, his voice gravelly and low, sending another shiver through your body.

You nodded, but something in you wasn’t satisfied. Not this time. It wasn’t enough anymore. You wanted more—needed more. And it wasn’t just your body begging; it was something deeper, something primal.

“Logan,” you murmured, sitting up on your knees and reaching out to touch his chest. Your fingers traced the lines of his muscles under the fabric of his shirt. He stiffened slightly, glancing at your hand before looking back up at your face.

“What is it, princess?” His tone softened a bit, though you caught the slight edge of wariness in it. He probably already knew what you were about to ask.

“I want you,” you whispered, leaning closer so your breath ghosted over his ear. “I need you.”

Logan groaned, running a hand over his face as if trying to wipe away the temptation that was you. “Y/N… we’ve talked about this. You’re… you’re too young, and I don’t wanna ruin you.”

You pulled back slightly, pouting in that way you knew he couldn’t resist. “I’m not a kid, Logan. I’m old enough to know what I want, and I want you.”

“Damn it, doll, don’t make this harder than it already is,” he muttered, looking anywhere but at you.

You weren’t going to let him get away with brushing you off this time. Shifting, you straddled his lap, your knees on either side of his hips. His hands instinctively moved to grip your thighs, and you felt the tension in his body as he tried to keep himself in check.

“Please, Logan,” you pleaded, grinding down against him. His breath hitched, and you knew you were getting to him. You leaned in, brushing your lips against his neck, trailing soft kisses up to his jaw. “I’ve been patient. I’ve waited, but I can’t anymore. I need you.”

He groaned again, his hands tightening on your thighs. “Doll, you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Yes, I do,” you said firmly, pulling back to look him in the eye. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Logan’s resolve was crumbling; you could see it in the way his jaw tightened and his eyes darkened. He exhaled sharply, his grip on your thighs loosening slightly as he leaned his head back against the couch.

“Just the tip,” he muttered, almost as if trying to convince himself more than you. “Just the tip, and we stop if it’s too much.”

You nodded eagerly, your heart racing as you started to pull at his shirt. Logan’s rough hands came up to still yours, his calloused fingers wrapping around your wrists.

“Doll,” he said, his voice low and strained. “You’re killin’ me here.”

“Good,” you shot back, leaning in close enough that your lips brushed his as you spoke. “Then stop holding back.”

For a second, he didn’t move, his knuckles going white from the tension in his grip. Then, with a growl that vibrated through his chest, Logan released your wrists and let you yank his shirt over his head. The fabric barely hit the floor before his hands were on you again, sliding under your top to feel the softness of your skin. His touch was rough, desperate, like he’d been holding himself back for far too long.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his gaze locking onto yours. His eyes were dark, hungry, but there was a flicker of hesitation there, too.

You answered by pulling your shirt off and tossing it aside, leaving yourself bare before him. His breath hitched, and his hands froze for a moment before sliding up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. The touch sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you let out a soft gasp, your hips pressing down against him.

“Fuck, princess,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. “You’re gonna drive me insane.”

“Good,” you repeated, your hands moving to the waistband of his jeans. “Because I’m not stopping until I get what I want.”

Logan groaned, his head falling back against the couch as you unbuttoned his jeans and dragged the zipper down. His hips lifted slightly to help you, and you pushed the denim down just enough to free him. The sight of him made your breath catch; he was thick, hard, and already leaking at the tip. You swallowed hard, your excitement and nerves mingling as you wrapped your fingers around him.

“Doll,” he growled, his hands gripping your hips tightly. “Don’t… fuck, don’t tease me.”

“I’m not teasing,” you said, shifting so you could line him up with your entrance. You paused, looking up at him one last time. “I want you, Logan. All of you.”

His jaw tightened, and he let out a shaky breath. “Just the tip,” he muttered, as if trying to convince himself. “We’ll stop if it’s too much.”

You nodded, your hands braced on his shoulders as you slowly lowered yourself onto him. The stretch was intense, bordering on overwhelming, but the pleasure that came with it was undeniable. Logan’s hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave marks, and his head tipped back as a low, guttural groan escaped him.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he hissed. “You’re so… tight. Fuck.”

You whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders as you adjusted to the intrusion. “Logan…”

“You okay?” he asked, his voice strained. His hands flexed on your hips, like he was fighting the urge to move.

“Yeah,” you breathed, nodding. “Yeah, I’m good. Just… give me a second.”

He nodded, his chest heaving as he tried to keep still. But as the initial sting faded and the pleasure began to build, you couldn’t help but start to move. You lifted yourself up slightly before sinking back down, and the friction sent a wave of heat through your body.

“Fuck,” Logan groaned, his hands guiding your movements as you began to pick up the pace. “Doll, you… you feel too good. I—fuck.”

Your response was a breathy moan, your head tipping back as you rode him. The way he filled you, stretched you, was almost too much, but you didn’t want to stop. You couldn’t. Not when it felt this good.

"Logan," you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly. "Please… I need… more."

Logan clenched his jaw, his self-control unraveling as your breathy voice and soft pleas pushed him further. He shifted beneath you, planting his feet more firmly on the floor, and wrapped one arm around your waist, anchoring you to him. His other hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he tilted your head so he could press his lips to your temple.

