#sounds of rich mahogany

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Twelve — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Reader does what she has to for the information she wants. Talking to Azriel takes an interesting turn. Kaeda’s not doing her job, and she’s feeling a bit sorry for herself — to which Cassian isn’t very sympathetic.

Word Count: 9.6k. OOF. A long one, sorry!

Warnings: None.

You should really just go to sleep. Mind your own business.

But you find yourself waiting. Listening. For some indication that Tathaln has left.

You think it might be hours that pass. Roza has long since passed out in her bed. But there’s no chance of you sleeping, too. Not with all the thoughts that are crammed full in your head and speaking too loudly.

The most pressing of which: Why the fuck would the Lord of Fenlaros be visiting the High Lord in his private home in this private city?

No other camp lords venture here, you’re sure. Don’t even know it exists.

And yet, from that short glimpse you got of Finadar and Tathaln, there was an air of…familiarity, about them. Like it wasn’t the first time they were privately meeting.

Eventually, you grow sick of waiting, wondering. It’s no use. You’re restless and wired and churned up. You need to move, to stretch your legs, grab a drink or something.

The house is eerily still. You take your time traversing the corridors, carefully listening out to catch lowered voices and hushed tones. Even decide to take the longer route — the one that would take you past the High Lord’s study. But even as you pass by the thick wooden door, you hear nothing but the distant sounds of a hooting owl and the slicing wind amidst the mountains.

You’re almost at the kitchen when a figure abruptly rounds the corner on too-light feet. You stop short — and so does the High Lord.

You’re so stunned that you forget yourself. It takes a moment for you to remember to act accordingly. You bow your head in greeting. “My Lord.”

“Y/N.” Your name sounds funny, too familiar, on his tongue. When Rhysand had brought you here at fourteen, Finadar had merely referred to you as that girl. It seems that with age comes at least a little bit of acknowledgment. His eyes rake over you, and you’re suddenly aware of your nightgown, your unbound hair. “Are you having trouble sleeping?”

“A little, my Lord—”

“Just Fin, please.”

You pause. And then smile a bland smile. “A little…Fin.”

He holds up the object you hadn’t noticed clutched within his hand. A bottle. “I was just about to have a night cap. Perhaps you’d like to join me?”

On instinct, you want to decline. Having a private drink with Rhysand’s father seems…inappropriate, somehow.

But then that curious little voice in your head reminds you that this — this is the perfect opportunity to ask some questions, hopefully garner information. He’s relaxed. Open. In his own environment. What better time than now?

So that bland smile becomes a pretty one, and you dip your chin. “It would be my pleasure.”

With that charming smile of his own, the handsome male leads you to his study and holds the door open for you. Stepping inside feels like breaching somewhere firmly forbidden, and a place of such luxury that it would chew up your poor-to-do self and spit you out. All rich mahogany wood and more books than you’ve ever seen in your life. Trinkets and papers and maps and war strategy. The sight leaves you a little breathless, and for a moment, you forget you’re not alone.

But then the door shuts behind you, and the High Lord is striding past, over to his desk.

“You’ve been a friend of my son’s for a while, now, haven’t you?” He asks casually, rolling the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows.

You step closer, nodding. “I have, My Lo—Fin. Nine years, to be exact.”

“And you’re his age?”

“Yes. Twenty.”

A vague smile plays on his lips. “Old enough to drink, then, Please, do sit.”

You do exactly that, taking a seat in one of the plush, cushioned chairs and folding your hands in your lap. And for all you had planned to speak with Fin, now that you’re in front of him, you’re not quite sure what to say. You don’t know how to talk to someone of such high status.

He’s entirely at confident — even arrogant — ease, though. With a wave of a hand, a fire roars to life, breathing heat into the room and bathing it in an intimate glow. He pours two glasses of dark, smoky liquid and hands one to you before taking his own.

Instead of sitting at his desk as you half expect, he’s slumping into the armchair beside yours and tipping his head against its back.

He looks…tired, you note, as you subtly study him over the lip of your glass. Devastatingly beautiful — there’s no doubt about that. Chocolate eyes that remind you of Mor’s and short, reddish-brown hair. His generously muscled arms push through his shirt as he shifts.

And then he says, out of the blue, “I don’t sleep well, either.”

You’re not sure why he’s telling you that, of all things.

“I’m sorry.” It seems like an appropriate response. “I imagine, in being High Lord, you must have a lot on your plate.”

A wry smile graces his lips. “There’s always someone wanting something from you.” His eyes then drink you in again. “What is it you do in Windhaven? I take it you’re unwed. I don’t remember approving a marriage for you.”

“I am. Until recently, I lived with and worked for my father. But my circumstances have changed, and I don’t know what I’ll be doing next.”

“Was it your father who took your wings?”

Heat burns your cheeks. “It was.”

“Is that what you want from me? To punish him?”

You stare back at him, fighting to keep your expression neutral. “Who says I want anything from you?”

“Do you not?”

“…It was you who invited me for a drink, My Lord. I can leave if my company is bothersome to you—”

“It is not.” He lays a hand on your arm, skin far smoother than you expect from somebody so accustomed to weapons. “But there’s no reason we can’t both get something out of this.”

Your eyes fall down to that hand, and your body is so very still. Perhaps you’ve made a grave mistake in seeking him out.

But you dare ask, “What is it you want?”

A chuckle rasps out of him, and he retracts the touch. “Honesty. I get the sense that you’re of the curious sort. Why else would you have been so intently watching me greet my guest earlier this evening?”

So, he’d seen you. Silly, for you to assume that you could slip into the shadows around such a powerful being. You can almost feel that power prowling under his skin right now.

“I am interested,” you admit, “in what Tathaln Baralas was doing here.”

“You’re familiar with him.” He states — and then chuckles again. “Of course, you are. You were one of the ones who snuck off to Fenlaros for a party. I wasn’t best pleased when my son told me.” His head falls into a tilt. “But why would you be interested in Tathaln’s business here?”

“I may not be from Fenlaros, but I am Illyrian. And I imagine that a matter that warrants a meeting at the High Lord’s personal residence is one pressing enough to effect more than just a single camp.”

Full lips — Rhysand’s lips — tilt upwards. “Beautiful, curious and intelligent. Such a waste in a place like Illyria.”

“You’re too kind.”

“And you are too bashful.” A quiet intensity lies within his brown eyes. “I will reward your candour with this: Tathaln Baralas was here to suggest — request — a grand ball.”

For a split second, you falter. Try not to let it show on your face that you do.

The answer is…underwhelming. Perhaps you’re so idle in Velaris that you’re looking for drama where it doesn’t exist.

“A ball.” You repeat the word rather foolishly, like it’s your first time ever saying it. “I…I wasn’t aware that a Camp Lord would need your permission to arrange such a thing.”

“Confined to his own camp, he would not.” Fin tells you. “But the Lord of Fenlaros proposes something on a far larger scale. Something that has never before been done, and something that, I must admit, has piqued my interest.”

“Which is what?”

“Tathaln,” the High Lord stands, draining his glass and returning it to his desk, “has asked me to throw an Illyrian ball — not solely a Fenlarion ball. Meaning the best legions from all Illyrian war camps will be invited, along with their wives, mates, whatever. They will all gather in one place for this event, and interact as they never have before.”

You stare at him.

You do not mean for your indignation to shine through so freely.

He is your High Lord and not to be disrespected.

But you’re studying him, and wondering why the fuck he doesn’t look as alarmed by the suggestion as you feel.

“Why, by the Cauldron, would he want to do that?” The words fall from your mouth, formality forgotten. “There’s a reason it’s never been done before. Rival camps do not mix because Illyrians are hot-headed and driven by ego, and there would be fights and bloodshed and probably death. It’s a terrible idea. I don’t understand why Tathaln Baralas would suggest such a thing.”

A deep chortle husks out of the High Lord, and you could be wrong, but you think there might be a hint of surprise in the sound. Like he’s unused to such brazenness from his subjects — female ones, in particular.

You asked a damn good question, though.

Fin turns to you, and for a lingering moment, he simply stares. And then he says, softly, “Stand.”

You pause. Think that maybe, you’ve spoken too much, crossed a line. But you stand.

The High Lord beckons you closer.

You take one step forward. Another. Another. He lifts a hand and motions for you to stop. You do. You smooth your hands over your nightgown. Think you might be shaking a little.

You do not need a wealth of knowledge nor experience to recognise exactly how it is that he looks at you.

Deep, tawny eyes trail the length of you and seem to miss no detail. Your loose hair and pretty, open face. The sharp lines of your collarbones and the smooth skin of your decolletage. The flowing silk of your nightgown and the bareness of your legs and arms on show beneath it.

He stares at you in a way that makes you feel you’re wearing nothing at all.

And then he’s prowling closer with preternatural grace, and the heat and scent of his body seems to snuff out the heat and scent of the fire.

You can only stand, your legs wobbling a little, as he begins to circle you, peruse you, like a predator assessing its prey. You might hold your breath a little. You’re not sure what he plans to do, whether you’re to be reprimanded for your candidness. When he raises his hand, you hope you don’t flinch. You learned not to do so, not to show your fear, in the years living under your father’s thumb.

But his hand merely cups the curve of your shoulder and sweeps a few strands of your hair back.

“Give me what I want, Y/N.” He says, his voice gritty. “And I will tell you what Tathaln wants.”

This is all starting to feel like a huge oversight. A mistake. If this goes too far — if he suggests something that would disrespect Roza in any way…

You’d sooner be reprimanded, however badly.

Your eyes shutter, and you speak again, “What is it you want?”

Fin slinks round until he’s stood before you. The mild smile on his lips hides so much. “If I’m to oversee an event with all the camps under my rule,” he says, “I want to look good. I’m a victim of extreme vanity, you see. Appearances are everything. And thus, I would go before my subjects with the prettiest little piece at my side.” His eyes drink in your face, unpainted and unguarded. “You would do nicely.”

You’re not certain that your breath of relief is a silent one. The suggestion could be far worse, of course, but anxious butterflies are still all aflutter in your gut.

It would be prudent to remember who you’re talking to — who it is you’re playing games with. To remember that you are just a young female from Windhaven, with no experience outside of it. You are not a seasoned courtier, and you do not know the rules of the game — how to play them, nor how to break them.

You clear your throat, lowering your gaze. “Forgive me, My Lord. Whilst I’m undoubtedly flattered…I must admit to also being confused. Won’t Roza fulfil the role at your side?”

“Roza will attend no more public appearances for the remainder of her pregnancy — a decision we came to together. She is far too tired and must rest. And she’s fully aware that I will need to invite a special guest in her place.”

“But if you’re trying to make an impression before your Illyrian subjects…I am the last female who would bring you any glory. I am ordinary. I do not have wings—”

“You do yourself a disservice, Y/N.” His slow footsteps begin again. “The likes of your father have got into your head, I fear. What I see, looking at you now, is not these.” Warm fingers touch your ruined back, and you jerk a little. “What I see is the embodiment of classic Illyrian beauty. Just as I see in my Roza. You may not know this, but they tried to take her wings, too. Until I stopped them. It — we — would send a message, don’t you think? That your repulsive father may have taken your wings, but he did not take your spirit. Your beauty. And that spirit and beauty earned you a place at the High Lord’s side. Perhaps I’ll invite your father, and his punishment can be the night’s entertainment.”

It's…strange. Conflicting. Because the High Lord is saying things that you so often long to hear. The shattered, self-loathing part of your brain perks up and leans into the compliments like a pampered cat, waiting to hear more, to be stroked.

But then there’s an angry part of you — one that wishes to yell at him that if he truly abhorred the practice of wing clipping, he would ban it altogether instead of keeping himself in the favour of Illyrians and simultaneously bashing their views and traditions behind their backs.

So many feelings. And yet, you try to remember why you’re here.

Because something eats away at you that whatever Tathaln Baralas is up to will impact Azriel somehow. At least as long as he’s with Kaeda.  

So you lift your chin and ask, “I agree to be your special guest to the ball, and you tell me what the Lord of Fenlaros is up to? It’s that easy?”

Fin chuckles. Stops in front of you again. “It’s that easy.” He inclines his head. “As I said, I am of the vain sort — and this is merely a thing of vanity. I’d rather enjoy parading one of my son’s pretty playthings on my arm. Letting those Illyrian males know that I could have any of their females if I wanted. And the fact that I don’t particularly care for Tathaln Baralas means that I don’t particularly care to hold on too tightly to his secrets, either.”

You don’t bother correcting him about the nature of yours and Rhys’s relationship. Seems irrelevant, in the grand scheme of things. And if your only role in this is to dress up and look pretty at the High Lord’s side, you reckon you’ve gotten off pretty damn lightly.

For a moment, there, you really thought he might want…more.

“Alright.” You stand up straight. “I will gladly be your guest to the ball.”

He smiles an odd smile, like he knew you would agree all along. With his arm brushing yours as he closely passes, he makes his way back over to his desk. Refills his glass and yours. Hands it to you.

“The reason the Lord of Fenlaros wants an Illyrian ball,” he says, “is because he seeks a situation in which he can have an eye on all camps — and vet their talent.”

“Vet their…” Your brow pinches. “What?”

“Tathaln, Y/N, has a vision in mind.” Fin turns to you, perching on the edge of the desk. “One that, I have to admit, did pique my interest — if it were to work. You see, he’s of the opinion that Illyria should, eventually, do away with the individual camps entirely. He’d sooner have one huge camp — that he would be Lord of, of course, and have a team of the strongest, most powerful Illyrians working alongside him to train the most fearsome army in the entirety of the Fae realm.”

“That’s preposterous. Cramming all Illyrians into one camp under one lord would mean the eye would be taken off the ball quicker than lightning. How could an army that big be adequately trained by a small team of leaders, no matter how powerful? Even the strongest soldiers couldn’t keep command of such numbers. That is why the individual camps work. Weaknesses get smoothed out and strengths are honed.”

The fire in your tone seems to amuse the High Lord. And you wonder if Illyria isn’t unlike a dolls house to him. Figures he can pluck up and move around and pit against each other for his own entertainment.

“Tathaln would disagree with you.” He smiles. “He believes that the individual camps only create room for complacency, a lack of order. He thinks that your kind spend more time drinking and fucking and fighting amongst themselves than they do training for combat. And he thinks that if something isn’t done about it, the next war could wipe Illyria off the map.”

“And he believes himself to be a strong enough Camp Lord to somehow fix that?”

“Alone? Gods, no. He’s an arrogant brute, but not a stupid one. No,” He says again. “See, this unit he would build wouldn’t be just made up of highly-skilled warriors.”

“Then what?”

“Illyrians with further powers. Special abilities.” Fin’s eyes track over your face, waiting for the realisation to dawn. “Like a shadowsinger, for example.”

And finally, it’s like light blotting out the clueless darkness of your head. Suddenly, it all falls into place.

You don’t know why you didn’t see it before.

“Tathaln wants Azriel under his command.” The words are ash on your tongue.

“Yes.” Fin nods. “He does. And there are other males in other camps, too, with their own, unique abilities. Tathaln wants this ball to see them up close. Pick them out. If things go his way, he would have those males defecting from their current camps and making a home in Fenlaros. There, they would train — and begin bringing Tathaln’s vision to life.”

Azriel leaving Windhaven…moving to another camp and not being around to talk to, to spend mindless hours with, to face life with — the thought is like a cold, cruel stab to your heart.

Your friends are what make Windhaven bearable. Together, you’ve built a little home there, a family. And you may all be at each other’s throats right now, but you love each other. Wouldn’t want to lose each other.

The idea of no longer seeing Az makes you want to puke up the two glasses of whiskey now swimming in your stomach.

And even more sickening is the further realisation—

Kaeda is Tathaln’s daughter — his puppet on a string.

It was never a coincidence that she randomly started floating around Windhaven. Wasn’t a natural thing at all, that she’d found interest in Azriel, of all people. The only shadowsinger.

The entire thing had been carefully orchestrated.

Kaeda’s interest in Az isn’t genuine. Her father specifically sent her to Windhaven to get him on side.

You think you might actually be sick. Suddenly, the High Lord’s study seems far too small.

“Why would you allow any of this?” You manage to grit out around your growing panic. “You’re the High Lord…if you tell Tathaln no, he can’t take it any further.”

Fin shrugs a nonchalant shoulder. “As I said — his vision piqued my interest. It’s not a bad idea, provided it would be executed properly. But if it were? Imagine the glory. The power. The Night Court would boast the most steeled army in Prythian. Battle would be mere child’s play to us.”

You…no. No. You can’t sit back and act like you don’t know any of this.

Azriel needs to be told. He needs to know what games Kaeda is playing — that she’s only interested in doing her father’s bidding, pouring honeyed words into Az’s ear to coax him out of Windhaven and into their ready, waiting trap. To use him. Exploit him.

You need to tell him. Even if he goes straight back to being angry with you after, still doesn’t want to speak to you…you need to.

With shaking hands, you place your glass down. “I…I’m quite tired. I think I’ll try, again, to sleep.” There’s no chance of that. “Thank you for the drink. And the conversation.”

Fin’s head falls into a tilt. He looks…intrigued. “Thank you for the company. And I’ve no doubt I can trust you to uphold your end of our arrangement.”

You nod. Hate the words as you speak them. “I will be your guest at the ball.”

“I’ll be in touch, then. Goodnight.”

You only just manage to return the sentiment as you slip out of the room, the cold hallways making a grab for your bare skin. Fin’s words haunt you all the way back to your room. Keep you awake all through the night.  Bury themselves deep in your mind, your heart, and fill you with such an icy-cold fear, you feel you may never be warm again.

You have to tell Azriel — or you may lose him for good.

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The next morning, over tea and pastries and your rushed retelling of the night before, Roza stares at you.

Her expression is unreadable.

“You’re angry with me.” You breathe, the very words pinching at your heart. “I understand. But I needed to find out what Tathaln Baralas was up to. I just knew that—”

“Angry with you?” She cuts you off. “No, my love. With Fin? Yes. That he��s even entertaining this idea of that odious Camp Lord’s, and that his ego is so great that he would parade you on his arm like nothing more than prize cattle. That, I am angry with.” Her eyes sweep your face with concern — and a hint of something else. Something like…admiration. “You, however…you remind me exactly of myself when I was your age. Scheming, pushing back against what’s simply wrong…and in the name of love, too. I cannot possibly be angry with you for that.”

Your eyes fall to your plate. Love. That word rings in your ears like a war cry. “I need to do this. For Azriel. He’s being used, and—”

“I know.” Roza reaches over, closing a hand over yours. “Believe me, I know. And you have my full blessing and support. But you also have my concern. The games of Courts and High Lords and Camp Lords are dangerous ones. Do what you need to do for Azriel — for love — but have your wits about you. Do not, at any point, let them best you. And if Fin tries to take your agreement any further and lays a hand on you, come and tell me straight away, and I will fucking castrate him—”

Her words are cut short by a night-chilled shroud, darkness-given-form, despite the morning light that bathes the room.

Rhysand appears out of thin air. “Who will you castrate, mother dear?”

“You.” Roza says without a beat, scowling at her son. “What have I told you about just appearing like that? You’re showing off. It’s rude.”

“But I’m so good at it.” He strides closer, kissing her cheek and then yours. And steals the remainder of your pastry. “Ready to go?”

You’d sent a note a little over an hour ago, asking Rhys to come get you and fly you to Windhaven. You didn’t specify that you were going to talk to Az — and potentially break his heart with the information you’d garnered last night.

Rhys, of course, had written back that he’d be more than willing to oblige — as soon as Zakai was done sucking his cock.

Indeed, your friend looks particularly flushed and sated as he swallows your food and washes it down with a gulp of your tea.

“Rhysand.” Roza scolds. “Have some damn manners. Will you steal food from the babe, too?”

“Well, considering you’ll be breastfeeding her, mother dearest, absolutely not—”

“Her?” You blink between them. “You know it’s a girl?”

Roza smiles softly, sliding a hand over her stomach. “Not for certain. But the healer seems pretty sure. Her magic can detect these things, and she says she’s never gotten it wrong in all her years.”

“Gods, I hope so.” Rhys’s violet eyes glitter. “I’ve said from the start that I’m hoping for a sister.”

And you can see it already — Rhys throwing himself into the role of older brother. Protecting that little girl with his whole heart. She’d be the luckiest child in all of Prythian to have Rhys for a brother. And to have Cassian and Azriel protecting her, too…

That is, if Azriel doesn’t choose to go to Fenlaros.

Your stomach turns all over again at the thought. No — you need to speak with him, to warn him. He wouldn’t leave.

“Let’s go.” You stand abruptly, your breakfast feeling leaden in your stomach.

“Much obliged.” Rhys sketches a flourishing bow, to which Roza rolls her eyes. He kisses her cheek again. “Take it easy. I love you.”

Roza inclines her head. “I love you both.”

Its as you, too, dip down to kiss her cheek, that she lays a gentle hand on your arm. Concern swims in her eyes.

“Be careful, my little dove.” She pleads quietly. “Not just of the game you’re playing — but of your heart, too. Protect it.”

The words echo in your mind too loudly as Rhys takes your hand and steals you away.

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Twenty years in Windhaven should have you at least a little accustomed to the brutal temperatures, but landing your feet on the packed snow makes you wonder if even a whisper of the spring season will kiss these parts. It seems to lurk on the horizon, just out of reach.

As Rhys dusts flecks of snow from his jacket, you glance down at your pathetic, worn boots. The very boots that seemed to start this entire godsdamned situation with Az. It was these that made him scoop you into his arms and carry you to the mead hall, where you shared that first, heated kiss on one of the tables—

“What are you staring at?” Rhys hovers at your side.

“Nothing.” You straighten yourself up. Hope your blush can pass for cold-bitten skin. “Do you know where Azriel is? I’d like to speak with him.”

“Sparring rings, I’d presume.”

You nod, and you go to head off in the other direction, but Rhys’s hand is enclosing around yours. He squeezes gently. “Send word when you want me to come get you.”

The sentiment promises more than just safe transport back to Velaris. It offers support, too — in the likely scenario that this conversation doesn’t go smoothly.

Because you have to consider the possibility that the truth about Kaeda, while needing to be exposed, may not be well received.

Azriel will likely be hurt by it. And you might bear the brunt of that.

Rhysand will be there for you, whatever happens. Even if he has no clue what’s going on.

So you squeeze back, and you offer an unconvincing smile as you let go. “I love you, Rhysand.”

He scowls. “Don’t like it when you call me Rhysand.”

“Sorry, Rhysand.”

“You’re a little shit. But I love you, too.”

You smile wider. That little bit of jesting is what gives you the courage, the strength, to square your shoulders and stroll away from him, snow seeping into your boots with each step.

By the time you get to the sparring rings, you think your feet might be frozen solid. But lo and behold, Azriel is there, currently going head-to-head with another male in his unit.

The very sight is the picture of a hard-trained warrior — a dance, a performance, of flying fists and measured breaths. Az is big and muscled, but he’s lithe and swift, and he moves through each step and dodges each blow and delivers his own as though it’s easy as air. He’s flawless, and for a heartbeat, all you can do is watch, every thought eddying from your mind.

But then he’s dodging a flying fist and pivoting on his feet. His eyes catch you. He’s distracted long enough for his partner to grab the upper hand and knock Az off his feet.

The shadowsinger accepts defeat. He sprawls on his back, panting heavily, and you continue to watch as his opponent grins and offers a hand to help him up.

“Distracted by a female?” He jokes. “I thought you were better than that, shadowsinger.”

A tight smile forms and falls from Az’s lips. He hates losing. “It would seem not. Well fought.”

“I’ll leave you and your lady to it.” The other male says, and you choose to ignore the suggestion in his voice. Azriel ignores it, too. Doesn’t even acknowledge him as he strolls away, no doubt to boast to his insufferable friends that he managed to get one over on the shadowsinger.

Az looks at you in that quiet, assessing way of his. Surveys you head to toe, like he needs to reassure himself that your short stay in Velaris has brought you no harm thus far. It’s good that he still cares, you think. You hope.

“You’re back?” He asks, grabbing a towel to wipe at his face. It’s then that you notice that his lip is bleeding a little.

“Not entirely.” You shake your head. “I…need to talk to you about something. Something important.”

And whether he’s ready to talk to you yet, or not, is irrelevant — he seems to realise that as he studies you once more and nods. “We’ll go to the dorms. Nobody’s there.”

You hate this, you want to tell him. The awkwardness. The…the stagnancy of your relationship. It was never supposed to be like this between you and him. It hurts.

And it makes you realise that love isn’t always beautiful.

But you school your expression as he finally closes the gap between you. He glances down, and a soft sigh escapes him. “Those fucking boots.”

Before you can say something, anything, find some way to defend your continued wearing of those fucking boots, Azriel is grabbing your hand. The unexpected touch jolts you — as does the zip through thin air that has you landing in the kitchenette of the dorms only seconds later.

Despite possessing the ability to winnow, Azriel avoids it at all costs, if he can. Something about the practice unsettles him, and he doesn’t believe he’s ever refined it enough to use it reliably.

So, the fact that he just winnowed you to the dorms either means that he still cares enough to get you out of the cold, or he wants to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible.

Gods, you hope it’s the former.

“Stay there.” He murmurs, and he’s turning on his feet. You want to stop him and tell him it’s imperative that you speak immediately — but you can only watch as he strides in the direction of his room.

Moments later, he’s strolling back through — a pair of his own, thick socks in his hands.

You might just soften and crumble enough to forget about the conversation and throw your arms around him. Even now, he’s still looking out for you, making sure you’re taken care of.

You plead with yourself not to get choked up over a pair of socks. But you just…miss him. Miss this. And you think that shows as you hold a hand out and rasp, “Thank you.”

“Let me.” Is all Az replies. He drops to his knees before you.

Your mind goes quiet.

Gods.

The last thing you expected, from coming here, was to see Az knelt at your feet.

And it’s so fucking inappropriate, but as he begins to unlace your boots, your stupid, pathetic brain begins to lament on what a damn shame it is, that you didn’t get to behold this sight, have him on his knees, when things were still good between you. Maybe there’s something wrong with you.

“You don’t have to do that—”

“Need to make sure you’re warm.” He chucks your sodden boots aside, yanks your socks off. Dries your poor, pinkened feet. Tugs his own socks — so big on you that he has to bunch them at the ankles — onto them. And then rises to his feet. “I’ll get a fire going.”

His fussing over you has always bordered on outright hysterical.

“Azriel.” Finally, you lay a firm hand on his arm. Stop him. “I need to talk to you.”