"You don’t know what you’re asking for, princess," he muttered, his voice rough, low, and dangerously close to a growl. But even as he spoke, he rolled his hips up into you, just enough to pull a choked gasp from your lips.

"I do," you whispered, your forehead resting against his shoulder. Your nails scraped lightly down his arms, and you moved your hips again, meeting his shallow thrust. "Please… I… I can take it."

Logan swore under his breath, his grip on your waist tightening. "You’re gonna regret beggin' like that," he warned, but the smirk pulling at the corner of his lips betrayed his own amusement at your desperation.

He thrust up into you harder, and the sharp cry that escaped you sent a shiver down his spine. Your body clenched around him, the slick heat driving him mad. The way you buried your face in the crook of his neck, panting and babbling softly, only added to his torment.

"Logan," you whimpered, your voice muffled against his skin. "Feels s’good… oh… ohhh… please…"

"Look at you," Logan said, his voice laced with a teasing edge. He gripped your hips tighter, guiding you as you started to move more erratically. "Beggin' me to fuck you, and now you can’t even talk straight."

Your only response was a breathy whine, your body trembling as you moved against him. Logan’s smirk grew as he thrust up into you again, harder this time, making you cry out. Your hands fisted in his hair, your nails dragging along his scalp as your head tipped back.

"Oh… ohhh Logan," you babbled, the sound broken and desperate. "Please… don’t stop… more… more."

Logan’s chest rumbled with a low chuckle, but his movements never faltered. He braced his feet against the floor and began to move, his hips snapping up into yours in a steady rhythm that had you gasping and moaning uncontrollably.

"Thought you wanted me to take it slow," he teased, his voice a mix of amusement and desire. "Now look at you, ridin' me like you can’t get enough."

Your response was incoherent, a string of soft cries and gasps as you clung to him. Your head fell forward onto his shoulder again, your breath hot against his neck as you mumbled, "So good… so good… ohhh… Logan…"

He groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest as his hand slid down to grip your ass, pulling you down onto him harder with each thrust. "Yeah, that’s it, doll. Take it. You wanted this, didn’t you?"

"Y-yes," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. "Wanted… you… so much… oh… ohh…"

Logan growled, his hips bucking up into you more forcefully. Your cries grew louder, your nails digging into his shoulders as you tried to keep up with his relentless pace. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending lit up as he filled you over and over again.

"Fuck, you’re close," he muttered, his lips brushing against your ear. "I can feel it. You gonna come for me, princess?"

You nodded frantically, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. "Y-yes… oh… Logan… I… I…"

He didn’t let you finish, his hand sliding up your back to pull you even closer as he drove into you harder. Your body tensed, your cries turning into broken sobs of pleasure as your climax crashed over you.

"That’s it," Logan murmured, his voice rough but tender. "Let go for me, doll. Let me feel you."

You came undone, your body trembling and your head falling against his shoulder as you sobbed his name. Logan groaned, his grip on you tightening as he fucked you through the aftershocks, each thrust pulling another shuddering moan from your lips.

"Too much," you whimpered, your voice muffled against his skin. "Logan… too much… can’t…"

But Logan didn’t stop. He slowed his movements slightly, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back, but he kept going, his own release building as he pushed you past the edge.

"You’re fine," he said softly, his voice a deep rumble. "You can take it. You’re stronger than you think."

You whimpered, your body shivering as the overstimulation sent jolts of pleasure-pain through you. Logan pressed a kiss to your temple, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own release.

"Almost there, doll," he muttered, his voice strained. "Just hold on a little longer."

You nodded weakly, your hands clutching at him as he thrust into you one last time, his body tensing as he spilled inside you. He groaned, his head falling back against the couch as he held you close, his breaths coming in harsh pants.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the room filled with the sound of your ragged breathing and the faint hum of the TV in the background. Logan’s hands ran up and down your back soothingly, his touch grounding you as you both came down from the high.

"You okay?" he asked after a while, his voice soft and laced with concern.

You nodded, your face still buried in his neck. "Yeah," you murmured, your voice hoarse. "More than okay."

Logan chuckled softly, his hand moving to cup the back of your head as he pressed a kiss to your hair. "Good. Because you’re gonna be sore as hell tomorrow, princess."

You let out a breathless laugh, your body relaxing against him as a warm, contented silence settled over you both.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic #logan howlett smut #logan howlett oneshot #wolverine smut #old man logan #old man logan x reader #old man logan smut

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mahalachives · 2 months ago

Text

Part 1: The Meet Cute

Azriel x f!reader

Genre: fated mates, rom-com, crack humor, eventual angst, eventual smut

Summary: Azriel never expected to finally meet his mate and to be… this.

A walking disaster with a talent for tripping over air, an uncanny ability to charm even the grumpiest Illyrian, and a knack for throwing herself headfirst into situations that require his immediate intervention.

She is warmth where he is shadow, laughter where he is silence. And worst of all? She makes him smile without trying.

Azriel, Are you Okay? - Masterlist

There were worse ways to die, you supposed.

You could've been mauled by a rabid Suriel.

Or trampled by a particularly aggressive herd of Illyrians during training.

But no. Your fate was to perish from sheer mortification, sprawled across the chest of the most feared male in Velaris.

And, in all likelihood, take him down with you.

Twelve Hours Earlier...

Life in Velaris was, for the most part, peaceful. You loved it here: the bustling markets, the shimmering Sidra, the endless opportunities to get lost in one of the city's many bookstores or cafés.

You had grown up in the Night Court, an ordinary High Fae with no claim to power, no noble name. No extraordinary skill besides the ability to make friends with everyone. (And, perhaps, your uncanny ability to trip over nothing.)

That was why you worked where you did. The Velaris Botanical Archives was the perfect job. Curating and cataloging the history of rare flora, researching the best ways to preserve the Night Court's unique plant life.

You adored every part of it.

Except for the fact that the bookshelves were designed for Illyrians.

Which was how you ended up in this situation.

All you'd wanted was a book on Moonbloom flowers. A single book. But when you asked the head librarian for assistance, she'd waved you off, muttering something about "independent young fae" before disappearing.

So. That left you and your greatest foe.

A ridiculously tall bookshelf.

The logical solution? Climb.

Was it your smartest idea? No. But it wasn't the first time you'd scaled one of these shelves, and it likely wouldn't be the last.

You had nearly reached the book when...crack.

The shelf trembled beneath you.

Your stomach plunged.

"Oh, no," you breathed, right before the entire world tilted.

And then you were falling.

Present Moment.

The only upside to your current predicament was that you hadn't been crushed beneath an avalanche of books.

The downside?

You were currently draped over Azriel.

The Azriel.

The Shadowsinger. The Night Court's lethal spymaster. A legend whispered about in the darkest corners of Prythian.

And you had just fallen on top of him.

The world had gone deathly silent.

You didn't dare breathe.

Slowly, painstakingly slowly, you lifted your head.

And...oh. Mother above.

Azriel lay beneath you, sprawled against the floor like he'd been tackled from the heavens. His wings flared slightly behind him, dark as the night sky, his hands firm on your waist where he had somehow instinctively caught you.

His hazel eyes, rich and unreadable, blinked up at you in pure disbelief.

You, meanwhile, were a very mortified starfish.

"I am so sorry," you gasped, scrambling to move. In your rush to not be straddling the Night Court's most terrifying male, you made a fatal mistake.

Your foot slipped on a fallen book.

And like a damn fool, you face-planted right back onto his chest.

Azriel let out a very slow, very deep breath.

You felt the rumble of it beneath you, his self-restraint practically vibrating through his muscles.

His voice, when it finally came, was dangerously calm.

"Are you trying to kill me?"

You squeaked, immediately trying to push yourself up again, but your elbow landed on his stomach.

Azriel made a very small, very controlled noise. A sound that might have been a grunt.

"No. I mean, yes. I mean, wait, no! I just..." You sucked in a breath. "This isn't what it looks like."

Azriel arched a slow, painfully unimpressed brow. His gaze flickered to your current position: fully draped over him like an overeager blanket.

"Really?" he drawled.

You swallowed. "Okay," you admitted, "this is exactly what it looks like."

A choking noise came from somewhere nearby.

And that was when you realized you had an audience.

At the entrance of the library, standing in a semi-circle of unholy amusement, were Rhysand, Cassian, Mor, and Amren.

Cassian's entire face was rapidly turning purple as he tried and failed to hold in his laughter.

Mor gasped before cackling so hard she stumbled against Rhys.

Rhysand's lips twitched, but his violet eyes gleamed with utter delight.

And Amren? Stoic, ancient Amren?

She merely crossed her arms and muttered, "Well. This is interesting."

You wanted to die. Right there. On the spot. Just spontaneously combust into fae dust.

Azriel, to his credit, was silent. Completely unreadable. But the way his wings twitched, the way his hands were still on your waist...

You felt it then.

A shift.

A sensation that curled into your ribs, warm and terrifying.

Your eyes met his again.

And there, in the depths of those night-kissed irises...

Recognition.

The world tilted.

Your breath caught.

"Oh no," you whispered.

Azriel blinked, his expression sharpening, like something had just slotted into place. Like he felt it, too.

A single second stretched into eternity.

Then, finally, finally, Azriel exhaled.

"Oh no."

And that was the exact moment Cassian completely lost his mind.

The roar of his laughter shattered the silence. His wings flared as he doubled over, hands on his knees, absolutely howling.

Mor collapsed against Rhys, wheezing.

Rhysand sighed through his smirk, shaking his head. "Well, I suppose congratulations are in order."

Azriel was still beneath you.

Still touching you.

Still looking at you like you'd just flipped his entire existence upside down.

And you?

You did the only thing your panicked, humiliated, fate-cursed mind could think to do.

You covered your face with your hands and wailed,

"WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME?"

Note: Wrote this during an eight-hour layover. Gotta love airport inspiration! Let me know in the comments if you’d like to be tagged for future chapters! ☺️

#acotar #azriel x oc #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #cassian #rhysand #azriel x you #feyre acotar #nesta acotar

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