The way he goes so very still at your touch has you realising — all this fussing is to avoid simply…looking at you. Facing you. He’s trying to busy himself in your presence.

But he does look at you. Lifts his gaze to yours. And there’s grit in his voice as says, “I know I fucked up, Y/N. I shouldn’t have reacted to you and Cassian the way I did. I had no right.”

“I’m not here about that—”

“I was angry because I was so damn jealous. And that’s irrational, and I know it, but I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t stand the thought of him…anyone else…putting their hands—”

“It’s Kaeda, Az. She’s using you.”

Finally, you’ve won his silence. His arm tenses under your hand. His eyes burn into yours.

“I learned it from the High Lord himself.” The words are so, so sour on your tongue. You hate this. Hate the truth — for Az. “Tathaln Baralas is trying to round up the most powerful Illyrians of each camp and have them under his command in Fenlaros. Eventually, he wants there to be only one camp — that he rules over. He covets you because you’re a shadowsinger, and he sent Kaeda here to cosy up to you and do his bidding, win you over. She’s been working for him—”

He tugs away from your touch. Takes a step back. And the anger, the hurt, that you expect to find on his face just…isn’t there.

“I know all of this.” He says, simply.

“You—what?”

“I had dinner with Kaeda and her family. Tathaln laid his idea out to me and asked me to go to Fenlaros. He was completely open about it.”

You study him, waiting for some vague indication that he’s angry at Kaeda’s manipulation. But he seems entirely nonchalant.

It stings.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You hate how small your voice sounds.

“Well, you and I haven’t exactly been talking—”

“I’d think a situation like thiswould override that.”

“Kind of had other things on my mind, though, haven’t I?”

“Well did you tell Tathaln he can shove his fucking vision up his ass?”

Silence.

Silence, and then the rustle of Az’s wings as he shifts on his feet.

Loud, loud silence.

You think your heart might plummet into your stomach. Your mouth goes dry. You stare at him, every inch of him, desperate for some sort of sign that his silence isn’t saying what you fear it’s saying.

But gods, it’s so very telling.

“Please tell me you’re not considering it,” you breathe.

He doesn’t answer straight away. He looks at his feet and shifts on the spot and takes his time answering like your heart isn’t thundering in anticipation.

And then he says, quietly, “I told Kaeda I would consider it.”

The words steal the air from your lungs. The picture of a Windhaven without Azriel’s presence suddenly doesn’t seem like a blurred, unlikely one. Feels like it’s being dangled in front of your face.

“What?” Your voice is weak.

“I just…told her I’d think about it.”

“Why?”

“The idea isn’t a bad one—I could hone my skills, put them to use—”

“You could also kiss goodbye to any ties you have to this place! To your family, to—to me!”

Cauldron fucking damn your voice for cracking the way it does. You’re going to break in front of him, and it’s going to be bad. You can feel your chest tightening, the idea of losing Azriel for good making you breathless and panicked and like you don’t know what to do with yourself, your hands, your entire body.

“Y/N.” Az says softly. “I haven’t given a definitive answer.”

“But you’re thinking about it.” You choke. “You’re considering it—leaving. Do the others know about this? Rhys and Cassian?”

“No. Haven’t really been speaking to them, either.”

“Is that all part of it? Distancing yourself from us until you sever your ties completely? Are you truly so angry with me that you’d choose this? To not see me anymore?”

You know immediately what you’ve said.

To not see me. Rhys and Cassian not included.

Azriel catches it, too. He purses his lips, and he stares at you.

“This isn’t about that.” He insists.

“You never would have considered this before I lay with Cassian—”

“This isn’t about distancing myself because you fucked Cassian! It’s because I want you and that terrifies me!”

The words, hard and solid as iron daggers, are actually enough to calm your growing panic. You feel them land, piercing through your skin and spreading a wanton, longing venom through your veins. You’ve spent days — weeks — caught up in your thoughts, trying to accept the fact that you want Azriel. You want Azriel. More than you ever had before.

And perhaps it says a lot about how you perceive yourself, but it hadn’t occurred to you that he might want you back.

Hearing it is heart-stopping.

You clear away what feels like a patchwork of hoarfrost that’s frozen over your throat. “I—thought you wanted Kaeda.”

Azriel makes a noise; something like a humourless laugh. “Believe me, I tried. But I don’t. I want you, so much that it burns. Burns me worse than what scarred my fucking hands. I’ve never felt like this before. I’m sick with it. I can’t sleep for thinking about you, wanting you beside me. I can’t stop myself aching for you and I’m losing my fucking mind.”

Blow after blow after blow, these words. Sour and sweet, pleasant and horrific, love and hate. You feel like you know everything and nothing at once. Like you understand what he’s saying but not quite.

But your honest response croaks out of you, “And if I want you, too? What then?”

Azriel’s jaw ticks. And he presses himself hard against the wall as if he’s trying to disappear through it. “Then,” he says, “that makes it even worse.”

“Because you’d sooner run off to another camp than give yourself to a pathetic excuse for an Illyrian like me, right?”

“Because I would sooner damn myself to a miserable existence in Fenlaros than allow this to turn into another thing of beauty that could be ripped straight from my hands. I’d sooner not see you at all than have you and lose you. And I’d rather base my decision on hypotheticals and protect my heart than give it away and wish I never had. If that makes me selfish—”

“It makes you,” you grit your teeth hard, blink furiously through forming tears, “a fucking coward.”

He pauses. “Then I’m a coward.”

But he isn’t. Never has been. Not when he was locked up in his hateful father’s keep and forced to bear his half-brothers’ twisted cruelty. Not when he came to Windhaven and was targeted here, too, simply for being different. Not through anything you’ve faced together in nine years of friendship.

Azriel has never been a coward. You will not accept it. You will not let him become one.

If he wants you like he says he does…you’re not going to let him have the sole choice of ruining this. He can try to push you away, but you’ll push back ten times harder.

“You think I’m not scared?” You move away from the counter, taking slow steps closer to him. “I am. I’m petrified. But fear is not cowardice. To fear and to face it head-on is to be brave, Azriel. When have you ever balked from fear?”

He’s watching you near him with what seems to be nerves. He swallows. “Never. But I know which of my battles to pick.”

You slow to a stop in front of him. Your body is inches from his, and his warmth and scent are like a punch to your gut. “It isn’t a battle to want.”

“No,” he agrees. “But it’s a battle to need.” So blatantly — he doesn’t try to hide it — his eyes drift to your mouth. “I was wrong before. I don’t want you. I need you.”

“And you’d rather run from that. You’d rather run than need me.”

“…Yes. I think I would.”

Finally, you close the miniscule gap between your bodies, slamming your hands either side of him, against the wall. You fight the curling of your lips when you hear his breath catch in his throat.

“What are you waiting for, Azriel?” You challenge. “Run.”

He pauses.

He does not run.

He snarls, and he grabs you by your jacket, and he hauls your mouth to his.

He tastes like the tang of sweat and blood, but also like the heavy fir trees that guard the mountains, and the crackling of a roaring fire, and the fresh berries he puts in his breakfast every morning without fail. He tastes like Azriel, and you think that taste might be the answer to every dark thought and doubt that has ever plagued your mind.

Without hesitation, you're bunching your hands in his shirt and pulling yourself against him, close as you can possibly get. This kiss is not a sweet kiss in the name of tentative practice. This kiss is a reckoning, and a choice, and it’s the past nine years in flashing moments that have led you up to this point.

Azriel makes a low, wanting sound and flips the script, using his grip on your jacket to spin you both until you’re the one pushed against the wall, and he’s pressing you there. Slotting a firm, muscled thigh between your legs. He pulls his mouth away from yours to pepper quick, biting kisses along your jaw, down the column of your neck. You gasp, and he gasps back.

“I want you.” His voice almost sounds like a plea — a plea for some solution to this. As though it’s a problem. “I can’t stop myself wanting you.”

“So don’t.” You breathe back, pushing the very centre of you against his thigh. “Stay in Windhaven and forget about everything else. Stay with me. Have me.”

“You make it sound so easy—”

“It is.” You pull his mouth back to yours. “It’s easy. We can be easy. We can be—”

Just down the hall, the opening of the front door cuts your words right off. Footsteps follow. It’ll just be a male returning from training, but it seems to send a tidal wave of ice-cold reality straight over the two of you. Azriel stares down at you, lips parted, still panting.

The nameless male passes by without even sparing either of you a glance. Azriel pulls away.

He turns his back to you and rakes a hand through his hair. You can only watch. So fast, he’s facing you again.

“I—I need you to give me time to register all of this.” He swallows. “I can’t…think right now.”

Do the words sting? Yes. Were you hoping that he would just impulsively let go of his fears and say fuck it? Absolutely.

You should be angry. You should tell him that if he truly wants you, needs you, then he shouldn’t need to think.

But something about the lost expression on his face speaks to you. He’s always been guarded. Always struggled to face his emotions head-on. So many years he spent locked up, trying to convince himself that the loneliness didn’t ache, that his heart didn’t wish.

If you push him right now…it’ll end up with him further away from you.

So it’s the hardest thing in the world to straighten yourself out and pretend your lips aren’t tingling, begging for another taste of his mouth. It’s an effort to put how you feel aside for his sake.

But maybe it’ll be for your sake, too. You are angry…somewhere beneath all the longing, the passion. He didn’t tell you about Tathaln’s proposition. He’d been considering it without consulting any of you. That hurts.

He watches you, waits for you to say something, as you reach for your boots and tug them back on. You came here to tell him what you’d found out, and you’ve done just that — and then some.

When you’ve laced up your shoes, only then do you look at him. Try to hide the bleakness from your face.

“I’ll leave you to your thoughts.” You tell him, and it’s a promise. “But can you do me a favour?”

His eyes sweep over your face, and he nods. “Always.”

“Before you make a decision about Fenlaros…” You actually have to stop yourself and swallow down the lump that forms at the words. You try again, “Before you make a decision about Fenlaros, please just…talk to Rhys and Cass first. The three of you have been a strong unit forever. Forget the troubles that we’ve had and just…just remind yourself of what you’d be leaving behind. Fix things with them. Talk to them.”

He opens his mouth. Snaps it shut again. Nods. “Alright.”

“You don’t need me, Az.” You say as you turn away from him. “But them? You’ll always need them.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The strutting confidence with which Kaeda Baralas usually carries herself is entirely absent as she enters her father’s study.

Her wings are limp — a telltale sign of nerves, intimidation — and it’s an effort to keep them from drooping.

Wings are supposed to be worn proudly. Hers were left intact for a reason. Never will she forget that fact.

Tathaln sits behind his desk, oozing authority, even through menial tasks like going through his correspondence. As Kaeda stops before him and threads her fingers together, she feels much like the younger version of herself — that little girl always trying to think of ways to impress her papa.

“Well?” Tathaln asks without looking up.

The female clears her throat. “He still hasn’t given me an answer.”

Her father pauses, goes deathly still. Kaeda hates that stillness. Dreads it. Knows it means she’s disappointed him.

The Camp Lord places his pen down, and he asks, his tone slicing, “And why have your efforts not been enough to glean an answer?”

Kaeda purses her lips. “I’m trying, father. It’s — he’s harder than I anticipated. I didn’t expect him to be so attached to Windhaven.”

She watches, stomach turning, as the great male before her stands and rounds the desk. He perches on the other side of it and studies his daughter.

“Your brothers seem to be having no problems with the missions I gave them.” He tells her. “Why do you let me down?”

How is she supposed to answer that? Azriel is simply…not what she expected. He’s unlike all the Illyrian males she’s surrounded by. He’s profound, sentimental, caring. He values more than just violence, than war.

“I got the go-ahead from the High Lord that the ball can take place.” Tathaln announces. “We will be amongst a room full of males with potential, who may join our cause. But they won’t if we don’t have some ground to work on. If I don’t have something to show them — warriors who can advocate for us. Like the shadowsinger.”

Kaeda’s gaze lowers. “I’ll keep trying. I’ll ask again.”

“Yes. You will.” He pushes away from the desk. “Because let me remind you of something, lest you’ve forgotten.” A step closer has him towering over her, and he’s…humongous. “I do not give you the freedoms you have, just so you can waste them. I did not leave your wings intact because I abhor the practice of clipping them. I told you to earn them. To hone yourself into a weapon that I can use.”

“I know, father.”

“And what do I do with weapons that are useless? That can’t be used? I rid myself of them. Make no mistake that I would do the same with you if you can’t give me what I need.” A sneer contorts his brutal, beautiful face. “I don’t care what you have to do to attain it. Trick him, force him, bed him. Just get your ass back to Windhaven, and don’t return until the shadowsinger is on side. The ball will be held on Starfall — you have until then.”

“I—”

“Go.”

End of discussion.

He doesn’t want to hear her excuses, her ideas.

He doesn’t want to know that his daughter, deep down, is not capable of the callousness of which he very much is. That in Azriel, she sees a person who is, perhaps, as lonely as she is, and insecure, and trying not to be, in an environment where those things get you killed.

He doesn’t care to know that all she really wants is for her father to throw his arms around her and tell her he loves her, is proud of her, no matter what.

No. He returns to his seat and doesn’t spare her another glance. She’s dismissed.

She takes to the brutal skies and makes her way from one hollow place to another.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Cassian decides two chapters into the book that reading isn’t for him.

He’s just so fucking bored. Rhys is somewhere being all moony eyed over Zakai, Roza and Y/N are still in Velaris, and Azriel still doesn’t seem interested in talking through their issues.

So he’s resorted to this — plucking some weird romance novel off the shelf and giving it a go. Some dramatic tale of a human girl who falls in love with a beast who drinks blood and glistens in the sunlight. Two chapters down, he’s tempted to throw it into the fire — but he remembers that it isn’t his book and returns it to the shelf instead.

He could go to a tavern, but those aren’t fun on his own. Could seek out one of his many sexual conquests for a good time, but something about arguing with his closest of friends translates, for some reason, into his dick refusing to get hard. He’s too churned up for an orgasm, and too churned up to give one out.

So, sleep it is. He heaves a deep sigh and drags himself over to the stairs, feeling mighty sorry for himself. He’s barely placed a foot on the bottom step when a knock falls on the door.

He turns, striding over too fast. He hopes for Rhys, or even Az, anyone—

But Kaeda slumps against the door frame, and he immediately wants to scowl.

Her eyes are glazed, her usually pristine appearance a little unkempt, with strands of cherry red hair slipping free from a ponytail and a stain of some sort of liquid on her shirt.

She hiccups, and the smell of booze rolls from her. “Azriel here?”

“No.” Cassian’s jaw ticks.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.” Probably at the dorms, but he doesn’t tell her that. “Don’t you have a rock to crawl back under?”

She makes a vague noise and bends at the waist, planting her hands on her knees. “Think ‘m going to be sick.”

“Not here, you’re not.”

“Can I just come in? Please? Need…need water.”

Cassian really, really doesn’t want to let her in.

If he had his way, he wouldn’t let her into the camp, let alone his house.

And he’s a shitty enough person that he’s tempted to turn her away…but not shitty enough to actually do so. She’s clearly wasted, and in a place like Windhaven, a lone, drunk female is a target.

So he grits his teeth and steps aside, and Kaeda doesn’t hesitate to stumble in. She heads straight for the couch, slumping down—

“If you puke on that,” Cass tells her, striding over to the kitchen, “I’ll hold you upside down and mop your vomit up with that obscenely red hair.”

Kaeda seems to find it funny. She snorts. Cassian ignores her and fills a glass with water.

He stalks back over. More or less slams the glass down on the coffee table and then sits at the far end of the same couch. “Your water. Drink it.”

The female grabs the glass and gulps it down, droplets rolling down her chin. Cassian has never seen her so…normal.

“Why are you drunk?” He asks.

She returns the empty glass to the table. “I drank alcohol.”

“Give me a straight answer.”

She sighs, and swivels on the seat so that she’s facing him. She’s a little unsteady as she tucks her legs beneath her and says, “Because I’m a desperately unhappy person, and I can’t do anything right.”

Cass stares at her. He isn’t convinced. She seems mighty happy every time she struts through Windhaven, giving pretty, sultry smiles to different males and revelling in their attention.

“I have so much pressure on my shoulders.” Kaeda says. “I can’t afford to get it all wrong.”

“Everyone has pressure on their shoulders. Welcome to the real world, princess.”

Another snort. She shakes her head. Never seems bothered by Cassian’s sharp-edged words. “You don’t get it.”

But Cass reckons he does. He narrows his eyes as he looks at her — thinks that her perfect outfit probably costs more than his entire wardrobe. Thinks that the fact that she’s got to her age, as a female, and hasn’t had her wings and spirit ripped away from her, is a very lucky thing.

“Oh, I get it.” He bites back. “I know exactly what I’m looking at. A spoilt girl who gets everything she wishes for and still wants more. You have riches and a good standing, and you never have to worry about where your next meal is coming from.”

“…Don’t have any friends, though, do I? Not like you and yours.”

“Perhaps that’s because you’re such an insufferable toad.”

Kaeda stares at him, and he stares back. Gods, he really cannot stand her. Even the way she looks at him makes him want to punch something.

But then she throws her head back, and she bellows a great, loud laugh.

That annoys him, too — that nothing he says, however harsh, seems to bother her. Maybe he simply wishes that he could be like that. So strong.

“Why is it that you hate me so much, Cassian?” Her laughter ebbs into a quiet chuckle, and she’s leaning forward to crack him a smile that has sent better males to their knees. “Tell me.”

Cassian, too, leans forward — tries to scowl that smile out of existence. “Because I think you’re up to something.” He answers. “And I think you’re going to hurt my friends. And if you hurt my friends, princess, I hurt you. It’s that simple.”

He means it. Kaeda can see he means it. And the threat should intimidate her, but it doesn’t.

It makes her hungry. Ravenous.

His hate for her is a challenge that she wants to chase. Every barbed word, every scathing glance —

It sets her on fire.

And she’s happily not thinking about Tathaln, or Fenlaros, or Azriel, as she grips Cassian by the cheeks and slants her mouth over his. She kisses him with such heat that for a moment, he forgets who she is. Her tongue makes its way past his lips—

He shoves her off him, probably too hard. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Before she can answer, the front door opens, and Azriel is wandering in.

He takes in the sight of them and stops. Stares between them.

His expression is…indifferent. Like he knows what he’s looking at, but he really could not give a fuck.

And then he clears his throat, and turns to Kaeda. “You should leave.” He says. “Cassian and I need to talk.”

az tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @katherinearcheron @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @azriels-mate2

#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #shadowsinger #shadowsinger x reader #azriel acotar #azriel x you #azriel fic #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fandom #acotar x reader #acotar writing #acotar fanfic #acotar headcanon #acotar smut #acotar series #acotar fic #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #reader insert #illyrians #rhysand #cassian #practice on me

[reverieblondie]

My Star

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara X DancerFem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Plot, Praise, Mutual masterbaition, Unprotected Penetrative Sex (wrap it before you tap it),Oral, Cum eating, losing of virginity (mentioned), Ripping of clothes, Drink play?, Blindfolded reader.

Summary: The theaters new patron is an important man, as you dance you feel his eyes on you, you can't help but feel addicted to the way he stares at you...

A/N: I haven't wrote Smut in a minute so I might be a bit rusty...This idea came to me as I was watching Phantom of the Opera. I just need a Victorian Miguel to ravish me while calling me his star. This is pretty cheesy and a total self serving fic but I hope you enjoy it!

Word count: 6,532

Looking around as you fix your hair you see that the theater is bustling. Dancers are frantically putting on makeup rushing and bumping into one another. The crew is in a hustle setting up the stage, the show isn’t for a few days why is everyone acting like it’s happening tonight? Today is just a normal practice? 

Leaning over to your friend you whisper your question, “What’s going on? Why is everyone acting in a tissy?” 

Your friend Cristina stops adjusting her practice dress and looks at you with wide eyes, “Have you not heard? A new patron is coming to observe the theater with the owners today during rehearsal, they want us all to be perfect or else you're cut!” 

Eyes going wide, you go to ask where she had gotten her information but before you can the madam of the ballet is coming to make sure everyone is prepared. With everyone frantically preparing you rush around backstage into position, stopping to dust your shoes in the rosin box so you have a good grip, and can’t afford any slips. 

Going over your choreography for your short solo, tracking your counts, the sound of whispers starts to distract you.

“I heard that he is one of the most powerful men in Nueva York, filthy rich.” 

“Exactly what we need is a bored man with too much money then he knows what to do with.” 

“Well, his name is Miguel O’Hara, and besides him being wealthy and powerful I hear he’s also gorgeous” 

They proceeded to giggle amongst themselves, seeming to find joy in their comments but the words about the man only seem to make you more nervous. It’s your job to impress this man to save the theater that holds your ballet company.

The company is very dear to you for having taken you in when you were a young girl, the madam didn’t care that you were a lowly orphan with a name that meant nothing she saw you and took you in despite it. And now everyone's careers are dependent on impressing this patron, hopefully you won’t mess it up for everyone…

Watching the stage you are patiently waiting for your cue when the distinct feeling of eyes watching you stirs your concentration. Moving your eyes to the stage's side you try to pinpoint where this feeling is coming from. 

Then you see the mahogany eyes fixed on you, the gaze is intense, perfectly complimenting the structured face of the burnet. His stature towers in comparison to the theater owners groveling at him. This must be Mr. O’Hara, they were right he is gorgeous and with how he's dressed in a luxurious day suit it was clear he has expenses to spare. 

As his eyes continue to stare you down you feel the nerves in your chest starting to spiral. Opting to look away you try to focus on catching your cue you almost missed it from being wrapped up in a brief staring contest.

On the stage now, you focus your breathing to look effortless while you dance, thankfully you hit all your counts perfectly. There where things you where okay at but dancing is where you excelled. Typically you where a pretty shy and reserved person but once you where on the stage dancing you transformed into your character. And now as you move effortlessly you feel that things were going great.

Towards the end of your routine, you're doing your piqué turns. For this, you found it helpful to keep your eyes on something so to not get dizzy and lose yourself amidst the turns, usually your eyes keep on a random prop or on something hanging on the wall but instead, you find your eyes unconsciously fixing to something else or actually someone else. 

Your eyes lock on Miguels, again. As you're already in your turns it's too late to fix your gaze on something else so you keep your eyes on his. While you do you see his head slightly tilt and the corner of his full lips twitch upwards. The intense stare instantly makes you flush, and with consistent eye contact, you feel your body heat up with a pleasant rush that you know is being shown through the flushing features on your face. 

Eye contact is something you often struggle with, and now you have the keen eyes of Miguel on you, staring at you as you dance. Your breath stutters for a moment and you feel yourself stumble slightly but you're quick to save it. -Damn you hope nobody notices that. 

Finishing the turns you finally get off the main stage back to the side where you can focus on catching your breath before you can rush back to the dressing room to find your friend and tell her about your little staring contest with the potential patron. As you walk, albeit dizzily from the turns, not fully paying attention to your surroundings; suddenly you bump into what feels like a wall and then the feeling of two large hands catches you from falling backward. 

Letting out a slight squeak from the sudden collision you look up to see what you hit when a soft chuckle makes your throat dry. You move your eyes up and…Danm, Up Close he's even more striking and his figure is even more imposing. Despite him being the most intimidating man imaginable you feel a comfort from him as your being held in his large hands -he’s surprisingly gentle for his size.

“Woah, you okay there?” his voice purs as his eyes stay on yours. You try to think of something to respond with, but you feel like you have suddenly become mute, and then the two theater owners are chiming in. 

“Sir we apologize for her clumsiness, our dancers are usually more graceful.” 

“And pay more attention…” One of the men's grits makes you back away with your head low. With your head down you can see that you have stepped on his shoes creasing them and leaving rosin residue. Immediately you panic, damaging his shoes was sure to leave a sour taste in his mouth and you need to fix this before it's too late!  

Dropping to your knees in front of him you try to wipe away the residue apologizing profusely, “I- I am so so s-sorry sir… Please let me-” 

“Don't apologize” His smooth voice beacons as he holds a hand down to help you up from your knees. 

“But, I damaged your shoes. Please let me clean them.” 

Miguel laughs slightly as he grabs your hand, you can't help but notice how small yours seems in comparison. Back on your feet, you look up at him to see his full lips in a soft smile that makes your heart skip a beat. You think you could melt from just looking at him, you feel like a young girl again getting a silly crush so instantaneously. 

“You're too precious to clean shoes, I'm in shock that someone with your talent would even speak to me.”  

You feel your face become red. The owners are quick to speak up, “Mr. O’Hara you flatter her, she has talent but your importance far excites-”

Before he can finish his sentence Miguel is shooting him a displeased look that quickly makes him bite his tongue before he moves his eyes back to you. His whole face softens towards you, how he can go from so intimidating to gentle in an instant is a skill all on its own. 

“You dance beautifully, I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.” He offers.

Feeling your heart flutter in your chest, you avert your gaze as a goofy smile spreads to your lips, though he doesn't seem to mind, only smiling more and tilting his head to try and keep your eyes. 

“Thank you, sir, you're too kind.'' Gathering all your courage you meet his eyes and give a warm smile in appreciation, praises are not something you receive a lot of, your teachers opting for more corrective and stern approaches. So receiving kind words from a stranger makes your heart leap.

Moments pass of Miguel completing your dancing go by. A part of you wishes to continue the conversation but you don’t want to be a bother nor risk facing the wrath of the owners or your teachers, so you say your goodbyes and excuse yourself backstage.

Miguel watches as you leave, he's completely captivated by your sweet shyness and the curves of your figure. He feels warmth spreading across his body as his eyes linger on you. 

“Having given it considerable thought…I would love to help out the theater.” 

The owners light up and start to ramble but Miguel quickly holds up a hand to silence them, “If I am going to be a patron to this theater however I want an invite to every show, and '' His finger points towards you “I want her to have opportunities for excellence. Do I make myself clear?” 

They quickly nod their heads and Miguel nods before he heads off, feeling happy for agreeing to the tour he no longer sees as pointless. 

It’s been three months since Miguel became our theater's patron and things have been great! Despite the rumors about him being a cold callus man, he was proving to be an amazing attribute to the theater. 

After his first tour of the theater, he paid for some much-needed renovations. After that was set up he took the liberty to hired acting and singing instructors to help the performers enhance their skills. Every week Miguel came by to check on how things where running. He would reach out to the crew and orchestra for all their needs, also checking in on the business and advertising sides of things to make sure the theater kept being profitable. Being a successful business owner himself, everyone was eager to listen to his guidance. 

Every time Miguel would visit the theater, towards the end of his visit he would watch the rehearsals for the upcoming shows. Admittedly at first it made you nervous having a man like him watch the rehearsals but Miguel was always silent, watching intensely with a slight tinge of a smile on his full lips. But slowly over time something changed where you started to like it.

It was an exciting experience having him watching the practices, it drove everyone to work harder and take the practices seriously. Plus you would never tell another soul but the feeling of his eyes racking over your body as you performed filled you with a tantalizing rush.

After awhile it seemed like Miguel was always around the theater. It struck some people as odd that an important man like him would waste his time at the theater, but you welcomed it. You began to look forward to catching glimpses of him. Though when he would catch you staring you would shy away. 

Then after a while, maybe because he caught you staring so much, Miguel started to have conversations with you. At first they were only about the performances and asking if everything was going well at the theater, but they slowly dissolved into more personable conversation.

Miguel would often inquire about you, your interest and your past. At first when you would talk you where very private about your up ringing being an orphan with no family. Many people saw that as something to be ashamed of, but slowly as you developed a friendship with Miguel you opened yourself up more and where greeted with only acceptance. Though this could only be him trying to be kind. As you continued to speak with him you found that you had grown closer yes but he still made you nervous.

You where sure this steamed from how he kept his eyes on you, those piercing eyes…

As a performer, you are used to having eyes on you but Miguel's gaze was different, it was intense and alluring. It never fails to make your stomach flutter and your face burn. You would always shy away from his gaze but a part of you was addicted to how he would watch you.

Before you knew it you were slowly falling for the theater's patron, not that anyone could blame you for it. Many of the dancers held a flame for Miguel wanting to be the girl he would favor, but everyone knew that was just a fantasy, a man of his social class was meant to be with someone from the same social circle, not impoverished dancers like you…so you would just have to settle for the friendship you two shared. 

Today was one of the days Miguel decided to visit, everyone was frantic and trying to make practice perfect as Miguel watched. Tomorrow's show of the ballet Raymanda, it had everyone frantic, not only did they want the show to go well but there was the added pressure of the show being requested by Miguel, apparently stating it was one of his favorites. 

It had taken you by surprise when you learned that a man like him would like such a romantic ballet but it only made you fall deeper in your feelings for him. With the knowledge that this was his favorite play fueling your desires, you had practiced extra hard and tried out for the lead role that were lucky enough to have landed.  

Everyone was ecstatic for you to have your first lead role and when word got to Miguel about your success he had sent over a dozen red roses to you with a note congratulating you. The kind gesture wasn’t lost on you so you promised yourself that once you see Miguel again you would thank him properly.

The only problem with your plan however is how meek you would grow when around him. Sure you two had a friendship of sorts but it didn’t mean you where not still shy when around him.

When you had explained to your friend about your feelings for him and she was always more than encouraging, but you knew that you and Miguel's relationship was only meant for friendship. Even so, Cristina said that even as just friends you need to not behave so meekly in his presence, he could perceive it as rude and stop conversing with you. A thought that you hated to consider.  

So, as today’s rehearsals wrap up, you muster all your courage as you watch Miguel approach you. -okay, this is your opportunity to thank him for his consistent support and his lovely flowers and notes. Deep breath and don’t behave like a flustered schoolgirl. 

“You're going to make a perfect Raymonda.” 

“Really? Thank you, I hope I live up to everyone’s expectations.” Miguel smiles at you, watching as you fidget with your fingers swaying slightly on your anxious feet.

Taking a deep breath you move your eyes up to his, conviction fills your eyes as you're determined to look into his. Meeting the deep mahogany of his eyes you feel your breath hitch. They are so piercing…striking…beautiful, he’s beautiful… Uhhg come on, just get a grip!

“I wanted to thank you for the roses and the lovely letter you left me, your constant support means a great deal to me.” 

“No need to thank me.” he leans in to whisper to you “You're my favorite performer, and I am so excited for tomorrow's performance. I hope you are not nervous” 

A giddy smile forms over your lips as you go to look down but you stop yourself and meet his eyes again fixing your smile to a softer one, “I am slightly nervous but I feel better knowing that you're going to be watching me. I hope to continue to be your favorite…” 

Miguel seems surprised by your words, then he is the one breaking away from your eyes. As you watch him he raises his large hand to cover the growing grin on his full lips. Blush seems to creep up from his neck to his face, he seems embarrassed like you usually are.  

“Well, I will be there to watch you mi estrella.”  Miguel regaining his composure steps closer leaning down so his warm breath fans over the shell of your ear making a wave of goosebumps rush your skin, “And you will always be my favorite…” With that, Miguel leaves with your heart.  

You were on cloud nine after tonight's performance. People, some you knew, others you didn't, were all eager to hold and shake your hand, with praises and congratulations on your performance. Though you appreciated all the kind words you couldn't help but be quick to get away from the crowd.

There was one person you were excited to see all shyness aside. Getting to talk to Miguel again after yesterday's conversation was all you could think about once the ballet ended. 

As you walked around looking for Miguel you found yourself in the secluded area of the theater. You tried your best to ignore the giggling and hums of the lovers hiding away in the shadows, stealing kisses and intimate touches in the night. This was a common occurrence after shows of people hiding away with their lovers in the back of the theater.

Shameful to admit but you have had the fantasy of you and Miguel being a set of lovers one day, sharing your secret desires as you hold each other closely, but that would only be a fond daydream for you to hold in your heart. In reality you know that it could never happen. Continuing your search, hear a sudden groan along with a muffled muttering. Approaching the noise you turn the corner and your heart drops.

Miguel pressed to the wall with a girl on her toes kissing him passionately. Confusion fills you, then the feeling of your heart aching causes you to let out a gasp. Miguel pushes the girl away for air and you are quick to run. Your heart hurts from what you saw, you cannot bear to see Miguel's eyes after that, if you did you would shatter. 

In your dressing room, you're stirring with all kinds of emotions. Why was she kissing him, why was he kissing her? Are they lovers? Yes, Miguel is gorgeous and quite desirable, but you haven't heard anything about him pursuing anyone. Was this a secret affair?

The sudden thought of Miguel being with that woman makes your stomach twist. Her touching him…his lips sliding up her neck…his eyes, his intense eyes staring at her while she…while they…

The sickly feeling in your stomach blooms along with that aching feeling in you heart, you wince from the pain.

Sitting in front of your vanity you hang your head low, thrush is, you're jealous. You want to be that girl, who steals kisses with Miguel in the dark. The one that gets to feel the rush of excitement as his hands gather up the skirt of your dress to touch you. The ones who his eyes soften for as he coos his sultry praises and his saccharine promises. 

Taking a deep breath you try to ease the aching in your chest; you're not her, you're just the nameless fool pining for a man you can never have. Feeling like an idiot you kick yourself for getting your hopes up. Convincing yourself he was interested in you, how foolish. He is in the arms of another and you only have yourself to blame, you never told him your feelings. Not that it would change things.

Sulking in your dressing room you fail to realize the door silently opening as a tall figure slips in. Locking the door with a soft click, he losessens his tie as he approaches you. Fidgeting with your fingers feeling sorry for yourself, you get a strange twinge stir within you, like someone is watching you. 

Lifting your head you're suddenly met with only darkness as a silky fabric is binded around your eyes turning everything black. The squeak that leaves your lips is involuntary and embarrassing. All your previous emotions fall away as uncertainty fill your chest. Quickly a familiar warmth fans over your ear causing your skin to prickle.

“Did I scare you, my star?” Miguel's voice is in that familiar pur you have fantasized endlessly about. 

“Miguel, why did you blind me?” 

He releases a hum, like he’s carefully considering your question, in truth, he’s just trying to keep you in suspense. 

“Because, I am not worthy to be gazed upon by someone as radiant as you” Instantly you feel your body quake at the praise, but before you can allow yourself to get carried away with your emotions you reground yourself bite and let out a shaky sigh. 

“Please don't tease me, Miguel…” 

Noting your unease Miguel hesitates from touching you further.

“What's wrong? Did I upset you?” Feeling his hands move to the knot of the blind you quickly to stand, stopping him from removing it.

“Wait, I need to say something to you and I think I can only get it out if I can't see you. Miguel, I saw you…with that other woman, kissing you. I know you're not mine…but, I-I yearn for you. Miguel you mean a lot to me, I would trade anything to be with you…even just to have a chance to kiss you, even for one night. I know that my name means nothing compared to yours but…” 

Before you can finish your statement lips are silencing you, melting you into a perfect kiss. Hands, large and warm, come up to cup your face as he leads the kiss. Miguel then breaks away and you almost whine at the loss. Though the whine is only for a moment as you then feel his lips kissing up your neck. 

“Don’t talk down about yourself mi estrella, you're perfect.”  

Opening your mouth to respond, Miguel takes the opportunity to silence you with a kiss once more. His hands glide down your waist before finding place on your hips. Leaning in you press yourself on him, relishing in his strong figure and insatiable warmth.

You want more, you want to feel him closely, deeply, you need him. Rising onto your toes you wrap your hands around his neck sliding up till you're grasping onto his thick locks of soft hair. 

A low-grown vibrates through his chest, feeling you becoming so desperate for him drives him mad. Miguel reaches his hand up as the other presses your hips against his almost grinding you onto him. The other hand is now on your jaw as he slips his tongue between your lips to steal a taste of you. The taste of him numbs your mind of all thoughts, the only thing you feel is need.

Your sex aches as you feel your slick starting to run down your thighs. He’s making you wet and needy for him, and you’re loving ever second.

The kiss makes you light-headed and you have to surrender and push away to catch your breath. Your face feels a deep shade of crimson as you try and catch your breath. Miguel you know is watching you, even with your vision obscuring the feeling of his eyes piercing you are ever-present. 

“Do you even know how long I’ve been wanting to do that?” he pressed you closer to him, your hands finding a place on his thrumming chest as his confined cock grids against your thigh. Making you throw your head back where his lips lick and nip at your exposed neck.

“Do you know what you do to me? How crazy you drive me?” he ruts into your leg more “How much I need you…” 

“What about that woman I saw?” 

Miguel's arms wrap around you pulling you further into his warmth. You could get as addicted to this feeling, blind and needy, getting high from his lips, his touch, his scent, his voice. You want to give yourself to him in every way. 

“That woman means nothing to me. She kissed me suddenly after cornering me as I looked for you. You're the only one for me.” He puts his head in the crock of your neck kissing against your pulse. “You're all I want….

“Miguel, I want you…I need you, I don’t care if it's only for one night…please…take me.” 

Moving his head away from your neck, he slides his hands down your back where he pulls the strings of your dress loose, you to shiver in anticipation. 

“If you want me then you will have me. But it won’t be for one night only. Once I have you I will want you every night” 

Finishing with the laces of your dress it effortlessly slides down your body polling on the floor leaving you in only your corset and lace slip. 

“So, I would be your’s?” 

Miguel chuckles as he effortlessly lifts you causing you wrap yourself around him, holding on tightly. Walking a short distance you feel yourself being laid down on what you assume to be the chaise in the dressing room.

Goosebumps rush your skin as Miguel carefully traces his finger tips down your covered breast, over your covered body, to your thin skirt. Once he reaches it he starts to gather the soft lace slowly moving the slit that exposes your leg to expose your dripping sex. 

“You can’t own a star, you can only admire it and wish it will grace you with its radiance.” 

He kisses you once more as his hand finish exposing you. You're completely bare and wet, you feel Miguel move his head back to look at your quivering wet sex.

Embarrassed, you try to close your legs but Miguel stops you and gently pushes your knees apart. 

“Let me worship you, let me take care of you…” 

His words are sweet and make your yearning worse. You move your hand to brush against your sex that flutters with desire.

“Yes…” is all you can muster in the moment and you try to soothe your hazy affliction. 

“Let me watch you…touch yourself for me,” he whispers in a honeyed voice.

Shyly you nod as you spread your legs further, exposing yourself right in front of his hungry eyes. 

Swallowing you try to sooth your dry throat as your fingers tease through your folds before spreading them open for Miguel. Keeping your hand spreading yourself open, your other comes down to rub tight circles over your clit. Turning away your flushed face, you now move your hand to where your thumb rubs your swollen bud and your index prodes at your glistening slit. 

“That's a good girl, so beautiful…keep going for me” 

His words make your mind hazy and your face burns, you hear Miguel fiddling with his clothes letting out soft groans as he whispers filth underneath his breath. He’s touching himself, you can hear his hand rubbing against his heavy length. The sounds of his moaning hums only drive you to want to give him a proper show.

Tracing your slit you tease yourself more before you slip your index and middle finger through your tight walls. The stretch is one you're familiar with but you ache for it to be Miguel's fingers instead. You know that with his large hands he would reach impossibly deep within you. The thought stirs you on more pushing in further into your soft walls getting wetter at the sensation of you fucking yourself for him. 

Miguel's shaky breaths push you further to your peak as you chase that tightening coil within your stomach. Your body shakes with your fevered actions.

Then he sounds as if he’s getting closer to you, his steps echoing through the room. You're begging out mumbling his name in a constant rhythm as you push yourself further and further. Though it's not enough, you need his touch, to feel his burning skin on yours, it’s the only way you're going to reach your satisfaction. 

“Miguel~” you moan, trying to entice him to touch you as you buckle your hips helplessly forward. 

He hums, he's so close to you now, and then his hand suddenly comes down to crease your face. It takes everything in you not to cry out a moan.

“That's it, baby, just like that” Then as quickly as it was there it leaves again leaving you to whine and continue your pursuit to cum. 

Pop

The sudden popping of a champagne bottle causes you to jump, making you stop and turn your head towards the noise. 

The warm heat of his body is radiating next to you again, you reach your hands up blindly searching for him. He grabs your slick-covered hand and brings it to his lips, careful kisses are peppered on your open palm then his slick tongue licks against your delicate fingers. He moans as he tastes your sweet essence, getting drunk off of you. 

Finishing cleaning your fingers he places your hand on his chest. His skin is hot and you feel his heartbeat running rampant through his wide chest. Your body shakes as you slowly run your hands down his body your breath getting labored. 

“Aw, you're shaking. You were feeling good weren't you?” he leans in closer, moving your hand down his abdomen, where you feel his perfect muscles. You trace down every crevice. Your mind is running rampant. You have never touched a man's bare chest before and now your hands are here tracing over Miguel's god-like form. Biting your lip you greedly go lower feeling the v on his narrow hips. 

“I could make you feel even better…” he purrs.

Its then that your hand is met with not the hem of his pants like you thought you would feel, but instead a line of hair. Following the trail, you feel till the hair gets thicker and Miguel's breath gets more ragged. Gasping you know you should stop but you can’t help yourself. As you go lower Miguel drinks from the champagne bottle, relishing in your blind roaming. 

Passing over the trimmed coarse hair you feel his heavy member, thick and throbbing. It feels like it goes down forever as you trace over the vein that runs down the shaft. Miguel hums as you touch him. Soft eyes intently watching as your hand reaches the end. Grasping onto his tip you swipe your thumb over his slit where pearlescent pre cum dribbles out. His hips instinctively buckle forward at your curious touches. 

“Help me Miguel~” you hate your whining but the desperation to be touched by him. 

“Anything for you” 

Then in an instant, you feel his hands roughly on you as they rip your corset and lace slip from your body. Miguel settles himself between your shivering thighs as he quickly throws away the white lace and ruined corset. Your body being bare before him now makes you moan as his hand roams over your soft flesh.

His hand traces lower and lower to your quivering sex, you think you're on fire, brain completely melted into a lust-filled fog as he mumbles things under his breath you can’t understand. 

As you arch and mumble a plea, his large fingers are slipping through your puffy folds finding your swollen clit and rubbing it slowly before flicking it with his index and middle fingers causing you to throw your head back at the delicious pressure.

As he teases your aching sex with one hand his other hand is holding what you assume to be a champagne bottle, you listen as it swishes along with his movements. Then you hear the liquid bob and suddenly his index finger prodes at your entrance making you gasp at the slow stretch.

With your mouth hanging open you feel Miguel's nose on yours then his lips are grazing your lips. Then the sparking taste of champagne is being released from his mouth into yours. You relish in the taste of the champagne as it’s laced with him. 

He repeats the action a bit sloppily the second time, the liquid drips from the corners of your mouth down your neck. 

“More?” he questions and you smile with an instant nod. Satisfied with your approval, he inserts another finger stretching you out wider as he explores your gummy insides, scissoring and curling as he explores you. 

As your head spins a white-hot rush washes over you, sending you reeling in pleasure as your cunt clenches down on Miguel's expert fingers. You're brought back down from the feeling of chilled liquid being poured over your hot body. The liquid slides down your perked breast and then rushes down your squirming body. His tongue is then tracing over the liquid as he sucks and laps at your sensitive skin. 

Wet shlicking sounds of his fingers chasing your orgasm fills the room along with his hums followed by your moans. Your breathless moaning makes you sound like a whore, but it only drives Miguel's desire further as he ruts his aching cock against the cushions of the furniture. He's needy, rubbing his cock while his plush lips latch and suck on your champagne-laced nipples. Twiling and biting the nub between his teeth before moving to the other mound. 

Losing yourself you grind your hips down harder against his hand as he continues to drink the sparkling champagne from your skin.

Finished he tosses aside the bottle, as he slowly moves his tongue lower and lower, seeking every drop on your body till he reaches your hips leaving kisses against them. 

“Spread your legs for me, that’s it my star…wider.” 

As you spread for him his fingers reach that spot within you that has your toes curling, then his lips attach to your swollen clit as his tongue feast upon you. Increasing his rhythm, your panting as your second climax rushes over you making you cry out in blind pleasure. 

Miguel smiles against your cunt as you ride your high on him. Feeling you impossibly wet as your cum rushes out of you, he quickly pulls out his fingers replacing them with his needy tongue as it curls into your hole devouring everything you have to give him. He moves your legs to drape over his shoulders as he keeps eating you out, you're lost in riding your high on him again. His large hands press down on you keeping your squirming body in place as he lifts your lower body as his tongue ravages your insides. 

Hands go from your hips to squeeze your lifted ass as he massages your flesh in his large hands. Once he's done feasting on you he lowers you down. He grinds his strained cock between your folds and you're a muttering mess of want and hiccups.

It's all so much but you can’t help but want more. Then his hand comes over and pulls away your blindfold.

At first, the light is blinding then your vision focuses on Miguel's handsome flushed face, his mouth and chin are shiny from your slick. His eyes are half-lidded as he pants at you. Reaching up you push his loose strains away from his face and he smiles tenderly down at you. 

“I want you to keep those pretty eyes on me, can you do that for me?”  you hum a yes and he leans down and places a kiss on your lips before taking his heavy cock and tapping it on your wet cunt. 

The feeling makes you jump but you keep your eyes on him as he pumps his slick-covered cock as he lines it up to your clenching cunt, begging to be filled by him. Bringing his tip to your entrance he starts to push into your tight slit with a low hiss. The stretch from his girth is at first painful but it then morphs into a skin-tingling ecstasy. You have to fight to keep your eyes open as he pushes in his length inch by inch.

The intrusion makes you moan and dig your nails into his tough skin as he rolls and pushes into you. You're clenching down on him and he's quick to bring his hand to your clit to relax you. Once you're relaxed he pushes in harder till his hips are flushed with yours. 

“That's it mi estrella, it feels good being filled doesn't it?” he quickly moves his hips slightly in and out making you mew out a cry shutting your eyes and his tip rubs your cervix as his balls give a quick slap to your ass. 

Tapping your face you open your eyes back up to see him looking at you with lust-blown eyes. “So sensitive baby, don't worry baby, you're in good hands.” 

Keeping your eyes fixed on him he smiles down at you as he starts to pull out to the tip then slamming back into you filling you up suddenly making your whole body quake. You're clamping down hard on him as he fucks you, his balls slapping your ass every time he slams back into you. He could rip you open if he wanted to, this is him being gentle and you're already hiccuping and bouncing with every thrust of his cock. 

Miguel smiles as he watches your hazy eyes keep on him as your face contours into a silent scream. The pleasure is unlike anything you have felt and you're sure nobody else could ever give you a high like this. Your chest heaves as you try to keep your breath but it's ripped from you with every deep thrust slamming your cervix leaving hot rushes to quake through your body. 

“You are so perfect, so perfect for me.” His eyes are intense and lovesick as he chases his high, he knows you're close and he's making it his mission to have you cum on him again. 

“M-mig” you stutter as his thrust gets deeper and harder as he rolls his hips into you with the perfect pace. His breath beats over your face as he keeps going furrowing his brows and he feels you clamping and getting wetter. He places his hand on your stomach and slightly pushes down making you scream. 

“I know, I know, I got you. Cum on me baby…I'm here with you I got you.” he coos at you and the coil in your stomach is completely ripped apart and you feel your brain break as you whine and clamp down hard on him. He pushes on your stomach harder and your messily cumming on him. The pleasure is unlike anything you have ever felt from your fingers and he's still going. Feeling yourself starting to burn up and your brain fogging you can’t help the tears that flow down from your eyes from the intense rapture you feel in this moment. 

Gritting his teeth, his cock is ruined from your sweet release squirting all over him, and he loves it. Your pussy is overstimulated and gripping him hard as he pounds into you in a fever. Muttering how good you feel on him he throbs as your body starts to shake again. 

Throwing your head back you feel his hot cock burning your insides as it throbs, he quickly pulls his cock out and hot spurts of thick white ropes coat your stomach as a low moan of your name leaves his lips. 

Taking a deep breath you lay there covered in sweat completely spent. Miguel gathers his bearings as he gets up from the couch to find his discarded coat fetching his handkerchief. Getting on his knees he carefully cleans his mess from your tired body. A string of apologies slips his lips as he takes care of you.

Once you're clean he places kisses on your face “Are you okay? Was it too much for your first time?” 

Your glassy eyes shift lazily to him as you give a quiet, “I’m okay, it felt amazing.” 

Miguel smiles and places a kiss on your lips. “My poor star, tired from all of the night's performances. Let's get you home to rest, hm?” 

“Oh,” you say sadly as you watch Miguel dress; he looks over at you confused and concerned that you seem upset. 

“What?”

“Well, I- I was hoping to spend more time with you…I can’t bring boys into the ballet dorms where I stay.”

Miguel's eyes soften as he chuckles slightly, finished getting dressed he grabs your long robe from its hanger and brings it to you. He reaches out for your hand and gently dresses you. 

“You're coming home with me, I told you if you want me, it won't be for one night only. I'm going to take care of you as long as you will have me” 

Finishing tying your robe tightly he smiles gently down at you, “Now let's go home.”

#across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel spiderman #spider man 2099 #miguel smut #miguel ohara smut #spiderman #spiderman atsv #miguel o hara #miguel 2099 #miguel x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel fanfic #miguel ohara #miguel atsv #spiderman across the spiderverse #astv miguel #astv x reader #astv smut #astv #spiderman astv #atsv #into the spider verse

[teddybeartoji]

彡 THE WORST PARTNER IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD

☆. contains: satoru gojo x gn!reader; con-artists au, crack, satoru is a little shit what's new, he also calls you 'baby' how sweet of him, hm? wc: 1.2k

on the other side of the wall, music and laughter mix together almost perfectly. the people are having fun, they're drinking and chatting, joking about the latest super cars and 'boring' paintings. rich people.

a bead of sweat rolls from your temple.

the setting sun paints the room you're in a beautiful warm orange. the big windows invite the sunrays in with open arms; they hit the mahogany wood furniture and you're a bit jealous. a bit of dust falls from the ceiling and you have to focus on not sneezing.

"ugh, we make such a good team!"

...

satoru gojo.

"we– fuck, do not!" you grumble at him through gritted teeth. "you literally left me– to the cops last time, dipshit!"

"but you got away!" he chirps back rather gleefully and the desire to punch him is suffocating.

careful as to not raise your voice too much, you whisper-shout at him. "just barely!"

"well, don't sell yourself short, babe! you do know how to work a tight spot!"

...

it hurts. his stupidity hurts your brain. squeezing your eyes shut, you shake your head at his joke. "can you– be like a normal fucking person? never say that again."

your knees about to buckle from below you and you're also losing your balance alongside your patience. it's rather hard to hold a 6'3 man up on your shoulders.

who could've guessed?

more dust falls onto your nose as satoru works on unscrewing the vent in the ceiling. it's painted gold. because why wouldn't it be, right? rich people are insane.

"what do you mean?! you were in a 'tight spot' and you got out of it!" it's sickening how genuine he sounds. "get it? it's called a tight spo— "

"could you possibly– stop saying the word 'tight'?" you grip onto his polished shoe that's sitting on your right shoulder while the fingers of your other hand dig into his ankle. "and could you possibly do this any fucking faster?"

he has ruined your suit with his dirty shoes and he has ruined your mood with his stupid jokes. you hate him.

he simply laughs at your annoyed tone "almost there, baby, almost there."

you try to make him explode with your mind for calling you baby again, completely and blatantly ignoring the butterflies that now occupy your stomach. you're just a bit nervous about the job, that's all. they have nothing to do with him. nothing at all.

you hear him shuffling around, mumbling something to himself as he reaches over to the last one, but while he doing so – he ends up putting way too much pressure onto your right shoulder which in turn makes you take a wobbly step forward. satoru's hands grasp onto the wall beside him in an attempt to help you regain your balance.

"c'mon! steady now!"

"shut the– " with furrowed brows, you glance up at him. sensing your gaze, he looks down at you with the prettiest smile. no, wait. just a smile, just a smile. fuck, you really hate him. "fuck– up!"

he gives you a quick wink before continuing his work and you avert your gaze. you can already feel the bruises blooming under your suit and shirt, reminders of his touch for the continuing weeks.

"you're way heavier than you look, gojo."

the sound of his gasp, makes your eyes roll back into your head. "are you calling me fat?"'

"yes. are you done?"

he tsks at your sharp answer and pockets his mini screwdriver. "so rude. and yes, i'm ready." as he speaks he takes the cover from it's place and slides it inside the vent. "be strong now!"

refraining from barking back, you divert all of your focus onto your core muscles and thighs. satoru lodges his one leg onto one of the fancy tall cabinet and you the uneven weight almost ruins you both. holding onto the wall with your now free hand, you observe him climbing up into the vent. the leg on your shoulder shakes and wobbles, threatening to run off but satoru doesn't seem to mind. you're sure he's having fun. the shit.

he manages to get his hands inside the vent and he's now trying to jam his whole body through the hole. his foot finally rises from your shoulder and he almost hits you in the face with it as he swings it around, supposedly gaining momentum for a final push. you sigh and brush off the dirt and dust from your suit.

you look around the room as you wait for him to turn himself around in the small vent. the sun warms your skin and you take the moment to enjoy the band through the walls of the room. exquisite paintings hang all around you, hugged by dark wooden frames, they rest in the shadows. specks of dust land on your nose and you look up.

he's grinning.

oh no.

"satoru..."

your warning does nothing but excite him even further.

"oh? ...not gojo?" his smile stretches. "but you love tight spots! i'm sure you'll find another way in, babe."

you're going to kill him.

deeply breathing in through your nose, you give him the biggest and also the fakest smile in the word.

"satoru, baby..." you hate how smug he looks. you want to wipe that stupid fucking smile from his face.

"you know that i just love tight spots and that's exactly why... you should pull me the fuck up!" your whisper-shouting turns into a full bark and satoru giggles behind his hand "right. now! i don't wanna find another way when a way is literally in front of me!"

his eyes twinkle at you when he realizes you actually used his own joke against him. you're so fucking hot. and you're especially hot now that you're glaring at him with a puffed out chest. he's having the best time of his life.

"that was good. that was really good actually." he winks at you as he moves to grab the vent cover from behind him. he places it back over the hole with a painfully slow pace, surely just to make you suffer even some more. he's sick. he's still visible enough for you to see the infuriating smile on his lips as he plays with you. "you did take my keycard though."

right.

he's as bratty as they come, as pretty as they come. petty! petty...

and this is his little payback. you're going to burn his house down. preferably when he's still in it. he gets on your nerves like nothing else. his eyes fucking sparkle from between the metal bars of the vent cover and your fingers curl into tight fists on your sides.

"i hate you."

"you'll get over it, baby. i'll see you later, yeah?"

his pearly whites flash at you one last time and then he's already climbing over the cover, heading straight for the room where they keep the goodies. without you.

...

a dusty suit, sweat, aching shoulders and pure, unadulterated rage.

you need a new plan.

and a fucking drink.

#how he convinced u to do this i don't know #but then again he does have the best puppy-eyes known to mankind doesn't he... #anyway everybody say hello to con-artist!gojo #i have many ideas for him hehehehe #gojo #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo fluff #gojo drabble #gojo fanfic #gojo oneshot #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru drabble #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo satoru oneshot #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo fluff #satoru gojo drabble #satoru gojo fanfiction #jjk gojo satoru #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #con-artist!gojo

[sashiavi]

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𝚂𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝙰𝚟𝚒'𝚜 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 2023

#6•𝙿𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌•#6

𝙳𝚒𝚕𝚞𝚌 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ʷᵒʳᵈ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ ¹.⁴ᵏ

•· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·····.•🍑•.····· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·•

→ᴰᵃʳᵏ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ ᵂᵃʳⁿᶦⁿᵍ←

ᵀʰᶦˢ ᴾᶦᵉᶜᵉ ᴹᵃʸ ᵇᵉ ⱽᶦᵉʷᵉᵈ ᴬˢ ᴰᵘᵇᶜᵒⁿ ⁻ ᴿᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ᴰᶦˢᶜʳᵉᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᴵˢ ᴬᵈᵛᶦᶜᵉᵈ

Diluc was absolutely infatuated with his sweet, sweet Wifey, he was completely enamoured by the domesticality she brought into his busy life. Archons knows, sometimes he felt so utterly guilty, leaving his poor sweet darling at home all alone while he wanders out for the day - Diluc was a busy man, unfortunately, he had many commitments outside of his personal endeavours. He hadn't properly spent time with his sweet Wife for far too long and this date was well overdue. She graciously went out of her way to prepare the sweetest picnic for the two of them. Simple but delicious sandwiches and the richest chocolates in all of Mondt, splayed out beautifully on rich mahogany serving boards.

Diluc's mind fled astray, the effort his sweet Wifey poured into this moment, choosing a beautiful location just barely away from a bustling crowd of people. Under a pretty bridge surrounded by sweet smelling flowers, just enough privacy for the two of them to get lost with each other. His heart throbs at the simple yet love filled gestures she makes for him, refilling his glass and hand feeding him treats from her palm. He could feel his cock swell in his trousers, filthy thoughts plagued his cranium, with utmost desire for his darling sweet little wife.

Diluc couldn't remember exactly how he had managed to get his sweet Wifey laid under him, lipstick smeared messily over her lips, dress loosened and barely clinging to her form. Diluc bites against her soft, plump lips, devouring her pretty tongue with his own. Soft, hushed moans ripple from his darling's throat, right on his tongue, he swallows them up eagerly. His hands wander, easily caressing over the memorised curves of her pretty frame, squeezing at her perky tits, groping at her jiggly ass. He felt awful but Archons, was she insatiable, he couldn't keep his filthy hands off of her sweet little self. The amount he missed her day in and day out was undeniable, the pang of guilt he felt returning to a quiet home after a long, long day was too much. The sheer sight of her was enough to set him off, have his thick cock ache in his pants like some lovesick teenage boy.

"Diluc.. Not here, there's people-" His silly little Wife gasps into his mouth. Gods didn't he know it, perhaps he ought to put on a show, let the world know just how much he adored his perfect girl. He hikes her long skirt up, pooling it around her waist, showing off her racy laced panties, pretty and red, his favourite colour. Archon's his perfect Wifey thought of everything. He could just take her right now. Diluc growls, the sound grumbles from deep within his chest. He plants hot, wet kisses against her pretty thighs, nipping marks into her skin. He plants sparse kisses on her clothed clit while he attacks her soft inner thighs, revelling in the soft hiccuped mewls she makes with every wet press of his lips.

"..'Luc… someone's coming- can hear-.." His sweet wife pushes her hand through his bangs, attempting to push his lips from her skin. She was right, there were a set of footsteps trekking across the bridge they were situated under. Diluc bites hard into her inner thigh, cock swelling at the short squeal his silly wife barely manages to cover. He licks at the mark in mock apology, his tongue especially warm over the stinging mark. Diluc pulls himself up, nosing against his Wife's ear, breathing hot, sending shivers down her body. The footsteps above never seem to cease, when one crosses the bridge others follow. Muffled voices and the sound of boots scraping across the aged wood makes his cock ache. The light between the boards of the bridge flickers with the shadow of the people moving above. His hand trails down her body, his warm palm cupping his Wife's pretty pussy through her panties. She breathes out with just a little too much voice, sounding the softest moan into his neck.

"Shh.. shhh Darling… Don't want to get caught do you? 'Said it yourself, there's people." He chides her so sweetly, his voice low in her ear. Archons, think of the reaction - The elusive Master Diluc toying with a pretty girl under a bridge, barely known as his Wife to the general public.

Diluc slowly rubs at his silly Wife's pretty clit, his palm heated deliciously over the achey bud. Her breaths are shaky, trembling, trying her very best to stay quiet while Diluc teases at her pussy. A set of footsteps stop in the middle of the bridge, muffled voices muddle through the cracks of the boards. Diluc can feel his sweet girl's arousal pool into her panties, staining them a dark red with her creamy slick. He huffs a short chuckle, teasing a finger against her swollen bud before pulling his trousers down, just enough to free his drooling cock. He rubs his fat tip up and down the soft, pretty fabric of her underwear, pushing his head against her weeping hole through her panties. His silly Wife rolls her eyes back, gnawing at her bottom lip, her gaze locks on to the shadowed figures above them.

Diluc slips his fingers past the groin of her panties, pushing the fabric to the side revealing the pretty mess of her pussy beneath it. He breathes through his teeth, rubbing his cock head through her folds, catching her sweet creamy slick all over his cock. He prods at her achey hole with his tip, just dipping it in and out. Gods, the noises her pussy makes on his cock, slick and wet and loud.

"Thought you didn't 'wanna get caught.. pussy's beggin' for it" He whispers meanly, sinking the length of his thick cock slowly into her soft warm cunny. His silly Wife sighs out, biting into her finger to stifle any unwanted noises. Diluc tuts in mock sympathy, pouting his lips at her before making quick work of her gushy cunny. He thrusts his cock meanly, trying to get any sort of peep out of her. The muddled voices above become clear for a moment, a distinct sentence chimes through the boards.

"Do you hear something?" It says.

Diluc can feel his silly Wife's pussy clench on his cock, becoming wetter and hotter on his length. His cock glides easily within her walls, so fucking slippery and creamy. His Darling covers her mouth with her palm, silencing any chance for sound escaping her. Diluc couldn't have that, he takes her swollen clit between his fingers, pinching at her meanly. She squeals behind her hand, legs squeezing at his side, cunt pulsing on his cock. The voices continue;

"Must be a bird? Let's go, we have a reservation soon" The voice trickles away, footsteps clunk over the bridge before disappearing into the nearby dirt path. Diluc's silly wife breathes a sigh of relief, it's short lived however. Diluc's pace becomes brutal, hips clapping into his Darling's body, earning him the prettiest of cries. His hands hook under her thick thighs, squeezing at the soft flesh. He presses her squishy thighs into her tummy, mounting her creamy cunny with his thick cock. He fucks into his dumb little Wife from above, his heavy balls slap against her puffy pussy. Archons he needed this, missed her sweet stupid pussy on his cock. She cries under him, mewling soft moans between her teeth. He finds it in him to lean down, kissing so sickeningly sweetly at her puffy lips, dipping his tongue into her mouth.

Her mascara stains her cheeks, running down her face in pretty black lines, fucked stupid on his cock for anyone to see. Archon's he was done for, his hips speed up, pelvis slapping into her own, clapping so sweetly against her skin. His sweet wife hiccups, moaning soft little staccato notes into his shoulder. Her gushy cunt sucks him in, begs for the thick push of his cock, who was he to deny? She bumps her clit into his groin, crying out without a care, fucking him back so sweetly. His dumb little Wife is quick to cum, squirting messily over his cock, her slick creamy fluid leaking over the swell of his own balls as they clap into her pussy. Diluc doesn't last long, he pushes his fat cock deep into her creamy cunt, plugging her up with his length he shoots thick, creamy ropes into her messy pussy. He keeps his cock in her, all fucked dumb and plugged up so sweetly, his milky cum barely drips over his length.

Archons, he should take next week off.

Sweet men that aren't so sweet and are actually terrible people ♡♡♡

I just like it when diluc corrupts me

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Thank You For Reading! Comments Are Always Appreciated! ♡ I Love Hearing Y'alls Thoughts *Sob*

♡KinkTober Taglist♡

@heath-sama @yejiswifex @hunnibunnix @bleh09 @madsw9 @py-schi @wizzardcatwithastick @shiningpaint-marbleheart @cherrytomato2 @i-am-silver @your-tears-taste-sweeter @kqzutcra @themusingsofmany

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#ʚ•*°SashiAvi's Kinktober°*•ɞ #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #diluc x you #diluc x y/n #diluc x reader #diluc ragnivindr x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin x y/n #afab reader

[whorediaries-09]

afterglow;

pairing- felix catton x reader warning(s) - hurt/comfort. (let me know if i should add more.) a/n- accepting requests for characters from saltburn!

the slut club

'why'd I have to break what I love so much? it's on your face, don't walk away, I need to say

he wasn't stupid. he was rather someone who preferred not to study. he was smart, and caught on to what you were trying to teach pretty fast. you wondered why you'd been chosen to tutor him while he pretty much could've learnt all the things were explaining by himself. you felt inferior to him, to his large circle of friends and his charm. you didn't feel 'cool' enough to be his friend, and somewhere along your thoughts, you may have been intimidated solely by his presence.

'so, tomorrow at 6 pm, library, sound good?' he asked, walking backwards. you clutched your books closer to your chest, as you walked forward.

'yeah, but you'll topple and fall if you walk like that, careful felix,' you warned. he winked, joining you as he walked side by side. he put his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to his body. the deep rich scent of mahogany and cigarettes ghosted you.

you moved away from his touch. your clothes felt too sticky, books too heavy. the sun was scorching down upon you. your stomach felt too bulged. you were tired, horrendously so. it wasn't your day, it made you want to tear off your hair, rip off your skin.

'i was wondering if you'd want to go out sometime? me and you?' he asks, stopping you at your tracks. you take in a deep breath, your mind flashing different ways to dodge the situation. it's not that hard you think. slowly you gulp,

'felix, are you out of your mind? who gave you this stupid dare?'

he stares at you with an intense look in his eyes. and maybe you want to believe him, even if you rationally know he's pulling your leg. because everyone loved him. it was impossible not to love him. he was a perfect fantasy, someone who didn't seem to be real. he was a gateway to an escape from reality.

'i- i'm- i should go,' he says, turning on his heels. you watch him go, as the sunset paints it's hues on the sky. the dull hotness creeps into your heart, burning with an insatiable intensity that leaves you heaving. you feel terrible, as if you'd attacked him without reason, but you knew, you weren't wrong. it must have been a dare that farleigh had given him to complete.

*****

the knocks on your door grew aggressively louder. it wasn't a fragment of your dreams you realized, as you opened your eyes. the moonlight peeked through your curtains. you slipped you feet into your slippers, rubbing your eyes.

the college party invite hadn't reached you. it was too late to deal with drunk people shenanigans, but with the progressively loud knocks on the door, you doubted you'd be able to sleep. maybe it was the best option to chase the one who was causing the ruckus outside your door.

when you unlocked the door, a breathless felix towered over your body. he stared at you red, hollow eyed. he reeked of beer and cigarettes. he stumbled, closing the gap between you. pushing the door close with his feet, he breathed in your scent. he sighed, pulling you closer.

'j-just let me embrace you. you're so warm,' you wrapped your arms around his body, pulling yourself apart from his hold. you stared into his hazel like eyes, which were like sunlit branches or the moss covered oak. you tried to decipher his feelings, his true intentions.

'felix, can you please sit down for a moment?' you whispered. he nodded, sitting on your bedding. you sat down on your knees beside him. his palm travelled up to your cheek, stroking the skin. you smiled at him, holding his hand. you felt broken and hurt.

'do you really hate me that much?' he asked, tilting his head at an angle. he smiled, despite the tears that pooled on his waterline, waiting for you to answer.

'i-i don't hate you,'

'then why won't you go out with me?'

'because- well because you- you're you! and i- i'm me.'

'if it it's some sort of metaphorical bullshit then i don't get it. but what i do get it is that i really fucking like you. something about you feels so legit, so fucking real. like i want to know you, but you keep hiding from me, keep escaping me. you don't even talk to me except when you're scolding me...' you breathed heavy. he was legitimate with what he had meant. and he was hurt because of you. while you stood on the middle of the line of a desire to be solely his or a desire to be his companion, you were silent. you were living like an island, punishing him in silence.

'felix, we're different. don't you see? everyone around you loves you so much. you're so perfect. you're like a fantasy come into life. everyone puts on a show for you. just so you love them back. but i don't-i can't do that.'

'well that's why i like you so much! you don't put up a pretentious barrier like everyone else!' it was excruciating to see him so low. your heart throbbed against your ribcage as he grazed his temple against yours. he cradled your face in his palm. his breathing was tampered and irregular. but it felt like he was breathing just for you, just to you. when he whispered, it was like a secret. a secret just for you and him. a secret meant just to be kept, a secret to be held just between the two of you, a secret to be cherished between the two of you,

'i don't even think i like you. i think i might be in love with you,'

so maybe, he wasn't perfect. he had his insecurities, some things to hide. but he was ready, to be explored, to show his flaws. he wanted you, he wanted you with your flaws. he wanted you to be his reality, to escape the perfect prison he was in. he wanted you, to hold on to you, and not let you go.

so maybe it was all in your head. you were scared. but you didn't want to burn it down. you didn't mean to hurt him. you didn't want him to go, you didn't want to lose him. you wanted him, to escape reality of the imperfect prison you were in. you didn't want him to go. you wanted him, to hold on to him and not let him go. you didn't want to punish him in silence.

'only if the love is worth the fight,' you whispered back.

so when your lips found their path to his, you knew he'd meet you. even in the afterglow.

#felix catton x you #felix catton x reader #saltburn #saltburn imagine #saltburn one shot #saltburn drabble #saltburn drabbles #felix catton #farleigh start #oliver quick #felix x you #felix x reader #female reader #reader insert #jacob elordi

[02chois]

MISSED YOUR TOUCH

pairing: ex-boyfriend! soobin x fem! reader

summary: bumping into your ex was the last thing you had expected today. but you never would have thought that encounter will bring you back together stronger than ever.

word count: 3.2k words

content warnings: porn with (little) plot, profanity, big dick soobin, light size kink, soft dom! soobin, sub! reader, usage of pet names like sweetheart and princess, inaccurate way of knitting (I tried making it realistic ok)

author's note: my entry into the smut section of moaland in this site. I tried my best I hope you like it <3

Snow.

Snow danced in the light, a choreographed ballet conducted by the gentle wind. As you watched your eyes grew a tiny bit wider, as open as when you were but a child who saw snow for the first time.

You shoved your mittened hands into the pockets of your coat and continued walking, bright eyes wandered around the street. You watched as snow slowly fell upon the park bench as if it were a feather cushion, soft and warm. It covers the rich, deep wood in perfect white.

The market turned out to be filled with people shopping for gifts and trinkets to decorate their homes with. You hadn't expected it to be this crowded early in the morning—well, early in the afternoon. You made a beeline to the store between familiar fruit stands. The crunching of snow underneath your feet filled your ears as you walked, hurriedly opening the mahogany door and soon greeted by a wind chime hanging on top as you stepped inside.

Your shoulders relaxed, the warmth enveloping your trembling body. It was such a relief that the quaint shop has a fireplace near the registrar and it was enough to warm up the entire place.

You brushed the excess snow caught on your coat right before you made your way to one of the aisles. You searched the label for the basket with yarn written across it, then your gaze darted from one to the next. But to no avail you couldn't find it no matter how much you looked around.

You went to another aisle and at that moment you froze. Your eyes landed upon a familiar blond haired man, his tall frame towering over a small basket filled with colorful yarn.

"Soobin…?"

You were about to turn on your heel when the wooden floorboard squeaked beneath your feet, you looked up only to be met by those eyes of his. His lips slightly ajar from shock.

You locked eyes for a moment and stood there in silence. The faint sound of the crackling fire from the fireplace filled the room.

Soobin's gaze lingered on your face as if he were trying to memorize every single detail. You could feel the heat rising up to your cheeks right under his scrutiny. Why does he have to stare so intensely?

"Um… do you—do you need any help?" You spoke up, your voice soft and could be mistaken as a whisper. "What are you looking for?"

You were sure that your stutter had vanished long ago, yet you found yourself stuttering in front of your ex-boyfriend. He changed. A lot actually. You share the same friend group and because of that you often see each other whenever they gather in one place after your break up, but oftentimes, you'd only greet each other with a polite bow, or on rare occasions give each other a polite smile. Aside from those greetings they've barely spoken to each other as the two of you try and avoid the awkward situations between exes.

He gave you a small smile then turned his head to the basket, his right hand holding a small ball of yarn. "I can't find a specific yarn."

You stepped forward and kneeled on the wooden floor right in front of the basket. You looked up and gestured to him, he responded by lowering himself alongside you. He was so close he could smell the scent of your hair products. Peaches. He used to really love this scent.

"The one you have seemed to be used already." You held up a larger red ball of yarn like an offering. "This will be better to use rather than what you have right now. It will allow you to create longer scarves or…"

You cleared your throat and Soobin watched as you handed him the yarn. You caught his eyes and averted your gaze. "I'm sorry. I'm talking too much."

Soobin placed the smaller yarn with the others and shook his head. "Don't be! I'd like to learn more."

He was being a little too polite. You're not used to the way he spoke so formally towards you, mostly compared to those times when he teased you. You couldn't help but smile at the thought. You missed him a lot.

From your kneeling position, you gently rose to your feet and turned to face the other shelf that had knitting needles. They vary in sizes, types of wood, and some are separated to a different group of knitting pins. Personally, you prefer the wooden pins.

"You'll need a pair of knitting pins for you to start. What size would you like to have?" You turned to him with a pair in hand, showing him the same pins you had at home.

"What do you recommend?"

His question was short and sweet. You purse your lips into a pout, your eyes trailed down to the pair of pins you had in hand. If you don't know what he's planning to knit, you wouldn't know what size would be a good fit for him.

"Ah, Soobin, what will you be knitting? The size of the needles affects the length of the stitches and thus your finished product. It's important to think hard about the needles you'll be getting."

Soobin remained silent for a short while before turning his gaze away to think. You watched him with great curiosity. What will my beloved make? You wondered. Wait… beloved?

"A scarf sounds like it would be the easiest." He said, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time to observe how you react. He determined that his suggestion was a suitable garment to make when he noticed how your eyes softened.

Before turning your attention back to the shelf in front, you nodded and gave him a small smile. "Scarves are the perfect first knitting projects for a beginner. They're easy to make and do not require any difficult stitching techniques."

"I'm still a beginner. What do you suggest we do?" Soobin finally asked, implying something from his choice of words.

You mulled over his words. "Well… I can offer you my assistance in knitting. It's difficult to start without any guidance."

"That'll be lovely."

You smiled and followed him to the counter.

You opened the door and stood aside to let him in, the kitchen welcomed him immediately as soon as he stepped inside. A small potted plant sat on the island countertop along with several herbs and spices, some condiments stored with them, and a bowl of fresh fruit at the side. Other plants were tucked in different places. On your hanging pot holder, you hung only about two utensils, the rest were ropes of garlic and bean sprouts in small plastic bags. Your refrigerator contained three small magnets; a sunflower, basket, and rice cakes. Soobin felt at home and he was glad to be back.

He stood there while you closed the door, then removed your winter boots and set them aside in the shoe rack. As you led him inside a large window that sat across the small living room greeted him, and there a single sunflower faced the sun. A small round table was right next to the window accompanied by cushioned chairs that sat across from each other. The scattered knitting supplies on the table drew his attention, there an unfinished red scarf laid there. The stitches were clean, professional, and clearly the work of skilled hands.

He slid beneath the thick cover of the table, exhaling a sigh of relief as the heater stopped the chill from trying to run up his spine.

"I'll prepare some warm drinks."

"Thank you." Soobin murmured.

Your lips quirked at his words. You went to one of the cupboards to pull out a jar of hot chocolate powder, it was half empty. You took a mental note to restock soon. You fill the mugs with hot water and the powder before setting it in front of Soobin and your other end of the table. You placed your unfinished scarf and the knitting materials on top of the table and motioned for Soobin to do the same.

Soobin watched you. He fixed his gaze on your hands, trying to mimic the way she handled the knitting needles. His left hand was tense as he moved, his brows furrowed, and his lips formed a deep frown. His fingers carefully applied enough pressure to the needles to allow him to hold it with ease. Curious to see how you would react, he looked up from his hands.

You were watching his every move. You gave him a small nod in approval as you felt his gaze on you.

"Good. That's a nice start."

He smiled at your words and, using the only knitting procedure he was familiar with, tied a knot with the yarn around the end of his needle.

You followed suit by enclosing your fingers around the yarn and wrapping it around your thumb. You looked at his work to decide whether or not to continue, slipped the tip of the needle into the loop you had created, and drew the yarn back to firmly fasten it. Although his left hand had some difficulty with the delicate yet complex movements, he was a fast learner. He's stubborn enough to overlook his left hand acting up, which is a relief to you. Though had you ever questioned him about his decision to take up knitting?

"Repeat these steps until the scarf is your desired width, and then we'll start casting on so you can start adding length to it."

You turned your attention to his face; his pretty lips formed into a pout and his brows were furrowed. He looked so adorable. Soobin continued, his eyes serious and focused, his fingers moving slowly but meticulously.

No one ventured to strike up a conversation as the room was filled with the subtle humming of the heater and the sound of fabric shuffling as their arms moved. You didn't feel the need to initiate any conversations with him, which is something Soobin appreciated because he preferred to keep to himself over awkward exchanges.

You put the example aside to continue knitting the red scarf you had put away for so long. Lately, you hadn't felt like continuing the scarf. While you neglected the scarf, the same thought plagued her mind, but Yeonjun's advice this morning gave you a little motivation to carry on. You just so happened to meet Soobin at the store, but it was only now that you realized you had forgotten to purchase a second ball of yarn because of your sudden encounter with your ex-boyfriend. You'll try to visit again tomorrow.

Your mind began to drift. You have doubts that he'd return your feelings. The last time Soobin spoke to you was a year ago and the fact that he was back definitely surprised you. If you knew what he would say, why did you make this scarf in the first place? It was only a bridge you will use to start a conversation and hope that Soobin will entertain the idea of getting back together. But the chances of him wanting to be with her again is low.

He might see you as a friend now, yet you still hold onto that small hope that he might see you the way he used to a year ago. Your break up was abrupt, after all.

Why does love have to be so difficult?

You sighed and tightened your grip around the needles. Soobin across from you briefly took a glance at you, pausing what he was doing.

Soobin took the initiative to push your mug after noticing that you were preoccupied with your thoughts. He brought the needles down, the sound of wood hitting wood shook you out of your reverie. You lowered your gaze, your gaze followed the movement of his hand. He carefully pushed the mug in front of her again.

"You should drink."

Soobin appeared to have finished the first section of his work, the width wasn't too wide nor too small. It was the perfect amount of thickness for a scarf. He was waiting for your next instructions.

"Thank you," you murmured.

"I missed you," Soobin suddenly spoke up. "I missed you so much that I still keep our photos even after we parted. I can't forget you and I don't allow myself to do so."

You lowered the mug that you were about to drink into, and so you slowly put it down on the table. You're careful as the drink was still hot and you don't want to get everything onto the blanket. The confusion was visible across your face as you were not sure how to react to his words. It was the thing you were getting worried about a while ago.

"I'm so glad that we ran into that store earlier. I knew that you like knitting and I hoped that I could see you again if I came there, and I did see you. I want us to talk about our relationship and just… just ask if you want us to be—"

"—In a relationship again?" You cut him off.

And this time Soobin remained quiet. He gave you a small nod, and there you saw a glint of hope in his eyes.

"I missed you too."

You're not sure how you ended up on his lap. The conversation was quickly thrown out of the window and you were immediately on him as soon as the both of you had given permission to touch each other. He had his hands all over your body, his voice low as he repeatedly whispered missed you so, so much with his lips latched onto your hot skin.

Soobin pulled away from your neck to look at you, his lips curled into a smile as he let out a breathless laugh. "A year. It's been a year and I want you so bad."

"Can I kiss you?" Soobin asked and you gave him a low yes with the voice you have left. That was all he needed before he leaned forward to kiss you.

He wanted to devour you. A moan threatened to leave his lips at the feeling of those plush lips of yours, trying to press himself more against you that left you whimpering. He wants to feel you more against him, to feel your skin on his and your hands on his body. His free hand gripped your thighs, his nails digging into your jeans clad thighs in desperation. He was trying to get a taste of you as much as he could, enough to make up for the year you've been separated. He could feel your thighs shaking underneath his palms.

When the two of you broke away from the kiss, a string of spit was connecting your lips. You quickly made a quick work of your pants and unzipped them, the soft shade of your panties greeting him. He helped you with your pants as you stood in front of him and pulled them away from you, tossing your pants somewhere around the room. You didn't have the patience to move to your bedroom and the curtains were not opened that wide anyway. No one will see.

He unzipped his own pants and pulled them down to his mid thighs and quickly you sat on his lap and straddled him with your legs on either side of his hips. You had your hands on his shoulders for support and pressed yourself further to his growing bulge. A sight left your lips from the contact, but then his hands got a hold of your hips and began to move you against him, earning a surprised moan from you. He was breathing heavily and he needed more than this right now. But he wants to satisfy you, and so he entertains what you want.

His gaze was focused on the way your hips moved, his bottom lip between his teeth. He moved his hips upwards, amused when you moaned from the friction against your clit. He could feel the wet patch from your panties on his underwear. You're so wet and you haven't even noticed the mess you've made.

He timed his pace with yours, feeling a bit generous for you tonight. "Did you miss me that much, hm?" You leaned down and hid your face in the crook of his neck, shying away from his question. "You're so cute. I miss the way you look whenever you're so desperate for me, and I love the way you make me feel so wanted. Fuck, I love you so much."

He turned his head, his lips close to your ears. "What do you want me to do to you?" His voice was hushed, breathy and lower than usual, and it sent a pleasurable tingle throughout your body. It's been a year since you've taken him, the mere thought of having him inside you had you clenching around nothing. God, he's so big and you're not even sure if he could still fit inside you. And yet you still want to feel his cum inside you, to feel it slide between your thighs, you want him to fuck you and ruin you 'till sundown.

His arms were now around your waist, roughly grinding his hips against yours to get a reaction out of you."I asked you a question, sweetheart." He knew that you loved his lower register so much and he had to take advantage of that weakness.

"Fuck me. Please Soobin." You whined, shifting your hips and felt him thrust his hips against you. The outline of his cock sent you into overdrive, desperate to put it inside you, you brought your hand between your bodies and under his boxers' waistband. He cursed as he felt your cold fingertips wrap around the tip of his cock, slowly spreading the bead of pre-cum around his tip. "Need you so, so much." You coo, muffling your voice on his hoodie.

Soobin pressed his lips on your neck, pulling your hips upwards to move your panties aside. His other hand pushing his boxers down to his thighs, pumping his cock before pushing you down against him. You sink down on him all the way, he was impossibly deep in this position, stuffed full and slick from your juices. You didn't expect yourself to take him in that easily despite his size. Your pizza was that eager to have him again, but the sting was still there as you stayed still to breathe.

"Shit… you're so tight for me." He groaned, barely hanging on. You wrapped your arms around his neck, clenching around his length as your legs failed you. A shaky breath escaped your lips when he began to grind his hips against yours, taking you to another level of deep, releasing a choked moan from your throat.

You tried to move, your ass bouncing on his thighs as you brought yourself up and pushed yourself down until he was buried deeply inside. "I want you to fuck me until you can't anymore, want you to cum in me. Please."

Soobin let out a breathy laugh, his chest heaving from breathing heavily. You felt heavenly around him.

"Anything for you, princess."

#soobin smut #soobin x reader #soobin scenarios #soobin imagines #choi soobin smut #choi soobin x reader #txt x reader #txt smut #txt scenarios #txt imagines

[fantasyescapes17]

Closed Doors (Part 3, Final)

Soonyoung had made peace with his station in life. A younger son of a little-known family, he was not set to inherit a fortune and had nothing to recommend him but his bright personality. Nobody expected Soonyoung to make the match of the season. But when you- a woman with ties to the royal family and riches beyond his imagination, a Duchess in your own right- seeks Soonyoung's hand in marriage, his life begins to spiral entirely out of his control.

Genre: Hoshi x female!reader. Regency!AU. Your title is the Duchess of Graham but your first name is not mentioned.

Warnings: Not even remotely historically accurate. Much like Bridgerton, this is all about the aesthetic.

Word Count: 8.1k+

Part 1 Part 2

Series Masterlist [This is not the first installment in this series- it is strongly recommended to visit the Masterlist and read the installments in order as they are all interlinked and the timeline can be confusing.]

You awoke with the morning sun shining brightly in your eyes. 

One of the maids had opened the curtains and cracked the window. There was a gentle breeze and you could hear birds chirping; the sounds and fresh smells of the countryside estate were much more pleasing than the smoke and noise of London. 

You relaxed instinctively, knowing that you were home. It was warm under the covers and you sleepily sat up in bed and blinked at the maid. 

“What time is it?” you asked her. 

“It’s a quarter to eight, Your Grace. I thought perhaps you might want to sleep in, but since the Duke was already awake…” she trailed off with a giggle. 

The drowsiness cleared and you suddenly remembered where you were. Not in your usual bedchambers, but in the bedchambers of your newly wedded husband, now the Duke of Graham. Your face grew hot as you remembered the events of the previous night. Soonyoung had surprised you many times since your first meeting, but the events of the previous night had perhaps been the most pleasurable surprise of all. 

“Do you require anything, Your Grace?” the maid asked you, concerned. “If you are in any pain…” 

You wrapped the bedsheets around you tightly and tried not to show your embarrassment. 

“No- I… just help me dress, please. Where is the Duke?” 

“In the master study downstairs, Your Grace. He has been there all morning.” 

“All morning?” 

“Yes, Your Grace. He was awake long before most of the servants had arisen.” 

You were confused but kept your questions to yourself. You allowed the maid to help you dress and then went downstairs to the master study. This had been your late father’s favourite haunt, and although it was not as large as the grand library upstairs, it was still a luxurious room where your father had conducted most of his business meetings and matters of the estate. 

The study door was slightly ajar. You could hear familiar male voices: Soonyoung, Mr. Johnson the estate manager, and one of his assistant bookkeepers.

“There are separate ledgers for the household and for the estate?” Soonyoung was saying in a slightly confused voice. “If I wanted to see a consolidated view of the overall finances-” 

Mr. Johnson spoke up. “We reconcile everything on a quarterly basis, Your Grace. Those records are kept here. I would recommend viewing them separately, however, as the household ledgers only track expenses and outgoings and we report them here as a percentage of the gross income.” 

Soonyoung sighed. There was a hint of frustration in his voice. “But that gross income is before you’ve provided for taxes?” 

“Which taxes, Your Grace? The ones payable to the duchy or the ones payable to the Crown?” the bookkeeper asked patiently. 

“Those are separate taxes?” 

You knocked gently on the study door and pushed it open. Soonyoung was sitting behind the large mahogany desk, while various ledgers and volumes were open on the table before him. He was startled when he looked up and saw you. His ears promptly turned red and he jumped to his feet. 

“Your Grace!” 

The bookkeeper and Mr. Johnson also rose to greet you. 

“Good morning, gentlemen,” you greeted them with a small smile. “Isn’t it rather early to be going through these tedious ledgers?” 

Soonyoung rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “My apologies, Your Grace. I-I asked for Mr. Johnson to come. I wanted his help to better understand the matters of the estate.” 

It was certainly unusual behaviour, but as with everything Soonyoung did, you could see his innocence and good intentions shining through. His eyes were bloodshot. If the maid was to be believed, Soonyoung had been here grappling with the ledgers since half past five in the morning. The new Duke of Graham evidently did not shy away from hard work. You felt a sudden rush of affection for this man, your husband, and his dedication to his new role. 

“Perhaps we might adjourn for breakfast?” you suggested lightly. 

Soonyoung nodded and hastily closed the ledgers before coming over to you. “Yes, yes, of course.” 

“Shall we eat in the gardens?” you asked Soonyoung, who gave you a sudden handsome smile that made your heart skip a beat. You bit your lip and turned to the other gentlemen. “Thank you for coming on the Duke’s request, Mr. Johnson. I will ask the staff to arrange breakfast for you and your assistant in the parlour.” 

Mr. Johnson nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Your Grace.” 

Soonyoung offered you his arm and you took it before leaning closer to him. It was a strange and thrilling feeling to be so near him. While there was little reason to feel shy after the events of last night, you still enjoyed the subtle contact of your hand resting on his elbow. It was an innocent gesture, but now that Soonyoung was your husband, it felt far more meaningful. 

The sight of his soft smile left a strange but pleasant feeling in your stomach. 

The servants had set out your breakfast in the garden and Soonyoung blinked, squinting in the bright morning sunlight as you both stepped outdoors. The gardens were large and beautifully maintained with flower beds, water fountains,  and artfully shaped hedges.

“This estate is even more beautiful by day,” Soonyoung  said honestly. 

You bit your lip. “Something you might have discovered sooner if you had not shut yourself in the study on your very first morning here,” you replied. 

Soonyoung looked apologetic until he noticed the soft smile on your face. You did not appear angry, so he relaxed. 

"I apologise if I worried you, Your Grace."

“I was only surprised. Was going through the estate ledgers so much more exciting than having breakfast with your wife?” 

Soonyoung flushed. "No, I only…"

You smiled at him gently. "Yes?"

"As a second son I never took an interest in matters of the estate or business in my own family. Now I find myself the Duke of a duchy with a history and genealogy that goes back hundreds of years…" Soonyoung paused and bit his lip as he looked down at his teacup with a heavy sigh. "I only hope I can be what the title requires me to be."

You felt a sudden burst of affection for the man and you reached across the table to place your hand on top of his. 

"Soonyoung."

"Yes?"

"I want you to know that you are not alone. I am genuinely grateful for the effort you are putting in," you told him honestly. 

Soonyoung smiled in relief. "Thank you, Your Grace."

"Shall we eat?"

It was a pleasant breakfast in the fresh morning air. Soonyoung seemed in awe of everything; from the breakfast spread to the perfectly maintained flower beds. Soonyoung polished off his meal enthusiastically while telling you about the childhood he spent in the countryside. 

"I'm sure our estate wasn't even a quarter of this size," he admitted. "I don't remember much about it. I was sent off to boarding school and then the Royal Naval Academy fairly young, and I spent my summer breaks in London."

You blinked at him. "But the Viscount said he first met you in Oxford?"

He coughed, looking rather embarrassed. "Yes- I attended Oxford for about a year. It was fun; I made friends but I was bottom of the class and it was quite evident by the end of the first year that I was not about to become a barrister or a doctor. I thought I had best cut my losses, and transfer to the Royal Naval Academy."

"Were you drawn to the navy by a sense of adventure?" you asked with a smile. 

Soonyoung chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "A boyish sense of adventure? I suppose so. I was certainly more motivated by the thought of defeating enemy warships than being called to the bar. I wanted to do something exciting, so I will not pretend that I was pleased to learn sailors are more likely to die from scurvy or drowning than at the edge of an enemy combatant's sword."

"Is there much sword-fighting in the Navy?"

He grinned at you sheepishly. "There was plenty in my fantasies."

You could not help but smile back at him. "It seems I must apologise, then, for depriving the Crown of a potentially heroic naval captain to defend our stormy seas."

"Considering the number of times I had to retake the lesson on using a sextant to navigate at sea, I am sure the Crown is quite grateful to you for keeping me on solid land, Your Grace," Soonyoung replied humbly. 

"Oh- I have always wanted to learn how to use a sextant," you said brightly. "It's a funny little contraption, is it not?"

Soonyoung chuckled as he sipped his tea. "Fiddly little things and awful to use. I was horrified when I went to the academy and learned that ships did not just sail blindly into the vast unknown, and marine navigation involved an overwhelming amount of mathematics and nautical charting," he admitted. 

"You expected more sword fighting?"

"I expected less calculating."

"Well," you said with a smile as you sipped your tea, "I am sorry that you are forced to do some calculating here. I noticed that you were going through the ledgers this morning. What prompted you to rise at daybreak on your first day and undertake that particularly painful task?"

Soonyoung blushed. "You will laugh if I tell you."

"Only if you say something funny."

“I- I woke at dawn and I could not sleep,” he admitted. His ears were slightly red. “I went out for a drink of water, but I wandered down the wrong hallway and found myself in what I now understand to be the ancestral gallery? It was a long hallway filled with portraits of your ancestors who all stared down at me disapprovingly from the walls. It struck me that I was responsible for continuing their legacy, and I did not relish the idea of having to face them if I hadn’t done everything in my power to uphold the glory of their duchy. I became quite anxious, so once I had escaped the gallery, I asked to meet the estate manager immediately.” 

The corner of your lips twitched noticeably. 

Soonyoung pouted at you. “You promised that you would not laugh, Your Grace!” 

“I promised no such thing,” you replied, but you could not help but let out a giggle at the thought of the poor Duke wandering around the manor at dawn. “But I will not laugh at you. I will only make one observation.” 

“That is?” 

“Many of these ancestors you saw in the portrait gallery were drunkards, gamblers, and adulterers. I assure you that there is nothing particularly grand or glorious about most of them. They were simply rich men. I do not think you shall find it incredibly difficult to outshine them, Your Grace,” you told him. “Honestly- the only prerequisite to be added to that gallery is to stay alive long enough to produce an heir that will put up your portrait once you are gone.” 

Soonyoung almost choked on his tea. “Yes- an heir, of course.” 

You bit your lip and avoided his gaze. “There is… no particular urgency on that front.” 

“Right.” 

“Shall we take a tour of the manor, then, to prevent Your Grace from losing your way and encountering more anxiety-inducing portraits?” 

Soonyoung smiled. “Yes, let’s.” 

Over the course of your first day as Soonyoung's wife, you were surprised by how pleasurable you found his company. Soonyoung was not suave or charming in the style of men like Viscount Hong, nor did he possess the bold confidence or pride that were often considered desirable among the male sex. 

No. Soonyoung was different. He was kind, he was honest, and he was humble. You had never met a man quite like him. You had never met a man that you wanted, more than anything in the world, to love and trust with all your heart. 

It was a long day but time spent with Soonyoung went by in a flash. You showed him around the manor, the gardens and the creek and told him about your family and childhood and the estate. Soonyoung listened to you intently. He hung onto your every word and although you had always been a quiet and reserved person, you found yourself speaking more than you usually did, opening up to him, and even laughing. 

Your maid, Rosie, noticed the lingering smile on your face as she helped you dress for bed later that night. 

"If I may say something, Your Grace…" Rosie began shyly as she combed through your hair. 

You blinked up at her in the mirror. "Yes?"

"We were all quite worried, Your Grace, when we heard that you had married in London so suddenly- and to a man with no fortune,  even Mr Johnson thought perhaps Your Grace was being taken advantage of…"

You looked up at her defensively. "I may be a woman but I am not an idiot, Rosie."

Rosie flushed. "Of course not, Your Grace! I see that now… I think we all understand why you married the Duke."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Well… pardon me, Your Grace, but you haven't been yourself since the late Duke passed. You've become so quiet and withdrawn and we were rather worried. But since yesterday… well, old Mrs. Minnie in the gardens was saying that she couldn't remember the last time she saw you smiling so brightly."

You pursued your lips in embarrassment. Was it so obvious, even to the servants? You had always been careful not to reveal your true feelings too much, to mask your emotions behind a practised smile. But if even the servants could see that Soonyoung had such an effect on you…

The thought was strangely both comforting and scary. 

There was a knock on your door. One of the servants opened the door and poked her head in. She seemed to be stifling a smile. 

"Your Grace? The Duke is here for you. We found him wandering the upstairs hallways."

"Of course, please let him in. Are you done, Rosie?"

Rosie released your hair with a smile. "Of course, Your Grace. Good night."

The servants left while hiding their giggles, and Soonyoung entered your room with flushed cheeks. He was holding a bottle of wine- the same bottle, you realised, that you had brought to his room the previous night and left unfinished. He glanced awkwardly at the door that the servants exited from. 

"That is the second time one of the servants caught me lost in the manor," he said, embarrassed. "I think they are all laughing at me. I had forgotten where your bedchambers were."

You smiled at him. "Shall I draw you a map?"

"I would probably lose the map as well," Soonyoung joked. He stepped closer to you and revealed the bottle in his hand. "Can I tempt you with a glass of wine before bed? We never finished this one last night."

You nodded. "Of course."

It was a strange sort of intimacy; comfortable and yet still exciting, to crawl under the covers with Soonyoung as he poured you a glass of wine. He lit a cigar with your permission. You ordinarily disliked the smell of tobacco, but oddly, you did not mind anything much when you were with Soonyoung. 

Sipping the wine, you patiently answered his questions about the estate and the dukedom. You had been handling most of the important matters yourself for many months now; particularly since your father's illness had him bedridden. 

"It must have been very difficult," Soonyoung said gently, "taking care of the estate while you were worried about your father's health."

You looked down at his fingers entwined with yours and sighed. His touch was warm and comforting. 

"It was not easy," you confessed. "I lost my mother very young and my father was all I had. I was never a very social person. Without a mother or a sister to chaperone me I… I never even spent much time in society or at balls."

Soonyoung was quiet, but you could tell that he was listening. 

"I had always felt alone, but it wasn't until my father passed that I realised how alone I really was," you continued. "He had wanted me to marry before he died but his health became worse suddenly…"

 Soonyoung squeezed your hand. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered. 

You bit your lip. You had never spoken to anyone about this before and it felt almost cathartic to confess it all to Soonyoung. 

"The day after my father died, all the vultures descended."

"Vultures?" Soonyoung asked, confused. 

"One of my father's oldest friends- a nobleman more than twice my age- proposed marriage to me before my father had even been properly buried. When I refused him, he was furious. Another came to the funeral and told me that as a lady I couldn't possibly manage the duchy and that if I signed it over to him, he would take care of it for me and give me an allowance."

Soonyoung stared at you in disbelief. 

"Monsters," he mumbled. 

Your lower lip trembled. "There were more offers… some cruder than others. I began to realise that as long as I remained unmarried, I would continue to have a painted target on my forehead. But I had nobody to trust. That was when I finally reached out to Viscount Hong."

Soonyoung blinked. "But he is happily married."

You nodded. "That made it easier to trust him. I knew the Viscount from my youth, of course, but plenty of people that I knew from my youth had since revealed themselves to be untrustworthy. Viscount Hong was the only person who did not want anything from me and genuinely treated me as a friend. That is why I could confide in him. I sought his help to find a husband."

Soonyoung finished his glass of wine and then turned to look at you- his gaze was a little unfocused and you realised that he had drunk too much of the wine. The bottle lay empty on the bedside table. 

"Wouldn't you rather have married him instead?"

Your eyes widened. "Soonyoung!"

His lower lip stuck out, almost in a pout as he leaned his head against one of the pillows lazily. His tone was contemplative. "It's hardly outrageous. Viscount Hong is rich, handsome, very charming…"

"And as you pointed out yourself, quite happily married," you protested. 

"But you must have considered it?"

You blinked down at your husband. He did not seem angry; his eyelids seemed heavy but he forced them open to look up at you. It was genuine curiosity in his eyes and you felt obligated to answer him with honesty. 

You sighed. "I will admit that I considered Viscount Hong quite handsome when we were younger- although I dare you to find a young lady in the ton, married or single, who did not feel the same way about him at some point. He is quite attractive but no, I do not think I ever seriously considered marrying him."

"Why not?"

"I am not sure we would have suited each other."

"But you thought I suited you?"

You looked down at Soonyoung. His cheek was pressed against the pillow and his face was flushed. It had been a long day; he was clearly struggling to stay awake and his voice was beginning to sound slurred. 

"I did," you replied quietly. 

"Why-why did you marry me?" he mumbled. 

You took a deep breath. Frankly, you were surprised that Soonyoung had not asked you this question much, much sooner. It had quite clearly been on his mind. Stranger yet was that you dreaded being asked this question- it forced you to confront feelings that you were not sure you were ready to face. 

"I-"

There was a soft snore from the pillow. You looked down in surprise- Soonyoung had fallen asleep. His mouth was still slightly open and his face flushed. You giggled and leaned down to kiss his soft cheek. 

"Good night, Your Grace."

��----------------------------------------------

The first few weeks of your 'honeymoon period', as many called it, with Soonyoung were perhaps some of the happiest days you had ever spent. The Graham manor (a place that had never been a source of much happiness for you, and had become a source of misery since your father's death) was suddenly lit up by Soonyoung's mere presence. 

He resolved to learn about the estate. You discovered that, despite his seeming lack of confidence, Kwon Soonyoung could do anything if he set his mind to it. There was a steely determination that seemed to overtake him when it came to matters of the estate and dukedom. 

Even Mr. Johnson, the stiff and difficult-to-please estate manager, admitted to you that he was impressed with the way Soonyoung had taken charge of the dukedom. 

"His Grace insisted upon meeting the peasants himself," Mr. Johnson told you in confidence. "I assumed it was a vanity trip; some of the noblemen like to lord their wealth before the commoners. But His Grace actually walked through the fields instead of taking his carriage and spoke to each of the peasants individually to understand their troubles."

You blinked in surprise. "Did my father ever do that?"

Mr. Johnson chuckled. "No. The late Duke would make the peasants travel up to the manor if they had complaints and to submit their taxes. It took them all day- and meant that they couldn't tend to the fields."

"This way is better, then."

"Personally, I think some distance between the common folk and nobility should be maintained," Mr. Johnson said stiffly. "Yet I cannot find it in me to fault His Grace's methods. The other day, he resolved a land dispute that some of the peasants have been having for years… I wish I had been there to see it, but I was not at the site. It seems he convinced them to come to a mutual settlement."

You blinked. "How?"

"I wish I knew. He mediated it himself- they have come to accept His Grace's authority even in such a short time."

You were surprised as well. As the Duchess, you were hardly disliked but it had been ingrained in you from a young age to keep your distance from the peasants and be and be wary of everyone and everything. 

You were respected- but Soonyoung was beloved. He had such an amiable nature that in a matter of months, almost everyone in the duchy had fallen in love with him. 

You were no  exception. 

From the peasants, to the villagers, to the servants at the manor… everyone agreed that the new Duke of Graham was nothing short of a bright ray of sunshine. 

Soonyoung's dedication to his new role as Duke did not mean that he was any less dedicated to his role as a husband. He spent his evenings solely with you. You shared long walks in the gardens and often indulged in some wine before bed. Separate bed-chambers were not uncommon among married couples of the nobility, but you and Soonyoung had never felt the need for them. 

"We shall have to return to London soon," you told him one morning over breakfast as you both perused the post. "Her Majesty has specifically asked me to join her court now that I am married, and you will need to take your place in court among the other Dukes as well…"

Soonyoung blinked at you in surprise. "Has the Queen really written to you personally?"

You bit your lip. "She has always taken a personal interest in me. My mother was quite close to the Queen; she would not have issued the decree which allowed me to keep the title otherwise. I cannot risk offending Her Majesty."

Soonyoung nodded. "Then we shall return as Her Majesty commands."

You suddenly felt anxious. "Maybe it was foolish of me, but I did not invite many Dukes and Earls to our wedding. At least not the vultures. They are certainly upset at my decision not to marry any of them, and I am worried they may be unpleasant upon our return-"

Soonyoung reached across the table and placed his hand on yours gently. 

"It will be fine. We will handle it together."

You smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you, Soonyoung."

"When do we leave?"

"In two days."

—----------------------------------------------------

You were miserable as the carriage approached your London manor and you felt the familiar thickness of the city air. 

The court, the ton, and the intricate politics and pettiness of elite society had never been to your taste. You were by no means bad at it. Putting on a fake smile and pandering to society was a skill you had mastered early on in life, but it gave you almost no pleasure. 

You would have stayed at the estate with Soonyoung forever, if only it was possible. 

"Your Grace!" the butler greeted you politely as you stepped into the familiar luxurious manor and the servants rushed to carry your belongings inside. You turned- but the butler was addressing your husband. "There are a number of letters here for you."

Soonyoung took them and frowned as he rifled. 

"Letters already?" you wondered. 

"I wrote ahead to some of my friends that I was returning to London," Soonyoung admitted shyly. "Mr. Kim wishes to know when I will come by the gentleman's club for a game of cards. Viscount and Viscountess Hong have invited us to a dinner party on Saturday. And this is from… who is the Duke of Kent?"

You winced. "A disgusting old fellow."

"He invites me to join him on a hunting trip tomorrow with some other gentlemen," Soonyoung replied. He looked at you sheepishly. "I… am not particularly good at hunting."

You waved a hand dismissively. "Neither is the Duke of Kent."

"I suppose I should accept his invitation then. Perhaps Mr. Yoon will give me some tips about using a shotgun beforehand…" Soonyoung muttered thoughtfully, as he walked away to find an ink and pen to answer the invitations. 

You felt a strange anxiety in the pit of your stomach. 

"Soonyoung…"

He paused. "Yes, dear?"

"I know I have said this before, but some of these Dukes can be very unpleasant and manipulative, and I…" you trailed off, not sure how to explain yourself. 

You were worried for him. You were worried at the thought of your kind, caring husband alone with those manipulative noblemen who had decades of experience in the art of politics and under-handedness. Soonyoung's expression softened as he came back to you and leaned down to place a soft kiss on your forehead. 

"Do not worry, Your Grace," he said gently. 

"I will not be able to join you hunting, I am required to meet with the Queen tomorrow," you reminded him. 

"As you must."

Soonyoung seemed more confident. Perhaps his success at managing the duchy and popularity with the peasants had left him feeling more comfortable about his position as a Duke. Yet, you could not help but feel that your husband was about to be thrown in the lion's den unprepared. 

You had supper together before going to bed. As was common, the enormous London manor had separate bedrooms for the Duke and Duchess but Soonyoung always found his way to your bedroom after dark. On your first night in London, he arrived much later than usual, after you had already settled under the covers. 

"I got lost," Soonyoung mumbled to you in apology as he blew out your candle and slid under the covers beside you. His arm wrapped around your waist as you giggled. 

"Lost, again?"

He huffed, pressing his cheek to your shoulder. "This is my first night at the London manor. It took me over a month to find my way around the manor at the estate. Now I must acquaint myself with a completely new building full of winding corridors."

You giggled. "I'll have the butler draw you a map in the morning. Good night, Your Grace."

"Good night."

—-----------------------------------------------------------

Soonyoung left for his hunting trip at dawn and you had to leave soon afterwards for your engagement with the Queen. Her Majesty received you warmly in her tea parlour with some of the other ladies-in-waiting, and her sharp eyes scanned you as soon as you had taken your seat. 

"You look different, Duchess," the Queen told you bluntly. 

You bowed politely. "Do I, Your Majesty?"

"Yes. Marriage suits you. I can't be the first person to have told you this. I have seen excellent young ladies destroyed by entering into the wrong marriage, and it pleases me to see that this does not seem to be the case with you. Tell me; are you happy?"

You bit your lip and nodded. "I am, Your Majesty."

"We could have found you a Prince, you know."

You smiled at her graciously. "I am very grateful, Your Majesty. But I have a responsibility to my dukedom and my title- I could not abandon my family heritage to become a Princess."

The Queen nodded and sipped her tea. One of the other court ladies- the Countess Harrison- took the opportunity to speak. 

"Our dear Duchess is, as always, thinking about responsibilities that are not hers to bear," the Countess Harrison said with a titter. "Perhaps it is time you left your dukedom to the men and learned something from the other ladies about womanly responsibilities."

You sighed. You had long learned to pick your battles carefully with the court ladies. 

"And what are these womanly responsibilities, Countess?" you wondered. 

The Countess giggled. "Why, of course; bearing sons to continue the noble bloodline! Surely your family will not petition Her Majesty again to allow you to pass the title onto someone else, simply because you did not bear enough sons?"

"Enough sons?" you asked. You were not taking her conversation seriously at all- frankly, you were more interested in the lemon cakes being served than anything the Countess had to say. 

"But of course! You must have enough sons. Children sometimes die prematurely, it is an unfortunate reality."

You stirred some sugar into your tea. "So fear of your children dying is the reason your husband has sired so many bastards? If little Jonathan should die of fever, then at least your maid's bastard son can take over the Earldom. The continuation of the noble Harrison bloodline may depend upon it," you remarked coolly. 

The Countess flushed a furious shade of red. Some of the other court ladies giggled. They were no friends of yours, but they also did not have much loyalty to each other. 

The Queen looked at you with a friendly twinkle in her eye. 

"Now, now, Duchess. We are all delighted to see you happily married, but you must not be so mean to our Countess here," the Queen said lightly. Her tone was playful. 

"My apologies, Your Majesty," you said half-heartedly.

The Queen rose. "I wish to step outside onto the balcony. Accompany me, Duchess."

It was a statement and one that silenced the other court ladies immediately. The Queen had never been shy about the fact that you were her favourite court lady. Your mother had been her close personal friend, and despite their best efforts, none of the other court ladies had been able to wriggle their way into the Queen's good books quite like your family. 

You offered your arm to the Queen, who led you outside to the balcony and called for her snuffbox. Then she turned to you with a raised eyebrow. 

"Do you remember what I told you when you arrived in London a few months ago- after your father's death?" the Queen asked. 

You bit your lip. "Of course, Your Majesty. You told me that as a Duchess, nothing could come before my duty to the title and my dukedom, and that I would have to make my decisions carefully."

The Queen nodded. "Do you think it was sound advice?"

"I do, Your Majesty."

"Have you followed it?" 

You hesitated and the Queen's sharp eyes did not miss the look on your face. She glanced back at the parlour where the court ladies were still having tea and then raised an eyebrow at you. 

"I-I have tried, Your Majesty," you replied. 

"Then you should have no problem telling me why you chose to put your entire family's legacy in the hands of a poor second son without a penny to his name."

You swallowed. 

"Well?" the Queen asked. "Can you?"

"... I cannot."

—-------------------------------------------------------

You were drained of energy by the time you returned to the manor. The butler informed you that your husband had still not returned from his hunting trip, and that he had sent word for you to have supper without him.

You ate and went to bed but somehow, you could not sleep alone. You had become too used to Soonyoung's warm body against yours. He always tucked you in close to him with an arm around you and his soft and steady breathing was what helped you sleep. Without him, the room was too silent. 

You waited for Soonyoung to return, but the clock struck midnight and he was still not back. You wrapped a robe around yourself and went downstairs. 

The butler ran to you."Do you require anything, Your Grace-"

"Had the Duke still not returned from the hunting trip?" you demanded. 

The butler looked confused. 

"His Grace returned a few hours ago. He was tired and went straight to his bedchambers."

You blinked and nodded before dismissing the butler. Perhaps Soonyoung was too tired to risk getting lost in the manor in search of your room, and had gone to sleep in his own bedchambers. You went back upstairs and hurried to the bedchamber that you knew to be your husband’s. 

You knocked on the door. "Soonyoung?"

There was no response. You turned the handle. 

It was locked. 

An unsettling feeling came across you. You could not think of why Soonyoung would lock the door to his bedchamber. You often had to remind him even to just close the door- he had a careless habit of leaving doors completely ajar. 

There were footsteps on the stairs. Some of the servants were awake, and you decided to return to your own bedchambers instead of causing a scene.

—----------------------------------------------------

You awoke to find Soonyoung had already left the manor. The butler informed you that the Duke had gone to visit his friends Mr. Kim Mingyu and Mr. Lee Seokmin, and would be back in time to accompany you to the dinner party at Viscount Hong's. 

You tried not to read too much into it. Soonyoung had lived in London for a long time, and his friends were undoubtedly eager to meet him upon his return. 

You wondered if you would have had an easier time making friends if it had not been for your title. 

You kept yourself occupied for most of the day with your correspondence and answering invitations that flooded in from members of the ton who had learned you were back in London. The social season was drawing to a close and there were plenty of balls and events crammed into the next week. You could not possibly attend them all, nor did you wish to. 

Soonyoung finally returned in the evening. The carriage waited outside to take you both to the Viscount's home, and you smiled in relief at the sight of your husband. 

"Soonyoung!" you greeted him warmly. "I did not see you last night. How did the hunting trip go?"

Soonyoung grimaced as he helped you into the carriage. "I couldn't shoot anything," he told you honestly. "But neither did the Duke of Kent so at least I was not the worst hunter there. The Viscount shot a rather plump pheasant."

"Viscount Hong was there?"

"Yes, thankfully," Soonyoung muttered. You eyed your husband anxiously as the carriage took off. He was quiet, but it was not entirely unusual for Soonyoung to sometimes be more quiet and withdrawn. He often did it when he was focusing, or thinking deeply about something. 

"Did you enjoy your morning with Mr. Kim and Mr. Lee?" you asked lightly. 

Soonyoung nodded. "Oh-yes."

"What did you do?"

"We only played cards and talked about how they've been during the last few months. I didn't bet much money on the cards," he added quickly. 

You blinked, confused. "I am not worried about you gambling, Soonyoung."

He flushed. "Yes- of course."

The carriage arrived at the Viscount's grand manor and you both descended. Soonyoung offered you his arm and you took it. 

The Viscount and Viscountess were waiting to greet you at the entrance. Viscount Hong smiled, while his wife embraced you and congratulated you and Soonyoung warmly on your marriage. They guided you to the drawing room where about ten or eleven other guests were already gathered. You saw the Earl Harrison, the Duke of Kent and some of the other unpleasant old noblemen along with their wives. 

"Perhaps we should have looked more closely at the guest list before accepting this particular invitation," you mumbled to your husband. Soonyoung did not smile or agree with you. His expression was grim and he seemed uncomfortable. .

"Ah; the new Duke and Duchess of Graham!" the Earl Harrison greeted you loudly. You forced a smile. He was a disgusting man with a reputation for sleeping with his servants, and you had no respect for him. 

"Earl Harrison," you replied politely. 

"We had the pleasure of hunting with your husband just yesterday. Rather unfortunate that you did not enquire whether he could handle a shotgun before you married him!"

You felt Soonyoung stiffen beside you and gave the Earl a sharp look. 

"I did not consider proficiency with a shotgun to be one of my primary requirements in a husband, sir," you replied coolly. 

The Earl raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? Well, it leaves one to wonder…"

"Wonder what, exactly?" you demanded. 

"Why you married him, of course."

You felt a burst of irritation. You were normally much better at controlling your anger and keeping calm, but the Earl's snide remarks about Soonyoung wound you up more than they should have. Your jaw clenched but before you could respond, the Viscount and Viscountess inserted themselves into the conversation. 

"Earl Harrison!" the Viscountess said with a kind smile. "You must allow the Viscount to show you his new hunting rifles in the gallery. Perhaps you would be interested as well, Your Grace?"

You were furious but the Viscountess was the master of smoothing things over. She quickly ushered the gentlemen into the gallery to look at the rifles, and then took your arm and pulled you aside.

"Are you all right?" the Viscountess asked you gently. 

You nodded. "Thank you."

She sighed. "I am afraid Earl Harrison forcefully wrested an invitation to tonight's dinner from Joshua yesterday. I did not want to invite him at all, especially after I heard what he was  saying about you and the Duke during the hunting trip."

You stiffened. "What has he been saying about myself and the Duke?"

The Viscountess looked upset. "Nothing of any substance, only some nasty remarks about why you might have married the Duke. It's all baseless, really, everyone knows that-"

"Has he been saying these things in front of the Duke?"

The Viscountess bit her lip. "I do not know."

"I want to know what he is saying."

She sighed. "I am really not sure that you do…"

The Viscountess was a lovely woman, and the last thing you wanted was to create a scene in her home. But you were angry; you needed to know what this foolish Earl was running his mouth about. You had tolerated his insults long enough, and you would not allow him to insult your husband as well. 

You went into the gallery where a number of gentlemen were gathered looking at the Viscount's new hunting rifles. Earl Harrison was standing a short distance away and talking to the Duke of Kent. He made no attempt to even lower his voice. 

"-women have too much power these days, I tell you. Outrageous that the Duchess should have been given a title at all. That calculating wench knew that if she married one of us, she would be put in her rightful place immediately. So what does she do? Marries a poor man without connections or a fortune so that she can control him like a puppet!"

The Duke of Kent laughed. "Naturally, naturally. She wanted a young man she could keep under her thumb. The poor Duke does not realise she is emasculating him entirely. Pathetic excuse for a man."

You saw red. 

How dare they? How dare these disgusting men stand there and say these vile things about you and your husband in public? Had they said similar things within earshot of Soonyoung?The thought made your blood boil 

"Would you like to repeat that so that I can be sure what you are saying?" you demanded loudly. 

The room fell silent. All conversation ceased. 

Soonyoung and the Viscount Hong were standing a few feet away, and you saw your husband watching you with wide eyes. 

"W-what?" Earl Harrison sputtered. 

"I asked if you would like to repeat yourself," you said coldly. "Surely I must have misheard you. Surely you could not have been standing here and openly insulting the Duke and Duchess of Graham, who outrank you in every possible way. That would be a very foolish thing to do, don't you agree?"

The Duke of Kent smiled abominably. "My dear Duchess, you must not go into hysterics-"

"Then perhaps your and the Earl should avoid giving me reason to go into hysterics, Your Grace. Or have you forgotten who is the Queen's close confidante? Who receives letters and invitations to tea from Her Majesty personally? Allow me to refresh your memory, Earl Harrison. It is certainly not you or your stupid wife."

The Earl paled. "I have never had a woman dare to speak to me this way-'

"You do not want to make an enemy of me, Earl Harrison. I will not waste my time with backhanded gossip and failed petitions to the Crown. One word from me can persuade Her Majesty to strip you of your entire title and estate in a heartbeat. I will undo your generations-long lineage in an instant. Do not test me."

The Duke of Kent frowned. "That is quite enough!"

"I agree," you replied sharply. "I have had quite enough. My husband is a hundred times the man you will ever be, and the next time you worry about anyone being emasculated, you would do well to remember that a woman is in charge of the Crown and your life."

Soonyoung was staring at you with wide eyes,  as you walked over to him and took his arm. 

"We are leaving," you said firmly. The rest of the room watched in stunned silence. "I apologise for the intrusion, Viscount and Viscountess Hong. Thank you for your hospitality."

You took your husband's arm and walked out. 

—----------------------------------------------

Soonyoung said nothing in the carriage ride home. 

You could not speak either; the adrenaline was still pumping in your veins. You had never addressed anyone in that manner, much less an Earl and a Duke. They had said worse things about you in the past, you were sure, and it had not made you angry. But the idea of them saying these things about Soonyoung made your blood boil. 

"Perhaps we should go to bed early," Soonyoung mumbled as he left straight for his bedchambers. You had never seen him look so tired and withdrawn. 

You followed him upstairs to his bedchamber and called out to him just as he was about to slip inside and close the door behind him. 

"Soonyoung, wait."

"I'm tired-"

"Please don't close the door."

There was a long pause and he finally opened the door again, allowing you inside. You took a deep breath and entered, sitting on the edge of his bed as you thought about what to say to him. Soonyoung stood patiently near the door and watched you for a long moment before finally speaking. 

"It's all right," he said quietly. "You don't need to worry, Your Grace."

You blinked at him. "What?"

"I knew this was a marriage of convenience. You were always honest with me. I would be a fool if I resented you for it just because some Earl said it aloud. I knew perfectly well what this marriage was when I agreed to it."

Your heart dropped. 

"Soonyoung, no-"

"I know you were in a difficult position, and you needed to marry someone who would not dare to exercise power over you or the dukedom. It is a rational decision to make."

Your throat felt tight. 

"Don't call it that-"

"I am saying it is perfectly understandable and rational-"

"But it's not!" you cried. You rose and stood in front of him, grabbing his cold hands. For some reason you suddenly, desperately needed Soonyoung to understand what you were telling him. "Rational?  Choosing you was not a rational decision, Soonyoung. Far from it; it was possibly the least rational thing I have ever done in my life."

Soonyoung's hands were limp in yours but his dark eyes flashed. 

"What do you mean?" he asked. 

You took a deep breath and looked up at your husband. You had not expected to open up to him, or to reveal your vulnerabilities to him tonight, but it was now or never. 

"It was an impulse, pure impulse. I was so tired of always doing the right thing, the expected thing. If I was being rational then I would have married a Baron or a Lord. Heaven knows there are plenty of them to be had."

Soonyoung was quiet. "Why didn't you?'

"The night we met- at the ball when we danced- I know it was only a few moments but  you made me smile. I felt happy with you. For the first time in my life, I felt something that wasn’t just duty or obligation or responsibility. I felt like this nightmare of a life might be bearable if I could share it with someone like you," you confessed quietly. 

Soonyoung's expression had softened and his dark eyes looked down at you with a sudden gentleness and vulnerability. 

"But we hardly knew each other-"

"Which is why it wasn't a rational or calculated decision. The decision to marry you wasn't made for the good of the dukedom or the title. I made it for the most selfish of reasons- my own happiness. It was worse than irrational. It was a rebellion against everything my father expected from me."

Soonyoung's lower lip trembled. "You must have regretted it, then."

"I thought I might," you admitted shakily. "For the first few weeks after I proposed to you, I was terrified that I was making a mistake. But Soonyoung… you never gave me a single chance to regret it. At every turn, you only showed me, over and over again, that I made the right choice."

"Do you mean that?"

You lifted your hand to cup his cheek. 

"I love you," you told him firmly and honestly. 

Soonyoung kissed you. It was a soft, gentle, loving kiss and you wrapped your arms around his neck as he pulled you into his warm embrace. You gasped against his lips and he slowly pulled back and pressed his forehead against yours. 

"I love you too," he whispered. 

Your heart swelled with happiness. "Do you mean it?" you asked him softly. "Just moments ago, you were calling this a marriage of convenience-"

Soonyoung's lips curved into a smile as he cupped your cheeks. 

"Because I thought you felt that way. How could I not love you? You are a divine angel that came into my life. Some days I wake up and look at you beside me and think that I must be in some kind of dream, because I don't know what I did to deserve your love and trust."

Your lower lip trembled. "That's not true-"

"It is. I love you."

You wrapped your arms around his neck tightly and buried your face into his shoulders. Soonyoung embraced you and you breathed in your husband's warm, familiar scent.

"Then don't ever close that door again."”

"I won't," he promised. "I won't."

—------------------------------------------------------

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #hoshi scenarios #seventeen x reader #hoshi x reader #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen angst #hoshi fluff #regency!au #seventeen imagines

[morallyinept]

COWBOY CHRISTMAS - A Jack Daniels (Agent Whiskey) Christmas One Shot

Summary: Your husband Jack takes you out on a snowy Christmas Eve horse ride around the ranch, then helps you thaw out after.

Pairing: Husband!Jack Daniels x Wife!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 5k

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶️🌶️🌶️ "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/triggers - Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: Husband Jack hits differently and I'm here for it. Horsey speak researched because I'm not a horsey person. Neigh. I hope you enjoy spending Christmas with Jack. 🎄

Tagging @ladybess-a03 as Jack is her husband 🤠🖤

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy & Happy Holidays! 🎄🖤

“Now, you hold on tight to them reins there, sugar. Don’t want ol’ Thunder here gallopin’ off into the breach.” Jacks says to you with a wink. 

You watch as he buttons up his denim jacket; a woolly sheepskin lines the collar inside around his neck. “Hoo, it’s a chilly one this mornin’!” He exclaims in that Southern twang making sweet, unbashed love to his vocal chords.

“Remind me why I let you talk me into this?” You say, feeling the cold rake it’s sharp fingernails down your spine. 

“'Cause I can talk you into anythin'." He grins. "Besides, you’re gonna love it.” He assures. 

“I love our warm bed more.” You mutter, trying not to smirk. 

You grip tight on the leather reins with your gloved hands as the horse snuffles gently; the cool air wisps out of his large, wet nostrils in gossamer tendrils, floating into the air.

The snow is fresh and crisp on the ground; the Ranch is covered in billowy marshmallows heaped on the roof like someone let the powdered sugar pour overnight. The whole scene looks as though a snow globe has been shaken up and long since settled with the coarse glitter of it all glimmering under the pallor of the winter sun; a pale blue orb lingering in the sky.

A Christmas Eve morning horse ride with your husband Jack sounded appealing when he suggested it, but now that you’re the one in the driver’s seat so to speak, you're not so sure, as your stomach tosses about with the anxiousness of it all. 

It’s not that you’re not a keen rider, it’s just that Jack’s array of Appaloosas and Mustangs from the rodeo show - that’s been a lucrative business for you both, if not but a hectic one - can always seem to sense your trepidation, and do everything they can to keep you from venturing near them, let alone mounting them. 

But Jack’s a determined son of a gun to get you used to it, and a few lessons with a deep brown Lusitano named Thunder, seem to be paying off, as the two of you bond the more time you spend with the stallion.

Thunder stands at a regal sixteen hands, his physique a perfect blend of strength and elegance. His coat is a rich chestnut, gleaming under the dappled sunlight like polished mahogany. He's probably the most handsome thing you've ever laid eyes on, aside from your husband, of course.

Jack had assured you that Thunder’s physique, combined with his gentle demeanour and keen intelligence, made him not just a stunning horse, but also an ideal companion for you.

And that smooth talking cowboy hadn’t been wrong yet. 

Jack hoists himself up, grunting with a steely puff as he settles on the double saddle behind you. Not brave enough yet to go it alone in the snow, Jack rides tandem with you this morning.

The front of his Stetson knocks gently against the back of your head as he adjusts, and the horse pads his front hooves in anticipation to get going. 

“Easy, Thunder,” he soothes as he reaches around and checks the reins. “You good to go, sweet thing?” Jack asks you. 

“What are you going to hold on to?” You query as he lets go of the reins, turning to glance at him over your shoulder warily.

You’ve seen Jack ride plenty of times, to the point he trusts his stallions and mares implicitly. There's some magical fluidity between them as you watch from the sidelines of the paddock when they practise together.

Although each time he rides free and un-reined, you can’t help but grimace and worry, especially when he shows off in the rodeo ring.

“Why, your gorgeous self, of course!” You feel him pinch your hips playfully and then his arms wrap around your waist. He pats your belly softly. 

“I got you, nice n' tight.” The wetness of his lips are cold as they squish against your cheek where he kisses you affectionately. You giggle as his fuzzy moustache tickles against your skin.

“Now, you’re the one in control, remember. Just like I taught you. Pull back gently if you want him to slow down.”

“Okay.” You nod, taking in a deep breath and sounding much more confident than you actually feel. And Jack picks up on it and rubs your arms down. 

“You’ve got nothin’ to worry about, sugar. He’s infatuated with you.” Jack reassures. He holds you tighter and runs his nose against the side of your face. “And he ain’t the only one.” he murmurs. 

“You keep doing that and we’re never getting out of this damn paddock,” you groan as he nips against your lobe, tonguing it slyly.

Despite the cold, you suddenly feel the warmth creeping up under your jacket trying to strangle you. 

He chuckles and pulls back, sitting himself upright and placing his hands together around your waist again. 

“Let’s skedaddle.” He instructs.

You breathe out, clicking your tongue twice and squeeze your legs gently against the underside of Thunder. He immediately trots forward languidly.

“There you go, nice n' easy there. See, he ain’t so buck wild after all, is he now?” Jack says.  

“No, he’s a good boy,” you say, leaning forward and patting Thunder’s head as he strides forward out the paddock. “A good boy that’s going to go nice and slow, okay?” You whisper, imploring the horse. 

Thunder simply snorts in response.

You settle into it; a gentle trot across the acres of the Ranch on this wintery morning. You can feel the cold biting against your face as you tuck your chin into your scarf to ward off the nip.

The scene is magical; treetops covered in plumes of glittery white, and every sound seems more muted somehow, wrapped up in a bundle of snow that acts as a cosy insulator. 

The soft pads of Thunder’s hooves against the cold ground, and Jack's breathing just behind your ear, are the only sounds you can hear around the exquisite peace.

And you lose yourself to it, closing your eyes and resting back against Jack’s chest as you relax into the ride together. 

“You doin’ alright there?” Jack asks, and you feel his gloved hands rubbing back and forth against your stomach creating fluttery wings to beat and flap around inside of it. 

“Mmm,” you reply. “This is just beautiful.” You confirm feeling more taken with it all. “This was a great idea.” 

“I’m mighty glad you feel that way, darlin’. We gotta get you out ridin’ some more.” Jack suggests.

“I do plenty of riding, cowboy.” You toss a hot smirk at him over your shoulder.

“Christ. Ain’t that the truth.” He chuckles.

You feel his hands squeeze your hips again and his breaths are felt warming in the crook of your neck.

“Wanna kick it up a notch?”

“Go faster?” You peep with alarm. 

“Sure, you can handle it.”

“But the snow, isn’t that dangerous?”

Jack scoffs. “Snow’s fresh, darlin’. No ice.”

“But-”

“Gotta trust in your horse.”

You make an uncertain noise in the back of your throat.

“Ain’t gonna let anythin’ happen to you.” Jack reassures and your uncertainty begins to waver as you feel yourself melt in the sincerity of his eyes.

“Okay.” You nod, smiling. 

“That’s my girl. Go on, now. Squeeze your calves against him. That’s it, you’re doin’ real good.” Jack praises as Thunder ups his paces to a gentle canter, full of brio and a little faster than his previous meandering.

He bows and nods his large head, whinnying. 

“Oh see, he likes that. Our boy here was bred for speed.” Jack pats the back of the stallion’s neck and Thunder snuffles in response. 

You can feel your fingers gripping tighter on the reins, your body tensing up. 

“You trust me, sugar?” You hear Jack pollute in your ear.

You turn to look at him incredulously.

“He wants to run. Gotta give it to him.” 

“Oh God.” You wince. 

You steady yourself as Thunder nickers and snuffles again. Jack takes your hand and weaves it around Thunder’s mane. A trick he does himself whilst on the rodeo to be sure to stay on if the horse should suddenly veer off.

Your gloved fingers hold tightly through the silken hair whilst your other hand grips on the reins as tight as you can. 

“He’ll take care of you. We both will.” Jack takes a hold of the reins with you, his arms either side. “Hold on tight, darlin’.” 

You steady yourself, holding on tightly as he instructs and bracing yourself. 

“Hup! Hup!” You hear Jack instruct Thunder with a sharp command, and the horse bolts forward.

He attacks the gallop at full speed, like he's running for his life. Like he was born to do nothing else other then run.

“Shit, Jack!” You gasp, as he takes full control. 

The sounds of Thunder’s hooves are louder and feel like they crack and echo across the sky. Your body is forced into a galloping rhythm; your butt bashing up and down against the saddle as you try to find some comfort with it.

You rise up, remembering to anchor yourself in the stirrups, leaning forward like your body is floating as Thunder moves under you.

You can feel Jack’s body against yours, moving with you. He has both hands on the reins, but has manoeuvred so you're safe inside his arms too.

“See why I named him Thunder now?!” Jack muses as he bears down on the reins and the horse’s speed increases furthermore. 

You can feel Thunder’s muscles bunch and release. You can feel and hear his hooves hit the ground in heavy thuds that ricochet through your skeleton, and see the hypnotic, rhythmic motion of his head, which you’re following with your hands.

It’s exhilarating. 

The cold wind whips through your bones, despite the jacket and scarf’s protection. You hear Jack holler and chuckle behind you.

“Alright now!” He cheers triumphantly as Thunder takes a sharp turn, effortlessly, and you cling on for dear life grounding down on your teeth and steadying yourself with your stirrups. 

“Oh my God!” You wail as the exhilaration begins to twist that fear into utter elation. 

Your teeth feel the cold as you can’t contain the wild smile opening up your lips as you giggle and holler alongside Jack; his enthusiasm and passion for the ride infecting you.

The wind is blowing so hard that you really can’t see or hear very clearly and Thunder’s ears twitch up as you holler an enthusiastic woo! Into the air. It feels like you're flying as the wind streams tears from your eyes. 

Thunder’s hooves beat frantically against the snow and the ride through the acres soon comes to an end as Jack instructs you to slow Thunder to a steady trot once more.

You can sense Thunder’s reluctance, he would run forever if he could, but you pull on the reins and announce for him to slow and he does. 

“Woah, easy. Easy…” you soothe as he tries to resist, but eventually settles back into that steady canter as you all catch your collective breath.

You wipe your eyes with the back of your woolly hand and Jack smiles at you. 

“That was amazing,” you admit, your body shaking, not just from the cold now.

“I knew you’d love it.” He replies, grinning. “Your husband knows you better than you think.” 

“Sometimes,” you tease.

“Sometimes?” He scoffs and stamps another kiss on your cold cheek. 

Once in the paddock, Jack jumps off and helps you down. You lunge for him, planting a heavy kiss on his lips and slip your tongue into his hot, wet mouth. 

“What’s got you so hot n’ bothered, hmm?” He murmurs against your lips. 

“Adrenaline.” You shrug giggling, as you stroke the back of Jack's nape where his brown curls gather under his suede Stetson.   

His hands sweep through your hair, messy from being wind-whipped and he studies your face with chocolate mocha eyes. You shiver as he pulls you to him. 

“Fuck, sugar.” He groans as you press your mouth to his again; your kiss mutating into something desperate and untamed.

You both stumble backwards and Jack loses his footing and pulls you down with him in the muddy slush around the paddock.

“Ah shit,” he groans, chuckling. 

You squeal as you feel the cold and wet instantly soak into your jeans. Scrambling, you try to get up, but slip further into the mud as Jack gives up and howls loudly at your plight.

He’s rewarded with a glop of mud thrown at his chest.

“Need a hand there, darlin’?” Once he’s contained himself enough, he helps you up and you both head back to the Ranch to warm up. 

“Go on n’ get yourself inside. I’ll wrangle Thunder back into the stable. Reckon it might snow again soon.” He glances up at the sky, the sun long since besmirched by clouds of grey.

“Don’t take too long, handsome” you smirk.

“Lickety-split.” Jack breathes into your mouth as you kiss him again. 

You look at the state of you both, covered in freezing mud, and Jack has some splashed up on his forehead, and you can’t help but laugh at the state of you both, despite shivering.

“Why don’t you run us a bath?” Jack suggests with dark eyes, and you nod as if under a captive spell.

You leave your muddy boots on the porch and head inside. The warmth hits you immediately and you shimmy yourself out of your wet jacket, blowing into your hands that feel like icicles, despite the gloves. 

You pace up the stairs, wading somewhat as your jeans stick to you, to the bathroom and fill the large jacuzzi-style tub with hot water, stripping as you notice snowflakes starting to billow lightly outside. 

“Missed your calling as a weatherman, Jack.” You snicker to yourself.

You toss in a fragrant bath bomb and light some incense filling the bathroom with heady notes of sandalwood, patchouli, and exotic florals; the swirling tendrils evoking a sense of tranquillity as your skin starts to perspire.

You step into the sizzling, enveloping water that seems to wrap its arms around you with the inviting warmth as you succumb to it wholly.

You breathe out slowly, moaning in relief as you slide your shoulders under the water, the temperature burning you slightly and relishing the feel of it.

You swill the water around; lavishing yourself in the foamy remnants of the bath bomb. You eventually lay still in the water and breathe in and out a few times, keeping your eyes closed.

Your cold, aching muscles from the ride find some sedated bliss in those first few moments; like someone has slowly squeezed the angst and stress out of you like juicing an orange.

You close your eyes and relax, feeling the weight start to drop from you.

The invigorating peace is interrupted by the bathroom door slowly creaking open and footsteps pad in lightly on the tiled floor. 

You turn your head, smiling at Jack as he unbuttons his plaid shirt and drops it to his feet.

You sit up, watching him, and try not to obscenely salivate over your husband as he unbuckles his belt with a slow, deliberate simmer at you, but it's hard not to. He’ll always have that effect on you when he gets naked.

Your eyes roam over tan, sculpted arms, a svelte waist and long legs smattered with dark hairs, before you settle in on the thick, hardening cock between his legs. 

“Scooch on forward, sugar,” he says softly with a wink, standing at the side of the tub; that semi hard-on already taking shape and protruding out from his lean, muscular body.

He steps in and sits down in the water behind you; his long legs running parallel either side of you.

“Couldn’t resist,” you hum. 

“You gettin’ started without me, hmm?” Jack queries as he pulls you back into his chest, wrapping his arms over your stomach again.

You feel him plant kisses into your crown as you nuzzle into him. 

“Scrub my back for me?” You question coyly over your shoulder, and flutter your eyelashes at him.

The steam in the bathroom makes the mirror frost over with condensation and the air seems to vibrate around you both and stick to your clammy skin.

You sit upright; the water making your back glisten at him and he licks his lips as he regards you.

“Well, how can I resist such a tempting offer?” Jack smiles and reaches for the soap on the side of the bath behind him, lathering it up in his big hands. 

You feel his hands massaging into your shoulders; his fingers kneading away all the tension and the slippery feel of the soap foaming on your back, squelching through his thick digits.

“Mmm,” you sigh as he works his thumbs down either side of your spinal cord.

“That feel good, hmm?” Jack husks from behind you, squeezing and manipulating the muscles under your skin. He knows it’s good - knows it will drive you wild.

“Real good…” You utter, eyes closed and lost inside of his hypnotic rhythms and magic hands. 

You can hear him breathe in your ear and feel him plant lascivious kisses down the side of your damp face. The faint scratch of his shaven jaw runs prickly against your skin; the soft fuzz of his moustache counteracting it begins to tickle again.  

It begins to wake your nipples up; sending goosebumps to bloom around your areolas pulling them tight and tingly.

He runs his fingers down your back and up under your arms sitting forward himself, and slathers the soapy lather in his hands across your collarbone and down towards your breasts.

Your breath hitches as his roaming fingers tease your nipples, pulling and rolling them gently, and you sink back into his chest once more as he massages. He runs the open palms of his hands all over them; cupping, squeezing, fondling.

“That’s so nice,” you groan as he kisses the side of your temple. 

“I told you, I know you well.” You can hear him grin, a graze inside your ear.

His wet, soapy fingers continue to work their way down your torso, gliding across your navel before he gives it a gentle squeeze and strokes gently.

“What’re we gonna name this lil’ dill pickle in here, hmm?” Jack asks, and you glance down at your tummy, still flat, but in a few months time it’ll be swollen and rotund as the baby grows.

“Depends what he looks like when he comes out. Hopefully not like a dill pickle. I hate pickles.” You say, crinkling your nose.

You hear Jack snort behind you into your hair. “Hates pickles. I married me a mad one.”

“You knew what you were getting yourself into, cowboy.” You chuckle.

“Mmhm. He?” He queries.

“Feels like a he.” You say, placing your hands on top of Jack’s. The light of your wedding band shimmering in the wet. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Jack breathes in, his lips grazing your skin behind your ear “as long as it’s healthy, darlin’, it don’t matter. Gonna love it all the same.”

You smile, reaching up behind you to stroke his face. You feel him peck your fingers.  

“When he's out, I’ll put another one in there.” He confirms.

“Woah, hold your horses,” you say.

“You just try n’ stop me, sugar. Got yourself a virile man. Gonna have a whole bunch of lil’ rodeo riders gallopin’ about the joint.” Jack pinches your hips gently and you giggle when he hits a ticklish spot as he gruffs another chuckle in your ear.

He feels you flinch and the top of your buttocks push against his cock that has long since hardened completely under the water.

“Besides, I'm waitin’ for these to grow nice n’ big, too,” Jack smirks.

Jack kisses down the side of your face once more; his lips searching yours out and finally making contact with them as you twist yourself in the water to reach them.

His tongue darts into your mouth as he squeezes onto your right breast, and a satisfied grunt escapes into your mouth from him.

You splash water at him as he growls playfully into you, moaning as you kiss him again. 

It makes all the hairs of your body stand tall to order, hearing him moan like that - moan for you. Warming you as you inhale them in; oxygen to your lungs.

Filling you deep with sweet images of him teaching your child - or several of them - to ride horses and take care of them. The thought of Jack’s paternal instincts rile you up even further.

Although it doesn’t take much with the hormones either.

His kiss is hungry; swallowing you up and you raise your wet hands to finger inside of his hair, weaving through it gently at first, but becoming fiercer with tugs as he reacts to it.

You wonder what else it’ll be that you’ll crave this much as your pregnancy advances, because you're constantly craving your husband inside you, night and day it seems.

And neither of you are complaining about it.     

He follows the track of bubbles down your body with his hand, slides down over your torso and abdomen until his fingers reach forward and disappear between the middle of your legs inside the bubbly pool. 

You gasp, breaking the kiss as you feel them instantly finding your clit and shudder as he swipes across it with the pads of his tips. They tease between your soapy folds. His middle finger starts tapping and rubbing against your hub, making you gasp into his mouth.  

“Suck, darlin’... just like that.” 

His other hand grips gently around under your face, stroking your jawline as his digits run over your lips when he breaks the kiss.

Hooded brown eyes regard you before inserting his index and middle finger into your mouth.

You suck on them gently, and run your tongue over them as his other fingers thrum heavier on your clit under the water, causing it to swill around you as you fidget, grinding against his fingers as he slowly teases you with them.

He can still feel the viscous slickness of you around them, feeling silkier in the water. 

“You feel that, sugar? What you’re doin’ to me? Got my cock all big n' hard for you.” His fingers move off your clit and begin to take a walk inside of you, and you gasp again in delight.

Jack marvels with mud coloured eyes as you lap at his fingers, imagining they’re his cock. They taste slightly salty like it; rough and calloused skin being soothed by your tongue.

He groans into your ear nipping at your lobe, as you feel him pressing against your lower back and getting harder by the second. 

“Mmm, Jack…” His name escapes out of your mouth, dripping in honey and all things sweet.

The fingers you’ve been sucking on run across your throat and he kisses you more forcefully as he slides his digits in and out of your pussy, gaining momentum.

Your part your legs wider so he can delve in further to you, arching back up against him as the sensation of tingles flood outwards from your core all over your body and skin, crackling outwards like fuzzed lightning.

“Fuck!” You pant as he works you up and pushes you closer and closer to the edge until you finally leap off.

An electrifying sensation courses through you, sparking an intoxicating blend of satisfaction and euphoria as you gasp out.

“Jack!”

“Fuck, darlin’, that’s it.” Jack encourages as the heel of his palm grinds heavily against your clit as he fingers you through your pulsing orgasm.

Your thighs jolt and shudder as he strokes gentler now, teasing circles around your sensitive bud after withdrawing his slick soaked fingers.

You twist around in the bath completely to face him. You want him; want him hard and are going to take him - hard. 

“Fuck,” you moan, taking him in. 

He lays back in the tub, knees open wide with plumes of suds, and cock resting heavy and thick against his stomach.

It makes you salivate to see him like this; so fucking gorgeous and wet, and all yours. 

“See somethin’ you like?” He smirks. 

You run your drenched hands over his cock, nodding. Feeling how he pulses and the veins throb around your grip as you jerk him slowly.

“Show me again how well you can ride, sugar.” Jack challenges, as you grin.

You straddle him, sliding up and down against him; your lips teasing him as you rub against his hard, thick length. 

“Gimme that pussy, darlin’.” 

“You want it, cowboy?” You utter as you slip back and forth over him.

“Oh, you know I want it.” He hisses through his teeth as you rub your cunt up and down his length, groaning as it still tingles on your clit. “Always want this fuckin’ gorgeous pussy.” 

You sit down on his thick cock that’s poking out of the water at you, inviting you onto its swollen, wet head. The water sloshes around you both as he grabs at your hips and grinds you down onto his throbbing dick.

“Fuck,” he grits as he fills you. 

You balance your weight on your arms, holding onto the edges of the tub, sliding up and down him; bouncing that pussy of yours off of his cock. 

“C’mon, sugar. Ride me. Ride your cowboy.” Jack tempts. 

Jack thrusts his hips upwards to meet you halfway as you thud back down on him, making you both cry out.

“Fuck, like that!” He hollers, the water now splashing over the sides of the tub onto the floor with your intense determination to get off.

“That feel good, darlin'? Lemme see you. Eyes on me, sweet thing. Christ, look at you... So fuckin’ gorgeous on my dick. That's it now, work it... Like that. Aw, hell yeah, like that…” he croons, panting.

He can feel himself becoming more and more frantic with you and you love it. You grip onto his hands, anchoring yourself as he bucks underneath you; lifting his hips as you ride him deeper and faster.

“Jack! Fuck!”

You’re wailing as your head snaps back, suds flicking up the tiles, and the water in the tub is nothing more than a swirling whirlpool around you both.

You can feel the brewing of your orgasm; the tightening inside your stomach and the deep pull of your cunt cinching around him.

It’s a delicious feeling as you unwind yourself completely. The air in the bathroom carrying a heavy, languid heat, wrapping you in a heady cocoon of sensual bliss.

Jack gorges on the vision of you, sitting atop him; breasts shiny with the soapy water dripping down them, jiggling up and down. Panting and groaning for him as your body runs slick with water and bubbles. 

The blooming feeling, like a sunlit daydream, unfolds with gentle intensity that bathes you in a soft, golden glow as it builds from within.

A velvet touch of warmth that lingers dreamily through the marrow of your bones, leaving you submerged in a haze of dizzy serenity, where time slows and the world takes on a muted hue around the fuzzed edges of your vision, condensating your eyes as you enjoy the deep thrusting inside you. 

“Darlin’. Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He groans. He can feel himself beginning to lose it, grunting and getting ready to fill you up.

You let go of his hands and slap them down on his chest, riding him ragged over the final hurdle; cunt tightening and pumping his cock.

He can just about bear it as your position means he’s gone that little bit further inside you still, and your walls are rubbing deliciously against him.

“Ah shee-it!” Jack curses out with a snarl pulled around his beautiful lips. “Gonna fill you up, sugar. You’re close now… I can feel it. Want you comin’ all over my cock as I fill you, okay?” He drawls in that thick, Kentucky squall.

Nodding, you go faster; twerking on his dick and feeling the build up inside you reach epic proportions - your own release imminent. You want this; crave this from him, as you let yourself let go. 

“Come for me, Jack!”

“Fuck, yeah!” 

He shudders against you, cursing out and biting his bottom lip as he begins exploding inside you. Veins in his neck twitching and bulging as he howls. 

You slump forward onto him, kissing his wet, smooth chest delicately. The water finally comes to a still as you lay in the hot suds with him. 

You combust around him; calling his name out over and over; your rocking takes on a slow and steady pace until its eventual stop as you both shiver and judder from the come down.

Your body tingles all over and legs feel like wobbly jelly.

“Fuck me...” Jack sighs contentedly, grabbing a hold of your ass and squeezing it gently between the wavy, foamy froth.

“I just did.” You titter and he chuckles. 

“And then some.” He tilts your chin up to him and plants a lingering sensual kiss on your lips. 

“Jesus Christ, I love you, darlin’.” He wraps you tightly in his drenched arms. “You n’ that lil' dill pickle in there.”

You smile contentedly. “We love you too, cowboy.”

A little while later, you’re both dressed in warm clothes by the fireplace, as Jack sips from a glass of honey coloured whiskey.

You’re both exchanging cosy, satisfied smiles as you both wrap the gifts in coordinated teamwork, that you’ve picked out together for the staff that work at the Ranch. 

You crease the folds of the metallic paper, and he tears off the tape strips holding them out to you on a lone finger. He holds the ribbon in place, whilst you tie it into a bow over his digits.

He writes out the cards in a messy scrawl, whilst you place some food down in front of him, and he leans up to kiss you, patting and rubbing your tummy gently.

He lifts up the chunky knit of your sweater to reveal your soft, clean skin. You run your hands through his deep chocolate locks as he beams up at you.

“Happy Christmas, sugar.”

“Happy Christmas, Jack.”

You watch, smiling fondly, as he then runs his nose against your belly, inhaling the perfume of you, and you giggle at the tickle of his moustache.

Jack gazes up at you before pressing his soft, pursed lips below your belly button. A lingering little smooch sinking into the layers of your skin. 

“Happy Christmas, lil' dill pickle.” Jack says.

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal x reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey smut #agent jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey kingsman #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #christmas stories #jett's writing

[luna-misera]

You and Copia snuggling in his bed and having a little spicy making out session and things start to escalate… only to have his rats interrupt and cock block him lmao

I like the way you think, naughty ghoul~ I very much enjoyed fulfilling this request of yours. Please enjoy!

Them Rats (Copia x GN!Reader)

Warning(s): NSFW (18+ MDNI)

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It was late into the evening by the time you and Copia were settling into bed. Copia had just gotten out of the shower and smelled strongly of rich mahogany and a hint of lavender. The soap he used always stirred your senses; you wasted no time stuffing your face into his chest the second he crawled into the bed beside you.

Copia chuckled when you hummed in delight and breathed in his scent. A warm hand slid from your shoulder to the small of your back as he shifted his weight to get more comfortable beside you. It started with an innocent kiss on your forehead. However, Copia is a man with not so innocent desires, and when you look at him with those pleading eyes he simply cannot help himself.

Next thing you know he is on top of you. His hand lingers on your hip as he crashes his lips against yours. You comb your fingers through his hair as his tongue begs for admission to taste you. As he deepens the kiss you feel him teasingly roll his hips into you. The growing bulge in his pants brushes lightly against your own arousal and elicits a quiet moan from your throat. He groans against your lips in reply, and repeats the gesture again. This time his movements are deliberate as he rolls his hips into you with the intention of pleasing both himself and you.

The sensation of your clothed sexes grinding together fogs your senses as you both fall further into a cloud of ecstasy.

His lips move to your neck and your body shudders in pleasure. You feel your heart racing and your breathing gets deeper as you feel his hand slide up your back. There is a faint sound in the background. At first it is not noticeable enough to pull either of you from your fit of passion.

Then it happens again, and you pull away from Copia, "What is that...?" you ask while gasping for air.

"That is how much I want you, amore~" Copia replies seductively and presses his hips against you with a devilish smirk on his face.

You frown and turn your head away when he leans down to kiss you again. "No- Shut up." you tell him and press your finger to his lips. He makes a noise to express his disappointment but you cut him off with a harsh "SHH!"

Copia's eyes narrow in confusion as silence falls between you. He opens his mouth to speak but he is interrupted by a jarring racket that takes you both by surprise. Your heads simultaneously turn to the large rat cage that sits in the corner of the room. One of the rats seemed to think it was a great time to run on the noisy exercise wheel in their enclosure. The entire cage rattled as it spun around, and it also made a horrendous whirring sound as the plastic scraped against itself.

"Ehi! Dannati roditori!" Copia waves his fist at the rat's cage, "Ah, piccoli bastardi." he grumbles and pulls himself off you and approaches the enclosure. You watch as he opens the door to the cage and picks up the little nuisance with the utmost care and tenderness he can muster. He holds the rat in his palm and lifts it up to his face, "Tuo papà è occupato, I will give this back later, okay?" he tells the rat as he takes the wheel out of the enclosure before setting it down on the floor.

"Aaww..." he coos at the rat as it wiggles its whiskers at him. Copia then gives the rodent a gentle pet before placing it back in the cage. He turns back to you and raises his arms, "Now! Where were we, amore?" he asks and crawls back into the bed with you.

You giggle softly at him as he hovers over your body, "I was about to take my clothes off." you explain.

Copia smirks at you, "Ohoho? Is that so? Well... Let us pick up where we left off then, hm?"

#copia x reader #ghost band #ghost fandom #ghost band x reader #smut #drabble #papa emeritus iv #papa copia

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Nevermind (ao3)

Twelve months to the day since she and Elain were thrown in the Cauldron, Nesta finds herself at one of Feyre’s dinner parties, trying to wrestle with an entire year’s worth of grief— until Cassian holds out a hand. (For @nestaarcheronweek day 2)

“I fell out of love again, not with you but with living in general, and I lost a lot of friends, never mind. Cause I’ve been on a losing streak, my heart’s made of stone, and I can’t trust my own damn feet to show me the right way home.” - Nevermind, Deaf Havana

It was the laughter that rankled the most.

That stung as it echoed off the crystal wine glasses and polished silver knives that lay at intervals along the grand mahogany table; glittering peals of it reverberating as bottles were uncorked and priceless wine was poured as liberally as water. Edged in the soft evening light, their joy was bright and bold and loud and warm, but as the dark crimson liquid licked the sides of her glass when someone filled it, Nesta Archeron could do nothing but sit frozen in the chair set out for her in Feyre’s expensive new house, watching the wine settle in her glass, trying not to think of how much it resembled freshly spilled blood. 

There was no air in that expansive dining room trimmed with wealth and filled with golden light and laughter, no way to breathe, and as Nesta felt herself slowly suffocate, their laughter cut and pierced her skin like an entire quiver of arrows shot from seven different bows. Each one hit their mark; each one made her bleed. 

With a hand she forced steady, she reached for the wine and lifted it to her lips, praying she might find some relief at the bottom regardless of… well, everything.

She wished they’d given her whiskey instead.

Cheap wine and strong liquor— that’s what Nesta had grown used to these past months. What she wantedmore than fine wine and elegant dinners pierced with laughter she couldn’t share. But then— when had it ever really mattered what she wanted anyway? When had it ever made a difference? 

This wine certainly wasn’t cheap. It was rich and heady, the taste lingering on her tongue and coating the back of her throat, so thick she couldn’t breathe. It clung to the side of her glass as she lowered her hand, a smear of red staining the crystal that had her stomach churning and her throat threatening to close. Blood— did none of them notice, how much it looked like blood? It had her hearing not laughter but screams— had her tasting iron and recalling the way the blood had pooled between her fingers and collected between her knuckles only a handful of months ago. 

Around the stem of her wine glass, her fingers trembled.

So little time had passed since the battle that had made an orphan of her, and yet…

They laughed.

Still, they laughed.

It was why, in the time since they had walked away from that battlefield alive if not entirely intact, Nesta had done everything in her power to distance herself from her sister and her newfound family. She had found an apartment on the other side of the city, as far from Feyre’s new house as she could get, and most nights she tried her hardest to avoid Rhysand and the members of his Inner Circle, seeking solace instead in dive bars— trying to find it in the arms of strangers whose names she never learned and whose faces she wouldn’t remember when the sun came up.

But this night… 

This night was different. 

The wine soured on her tongue, the sound of their laughter almost making her flinch. It was twelve months to the day since she and Elain had been forced into that Cauldron— twelve months since she had been broken apart so irrevocably that she didn’t think that there was a hope in hell of putting her back together again. It was the only reason - the only reason - why she had accepted Feyre’s weekly invitation to dinner when so many others had gone ignored. Why Nesta had crossed the river and stood in that grand, echoing entrance hall, looking up at portraits of damn near everyone Feyre had ever met, and finding that the only absence was her own. 

The familiar hole in her chest had widened, yawned and gaped until it threatened to swallow her, and on this brutal anniversary she had thought that she might want, for once, to be near the only people who might understand the significance of it. Who might remember what day it was too.

She’d realised her mistake as soon as she stepped over the threshold.

Elain had been holding a cake on a silver stand, emerging victorious from the kitchen and smiling as she made her way to the dining room, where the cake now sat proudly in the centre of the table. Elain always makes dessert, Feyre had whispered as Nesta stood motionless in the doorway, trying to catch Elain’s eye and hoping to find—

What?

The same pain, reflected back at her in eyes she knew as well as her own? Some flicker of understanding?

Feyre had patted Nesta on the arm and slipped away to the sitting room, leading her to the space warmed by the glow of the fire and softened by the sound of laughter. But Nesta couldn’t find it in her to make her lips bend into a smile, couldn’t force a spark into her eyes. When Elain returned, and when Rhysand complimented the cake, her sister had blushed and dipped her chin, batting away the kind words with a soft smile and a demure tilt of her head. All the while Nesta sat in her chair, blinking, trying not to feel like a ghost that had stumbled and sat, unseen and unnoticed, at a stranger’s dinner party.

The laughter rose now, filling the dining room until the space was bursting with it, their joy pushing at the seams until it felt like Nesta would break beneath the pressure. As if from a great distance she heard Amren make some dry, cutting comment that she was too far gone to fully comprehend, and Azriel’s retort was a low, dark whisper across the silverware that had Mor’s laughter pealing all over again, like the ringing of a church bell. 

Nesta’s hand tightened on her wine glass.

Did they not realise— did they not see? Or was she just screaming into the void, her pain and her anguish swallowed by their laughter?

The grief was a collar around her neck, tightening with every breath and dragging her beneath the surface whenever she was reminded that this place was not her home, this life not one that she had chosen. When she looked in the mirror and glimpsed her reflection, Nesta saw elegantly arched ears and eyes that glinted silver and she mourned every. damned. time. On the rare occasions she managed a smile, her lips felt absurdly weighty, the curvature forced and unwieldy, too unnatural to be believable given that her chest was still so empty and hollow.

And none of them noticed.

It hurt.

Every breath hurt— still. They had told her it would get better with time, that she would learn to heal, but it hadn’t, she hadn’t, and all she had come to realise was that her anger and her sorrow and her pain could not be parcelled away, couldn’t fit neatly into their little box. It had teeth— teeth and claws and a taste for blood, and it was tearing her apart, day by day by fucking day.

But it was invisible to them, because they had ticked off the days, the weeks turning to months, and now that a full year had passed… Nesta had, apparently, sailed right past the point of her pain being acceptable.

She gritted her teeth now, the meaningless and inane babble making her want to take her fork and drive it through Rhysand’s neck. If any of them spoke to her, she didn’t hear it. Didn’t register it. Instead she sat with her back straight, pushing around the food on her plate and ignoring Mor’s disapproving glance when she barely ate a mouthful and chose, instead, to drain her sanguineous wine.

A silent scream began to build in her chest, one that threatened to cleave her in two.

The laughter grew louder, another bottle of wine was opened, and for all the size of the great dining room in Feyre’s new home, the walls seemed to be closing in, the air suddenly thin as ribbons of ice crawled up Nesta’s spine. When the food was cleared away, Nesta saw as if through water when Feyre pushed away from the table, lifting her glass and suggesting that they move to the sitting room for a while before returning later for Elain’s cake.

She didn’t hear the murmurs of agreement or the clink of glasses as her sister’s family got to their feet. She didn’t hear the scrape of the chairs against the hardwood floors - not even her own - and as the rest of them departed for one of the luxurious sitting rooms overlooking the lawns, Nesta curled a hand around the back of her chair as she stood, fingers curling painfully into the carved wood. 

“Nesta?”

Feyre’s voice drifted to her as she placed a hand on Nesta’s arm, but Nesta didn’t feel any warmth or kindness in her sister’s touch— felt only the icy kiss of the Cauldron and the hands that had held her captive in that throne room— a bruising grip that had held her down before water closed over her head, before her blood had boiled and her bones had shattered. 

The memory slammed into her, made her flinch. 

Against the onslaught Nesta took a breath, fixing her eyes on the windows and the night sky beyond, dark and clouded over, without a single star visible in the sky overhead. She looked into the impenetrable black, like a mirror to her soul.

“I’ll join you in a minute,” she managed after a long silence, her voice straining against the words. 

Slowly, Feyre nodded.

She drew her hand away and looked once at her eldest sister before turning for the door, and as the sound of Feyre’s retreating footsteps grew distant, Nesta found herself standing alone and motionless before the window, looking at her reflection and mourning the life she had lived twelve months ago.

A life where she had a father still, even if he had been absent.

A life where she woke each morning and recognised her face in the mirror; where there was a path laid before that she knew she could follow. A human, mortal path.

Nesta caught sight of her eyes reflected back at her in the glass, dark and humourless, as cold and as empty as a void. From the sitting room the laughter echoed still, Mor’s voice louder than the rest as she told some ridiculous, raucous story that had Rhysand shouting something in good-natured protest, that had Feyre gasping a laugh as she allowed herself to be regaled by some tale from her husband’s past.

Nesta wondered if she would ever laugh again— ever find a reason to smile. 

She had never felt more out of place than she did now, with her arms wrapped tight around herself as she stood alone, listening to the laughter and the joy of a family she would never be a part of. 

A mistake— it had been a mistake to come tonight.

She closed her eyes, wondering how much scorn she would receive if she left right now, without saying goodbye. Glasses clinked in the sitting room, and it was almost enough to make her dart for the kitchen and the door that she knew would take her outside, but before she could commit herself to running away, the sound of footsteps approaching made her open her eyes again. Looking at the dining room reflected back at her through the windows, Nesta didn’t bother to turn as the door was opened again, letting in another sharp slice of the mirth beyond. 

Cassian hesitated in the doorway.

Through the glass Nesta watched as he stood, lingering and drawing no nearer, even though his eyes had found her in an instant— had snapped to her, like seeking her out was the only thing he was good at. Without pause, without fear, he met her gaze in the window’s reflection, standing a handful of feet behind her as the heart in Nesta’s chest twisted painfully. 

“There you are,” he said gently. “I wondered where you’d got to.”

He stood with his hands in his pockets, a stance so casual that Nesta could have forgiven herself for forgetting that he was a warrior born and bred, as ruthless as they come, with hands even more bloodstained than her own. The hair hung to his shoulders in a mass of haphazard curls, and the ruby earring he wore caught in the low light as he canted his head to the side, studying her with eyes that held no humour anymore, no hint of jest.

She wished now that Feyre had left the wine behind.

Cassian’s eyes searched hers in the reflection, taking in the hollows of her cheeks and the skin that she knew was too pale, too wan. His eyebrows inched together, a furrow forming in his brow as he took in the tracery of grief left behind, and when his throat bobbed with a swallow, something like concern alighted across his face. The scar slicing through his eyebrow was thrown into relief as his head tilted, his jaw tight as he looked her over, and something sparked in his eyes that she couldn’t bear, something so ardent and sincere that it made the hollow ache in her chest spread until she could feel it in her toes. 

She didn’t know what to do with it. How to handle it. 

So Nesta turned sharply on her heel, whirling to face him and taking some small pleasure in the fact that his eyes widened— that she had managed to surprise him. 

“You don’t want to join us in the sitting room?” he asked, his voice slow and careful. Like he was sizing up an opponent for battle.

Nesta snorted.

Regret glimmered in his eyes, edged with just the barest hint of sorrow, but it was there and gone in an instant. The hazel darkened, and Nesta felt the anger and pain that simmered beneath her skin extending its claws like a beast stretching languorous before the hunt. 

“Why should I?” she asked, poison seeping into her tone— poison as lethal to her as it was to him. Part of her knew she would regret it later, regretted it already, but she couldn’t hold back the tide of her grief alone. It was easier to let it swallow her, to let it drown her— easier to feed the anger than feel the pain, and so she lifted a chin and nodded to the doorway and the sitting room beyond, her lip curling on a sneer that only a small part of her tried and failed to fight. “So I can hear more tales about how wonderful your lives have been?”

Cassian’s eyes didn’t widen this time, like he’d expected every harsh word that had fallen from her lips. But he didn’t draw back— Cassian remained, resolute, with his face blank as Nesta’s arms tightened around her middle, as though her grip was the only thing holding her together. For half a moment she thought she saw his eyes soften— thought she saw him reach the same conclusion.

“So you can sit beside your sisters and remember what it is to be loved by them,” he suggested instead, removing one hand from his pocket and extending it smoothly out towards her. He caught her eye and raised an eyebrow, splaying his fingers like all he wanted was for her to take his hand and let her fingers slip between the gaps he’d left in his. 

Nesta’s heart twisted again, and she thought that maybe - maybe - a part of her might want that, too. 

A pity then, she thought dryly, that she couldn’t see beyond the tangled mess of emotions that were churning up her chest like dried earth. That she couldn’t reach beyond the shroud of grief to accept the hand that he offered. 

She was silent for a moment, not quite knowing the words to say. His hand hung in the air between them, not quite enough to close the gap, and she was acutely aware that before her was a man who had thrown his life before hers, who had laid his head in her lap and grasped her hand as he lay dying. A man that she had barely seen since, who had started the hours and days after the battle by giving her space, and had never quite managed to stop. The distance between them was so great now that Nesta had no idea how to bridge it. 

And then—

“I know what day it is, Nes,” he said quietly.

He made the nickname soft, breathed it like it could somehow belong to someone with a tongue as sharp as hers. His lips parted as his eyes fluttered, his gaze drifting down, and gods, it was as much of a hand extended out to her as the fingers he still had stretching towards her, a bridge offered when she couldn’t find one herself. Nesta had stilled by the windows, immovable as stone, but when her eyes shifted from his outstretched hand to the eyes that he had fixed on hers…

She had never seen his hazel gaze so earnest. 

It was almost enough to make her weep, forcing apart the cracks in her chest with enough verocity to leave her in splinters. But Cassian didn’t blink, didn’t shy away from her, and when she said nothing, he only took a single step towards her. 

“I know what it is to grieve, you know,” he added softly, in a voice hardly more than a whisper. “I know what it is to mourn.”

The laughter from the sitting room grew louder, and Nesta felt her eyes close against it, like she might protect herself from it if she could only pretend she was somewhere else entirely. She heard the rustle as Cassian’s wings spread a little, and part of her wondered if he’d thought he might extend those wings and shield her, blocking out the entire world. Part of her wished he would. 

“Do you?” she managed as she opened her eyes again, tilting her head in a challenge that wasn’t half as sharp as she had intended. His eyes softened. “Do they?”

“Yes,” he answered simply. “But they don’t allow their pain to morph them into something else—“

“How dare you—“

“Nes.” He dared another step, eyes wide, lips parted. A plea shone in his eyes, edged with desperation. “Please.”

Nesta felt her lip curl, falling back on the all-too familiar anger that served as her shield— the defence she flung up to keep them all from looking at her too closely, from seeing just how much she had been torn apart that day twelve months ago. Just how much she’d been raked apart every day since.

“Please what?”

Cassian didn’t back away, and in the face of her barbed words he only took another breath, as if to tell her he understood— and he wasn’t afraid.

“Please let me help you. Let me do something. Anything.”

There it was again— the bridge he offered, the path back to the surface.

“You think after all these years I don’t know what you’re going through? That I don’t see it?” Cassian dropped his hand at last, curling it into a fist and bringing it above his heart. “That I haven’t been standing exactly where you’re standing right now, facing down the same damn thing?”

The beast inside her bared its teeth, claws raking down her spine. It begged to be set loose again, to snap and bite and lash out and even the slightest provocation, but…

Gods, she was tired.

So, so, tired.

“I can’t sit there and pretend,” she said at last, her voice tight in her throat. She nodded to the sitting room, to the laughter still drifting through the walls. “Just because a year has passed doesn’t mean I’ve suddenly made my peace with any of this.”

“I know,” Cassian said smoothly, reaching out his hand once again. He didn’t wait for her to accept him this time, and there was no hesitation or second-guessing as he took her hand in his and closed his fingers tight around her own. His eyes burned, his face lined with the kind of sorrow that Nesta knew would be etched across her own too, and she wanted to sob, wanted to crumble. But for once there was a crack in the darkness, a sliver of light pushing against the black and begging to be let in, and as Nesta’s fingers slid home between his, she let his warmth ground her just enough to pull her back from the edge— enough to let his light filter through the gaps. 

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he whispered, and just like that… 

Suddenly it felt like the weight she had carried alone for so long was shouldered by him too. Like he took a portion of it, eased the burden with nothing but a squeeze of his hand and a look in his eyes that said that even now, he wouldn’t forsake her.

And it didn’t fix everything - far from it - but she hadn’t realised how powerful it was to have someone there beside her, to take her hand when the darkness got too much, when the ache was too deep and the world too heavy. Somehow the teeth tearing her apart felt a little less sharp, the claws a little more dulled than usual; the beast calmed if not placated. The pain didn’t vanish,  but it was easier to bear somehow, and for the first time in twelve months, Nesta could see beyond her grief to the world beyond. 

Cassian’s fingers curled around her own, his grip tight, like he was loath to let her go lest she slip away into shadow again.

“Why?” she asked, looking down at their entwined hands. “Why do you remember when they don’t?”

Cassian shook his head. “They remember,” he said softly. “Elain remembers.” He nodded to the cake still sitting on the table, waiting to be cut after dinner. “Why do you think they laugh so loudly, Nes?”

His other hand lifted to her face, his thumb brushing across her cheek, as if to wipe away the tears that had yet to fall. He angled his head to the side, as if to hear the laughter, and when it echoed his eyes snapped back to hers. His grip on her hand tightened. 

“They laugh in the face of it,” he said. “They find the joy and cling to it.”

And what do I have to cling to, Nesta thought dryly. Who do I have to lean on?

She thought of the dim bars waiting for her and the nights she had spent in the arms of strangers, and even though she didn’t ask the question out loud, Cassian’s lips lifted at the edges, giving her a gentle, plaintive smile as he squeezed her hand— as if that was the answer.

As if he was the answer.

He tugged on her hand, his smile lifting to something wider, something more mischievous. 

“If you don’t want to face the sitting room, how about we just stay here instead?” he suggested. “Or slip away to Rhys’ study? There’s a chess board in there and believe it or not, I was never much good at it.” Slowly, the smile curving his lips grew into one that felt more genuine than any Nesta had to offer, but Cassian didn’t let it drop. His eyes glimmered as he added, “Would thoroughly humiliating me in a game of strategy help turn the night around for you?”

“You’d rather sit and play chess with me than be with your family?”

Cassian rolled his eyes indulgently, tugging on the hand she still had clasped in his palm. “Of course I would.”

Nesta didn’t know how to answer, but when she glanced up and met his eyes, there was a warmth there that she hadn’t expected to find. And maybe it wasn’t enough to chase away the dark entirely, but maybe it was the tether that she needed to a world that wasn’t so completely consumed by sorrow. Cassian’s fingers were so warm around her own, still holding tight to her even after she’d spent so long pushing him away - pushing all of them away - and for the first time in twelve months, she wanted to let herself feel that warmth, to let it sink into her bones.

“Come on,” he said, giving her hand another small tug. His smile turned somewhat conspiratorial, his voice dropping to a whisper. “If we’re quick we can sneak down to the wine cellar. I know where Rhys keeps the good stuff.”

The retort bloomed in Nesta’s throat— a cutting remark waiting on her tongue about how she didn’t want anything from Rhysand, not even his most expensive wine. A scowl threatened to twist her lips, but when Cassian waggled a single eyebrow as if to say, well? What do you say? she felt the words die on her tongue, turning to ash as she pushed the scowl back. For too long, the sharpness had been her only defence, the only armour she could call on. But with Cassian’s hand wrapped around her own and the small smirk at the corner of his lips somehow telling her they were in this together… 

Maybe she didn’t need the armour.

Not all the time. Not with him.

After all, he had taken her hand when she was hurting and hadn’t flinched as she spat and cursed. He had let her sharpen her claws, but had been there to bring her back when she needed it, when he realised that those claws were cutting her to ribbons too, and so this time, when Cassian tilted his head in a silent question and squeezed her hand one more time…

Nesta nodded.

Because she didn’t want the next year to be like the last, and she didn’t think she could do it alone, and he was there, holding her hand and throwing a smile over his shoulder as he led her from the dining room and towards the kitchen, headed right for the door leading down to the cellars beneath. And even though the grief inside her continued to snarl and writhe and claw, Nesta felt her steps fall in line with his and thought that as long as she wasn’t alone, as long as he was there, waiting to pick her up when she fell down…

Well, she thought as she squeezed his hand in return, maybe the next twelve months would turn out better than the last. 

New Taglist: (If you want to be added or removed, let me know!) @asnowfern , @podemechamardek , @c-e-d-dreamer ,@lady-winter-sunrise , @starryblueskies7, @melphss , @that-little-red-head , @misswonderflower , @fwiggle , @tanishab, @xstarlightsupremex @burningsnowleopard , @hiimheresworld , @wannawriteyouabook , @hereforthenessian @kale-theteaqueen

#nessian #nessian fic #nestaweek2024

[peachinthenight]

Embers

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Rated: M

Read on AO3

Warnings: PiV smut, oral (f receiving), bruce being a mcr fan

Summary: Every day, you learn more and more about your boyfriend. Today, you learn he is quite a musician. 3.5k words

You had an awful day at work, and you were glad to be back at home. To your surprise, instead of silence, you were greeted by the sound of a piano. It sounded like it was being played live. You didn’t even know there was a piano in Wayne Tower. The sound took you into a room you had never been in before. There were several rooms you had never gone in before.

The master bedroom had been untouched since Martha and Thomas’ passing. Martha had a room dedicated to her hobbies. Sewing, knitting, and crocheting, while Thomas had an office he used.

And while you were never explicitly told not to go into them, you’ve never seen anyone go into those rooms, so you took that as a silent rule that they were off-limits. You didn’t mind though, you sympathized with Bruce’s grief. They weren’t just rooms, they were memorials. The sound of the piano led you to one of these rooms, in a desolate hallway away from the room you shared with Bruce. The door was ajar, and you couldn’t help your curiosity. You peeked.

The room was a study, with bookcases lining the walls, going right up to the high ceilings. There was a rich mahogany desk, a small sitting area around a fireplace.

And a grand piano. With your boyfriend sitting on the piano bench, playing almost… passionately.

The song was familiar, but you couldn’t quite place it.

His long fingers move effortlessly across the keys as if he’s played this song a hundred times before.

You open the door more and enter the room, but Bruce is so focused on playing, he doesn’t even notice you.

Usually, he is astute, and you’ve never gotten the drop on Bruce before.

The floors creak beneath you, yet he still doesn’t notice.

Under normal circumstances, it would have been tempting to try and scare Bruce. You knew you’d be able to do it. You were now standing right behind him, and he didn’t notice. But there was something about how he moved and how his fingers glided across the keys. The way he was completely absorbed in playing the emotional song. As the sound of the rich piano filled the air, you realized something.

Your nerd ass boyfriend was playing a piano rendition of Helena by My Chemical Romance. A smile played on your lips. God. You were so in love with him.

It was clear this song meant something to him. You knew that music was deeply personal for Bruce, and this seemed to be no different.

Finally, the song reaches its beautiful end. Bruce’s fingers trail away from the keys, and his head turns slightly towards you, he lets out a breath. You can’t tell if he’s startled by your presence or not.

“Hey,” he greets quietly.

“Hi,” you greeted, approaching his side. He looks back at the piano. You put your hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t know you could play.”

He chuckles and nods slowly, “I play. I play when I’m stressed.” His fingers tap on the top of the piano idly, thumbing a few keys. “You can sit… if you’d like?” He gestures to the empty spot on the piano bench.

Bruce was a fairly large man, but you had no problems invading his personal space. You slid into the spot next to him. Leg against leg, shoulder against shoulder.

“You’re stressed?” You asked, and then internally cringed. You couldn’t believe that just left your mouth. Of course, he’s stressed.

“I am,” he sighs, letting out a breath of frustration. “Someone keeps leaving bombs around Gotham.” He rubs his thumb over the piano key.

Bruce stares at the floor, and then turns to look over at you, his mouth turning up into a small smile, “It’s nice to have you here, though.”

You take one of his hands, and you lace your fingers with his. You brought the back of his hand up to your lips, and you gave his hand a soft kiss.

“I’ll always be here for you,” you said quietly, looking into his eyes. Bruce’s pale face had a bit of color in his cheeks now.

A simple kiss to his hand was enough to leave Veangence himself flustered. You’d never say this to his face, but Bruce was so cute.

“How long have you played the piano?” You asked.

“A while." He tore his eyes from yours, and he looked back at the grand piano the two of you were sitting at. “My mom used to teach me when I was young.” As he speaks, he plays some idle notes on the black and white keys, nothing coherent, just simple notes. "It's helpful for when I'm working through something, you know?"

“Yeah,” you said. Everyone needed a way to work through their emotions. You thought that Bruce’s way was dressing up as a bat and beating up criminals, but it seemed like there were still layers of Bruce to uncover. Perhaps the piano was a way for him to feel close to his mother. Or maybe it was just something to do. "She must have been talented," you commented, unsure of what else to say.

Bruce nodded, “Very.” His voice is soft, but his tone reflects his affection for his parents. He took a breath as he let his fingers rest on the piano again, “You play anything?”

“No.” You responded. “Well. I played cello for a few years in high school but— I wasn’t really good at it,” you chuckled. “Plus they’re an expensive instrument.”

Bruce gave you a smile. “The cello is an interesting choice,” he commented. “What do you like about it?” He was genuinely curious about what his girlfriend was interested in, even if it was just an offhand comment.

“I was enthralled by the deep and melancholic sound of it,” you told him, reaching out and pressing a white key on the piano. It was silent for a few moments, and you remembered an experience as a child. Your father had won tickets to the orchestra, and your mother wasn’t able to take off, so your dad took you. You could remember dressing up in a pretty dress, your father trying his best at styling your hair. You could remember the beautiful music and the pretty musicians. You could remember being in awe of it all.

“Also when I was a kid, my family went to the Gotham Orchestra and the cello player was really cute,” you said as fragments of the memory played in your head. “Had a bit of a schoolgirl crush.”

Bruce laid his head on your shoulder. “You have a thing for musicians?”

“Apparently,” you responded, a smile on your lips.

Bruce chuckled. “That’s good to know.”

Another several moments pass, and Bruce turns to you. Your eyes go from the smooth black-and-white keys of the piano to Bruce’s stunning blue eyes.

“I love you,” he blurted out. He looked surprised that he even said it. You laughed.

“I love you too,” you said, leaning in to press a tender kiss against his lips. Bruce turned his body more towards you, he put his hand against the case of the piano.

Bruce’s lips linger against yours, even after the two of you parted.

The taste of your lips, your smell, every part of you seems to have an effect on him. He feels like he’s floating, like he’s falling down a rabbit hole of feelings and emotions and he can't stop himself. He wants to tell you he loves you again and again.

And so he does.

“I love you,” he said again.

You delicately touch his jaw, gently holding it in your hand, as if he were made of glass.

“I love you more,” you said, a giddy feeling rising up in your chest as if you were a young girl with your first crush.

Bruce smiled at you, an almost boyish smile. “Oh yeah?” He responded, a teasing look in his eyes, which flicked down to look at your lips, then back up to your eyes. “I’m not so sure about that,” He trails off, taking deep breaths as he struggles to focus, his blue eyes watching your lips, wanting them again.

His intensity caused your heartbeat to quicken, hammering hard against your chest. Even after living with him, he still made you nervous in the best way.

“I am,” you respond.

Bruce leaned down, bringing his lips down to yours, firm and eager. His mouth moved onto her like a man in a desert, greedy for any type of moisture, and he wants to devour her.

The world around him faded into nothing, and all he can focus on is you. Your taste on his lips, and the way you sound with his hands on you, the two of them lost in the other. He held you close and only wants to get closer. He only wants to be here in this moment, with you.

His kiss invoked a feeling inside of you, so passionate that it made you want to burst. He tilts your head back, his large hand on your jaw, the tips of his fingers in your hair. Your lips part for him, his tongue slipping into your mouth, stealing away your breath. You’re completely lost in the moment, lost in the way he touched you, the way he kissed you. The way the ends of his hair tickled your face as he kissed you.

You bumped into the keyboard, your arm pressing down on a few keys, pulling you out of the moment, out of the kiss. You broke the kiss off to look at the piano, but Bruce guides your head back to him, back to his lips.

Bruce just can’t get enough of you. His lips move from your lips to your cheek, then your jaw. He leaves a trail of kisses to your neck. Bruce whispers your name with reverence.

“Bruce,” you said, your voice an octave higher than normal. “I—I want to hear another song,” you whispered to him. You wanted to know everything about Bruce. You wanted to know more about this room you’ve never been in; you wanted to know more about his skill in playing piano. Bruce’s kisses pause for a moment before he stands up.

“I’ll play you a song later,” he murmured, effortlessly lifting you up into his arms. “I want you,” he said. You were glad that he was holding you because you were feeling weak in the knees.

“Promise?” You smiled.

“What? About the song?” Bruce asked as he carried you off to your shared bedroom. “Yeah, I promise,” he took in a deep breath of your scent.

Bruce sat on the bed and held you in his lap. You thanked god for those sweatpants that he just loved wearing. You could feel every inch of his hardness against your thigh.

“I haven’t even showered yet,” you warned him, leaning into him.

“I don’t care,” Bruce responded, his voice huskier than normal. His hands trailed down to hold your hips.

You take his bottom lip between your teeth, giving it a playful nip before pulling back.

Bruce looks completely enthralled by you.

He is.

Bruce maneuvers you into a lying down position on the bed. “Close your eyes,” he told you.

You raised an eyebrow but did as he said, closing your eyes.

It was quiet for several agonizing moments, before you felt Bruce’s hands on your body, gently removing your clothes. You moved around, helping him in removing your clothes. You wanted to open your eyes, to see him, with his kiss-swollen lips and his eyes dark with lust, but you resisted.

Bruce removed everything but your underwear.

“Can I—” you began.

“No,” Bruce responded, his hands on your legs, moving them around and spreading them apart, so he could slide between them. You felt the weight of him settle between your legs, his hands on either side of your shoulders. He dipped down and started a trail of kisses from your neck, down to your collarbone. His tongue darted out to lick around your collarbone. He took a moment to suck at the sensitive skin there, no doubt leaving a hickey. You laughed, your hands going into his hair.

“I’ll pay you back tenfold,” you warned him. You could feel him smile against your skin.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he rasped out.

Bruce continued his worship of your body, taking one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue twirling around the bud while his other hand plucked at your other breast. His hips lightly ground into yours, seeking out some sort of reprieve from the aching between his legs. Your hands go into his hair, tangling your fingers in his messy dark locks. You let out a soft sigh as his mouth began to pay attention to your other nipple. Your body felt several degrees hotter, and it only increased as Bruce began to kiss down further. Down your abdomen, and finally, his face was level with your cunt. He guided your legs to rest on his bare shoulders.

“All this for me?” He asked, using his index finger to rub the wet spot in your underwear. Your breath hitched, and your pussy clenched. Heat coiled in your abdomen at what was to come.

“All yours,” you said, finally opening your eyes.

Bruce kissed your thigh and then kissed your clothed pussy. He happily pressed his nose against the wet spot, breathing your scent in. Bruce always thought that the smell of your needy cunt was the best scent he had ever experienced. Helooked almost pensive for a moment, before easily ripping your underwear.

“Bruce!” You gasped.

“I’ll buy you more,” he whispered, sliding a finger into your aching folds. “I’ll buy you anything you want,” he said with a happy sigh. He tossed aside the torn underwear.

“I can’t believe you did that,” you breathed out, tugging on his hair.

“You’re complaining?” He rubbed at your clit with his thumb.

“No,” you responded, tugging more on his hair. “It was hot.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” he murmured.

A laugh bubbled up from your chest. “That’s not an invitation to— oh fuck.”

His tongue began to lap at your folds, effectively ending your train of thought. Bruce knew how to play your body like it was an instrument. After nearly two years, Bruce had figured out where to lick, where to rub or pinch to make you squirm and moan. An upside to dating a detective, you suppose.

His fingers parted your lips, and you could feel his index finger twitching inside of you. He slid another digit in. You bit down a moan. Bruce pulled back. “Alfred isn’t home,” he purred. He kissed your thigh again. “Be loud,” he nearly begged. “I want to hear you scream my name.”

“Gotta earn it, big boy,” you breathed.

You heard him chuckle against your thigh, before diving back in, teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue.

It was a challenge, and oh did Bruce love a good challenge.

Bruce slowly thrust his fingers in and out of you, setting an agonizing pace. You felt fuzzy as he angled his fingers just right to hit the spot inside of you that made you sing. You felt like a string, being pulled so tight, you were about to snap.

“Bruce,” you groaned. “Bruce, Bruce, Bruce.” You chanted. Bruce ate pussy like it was the last time he’d ever be able to taste you. Desperate to savor you. And it was very possible that it could be. Bruce had his eyes closed, as if he was experiencing euphoria just from your taste, your moans. Your body twitched and jerked, and Bruce used his strong arm to hold down your hips as he sucked on your clit. He moaned against your sensitive folds. You rolled your hips, eager to find your release.

Finally, you found release, your back arching off of the bed as shockwaves of pleasure ripped through you. You sobbed out his name, your body arching off of the bed as you felt your orgasm hit you. Bruce continued teasing your clit as you rode the shockwaves of pleasure.

And you finally relaxed, the tension leaving your body, something that Bruce noticed.

“You must have really needed that,” he mused, removing his fingers and crawling up your body to kiss you, his lips still wet with your slick.

Your breaths were ragged, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. He looked like the cat that caught the canary.

“You look impressed with yourself,” you breathed out.

“I am,” he said, adjusting himself so he could easily remove his pants. “I should have timed that. Couldn’t have been longer than three minutes.” He sounded so pleased with himself, it caused a laugh to bubble up from your chest.

“Thank you,” you said, watching his cock spring out of his pants. The tip was an angry red, wet with precum.

“For?”

“The orgasm. I really did need it.”

“I plan on giving you another. I still haven’t heard you screaming my name.”

You sat up, and reached down, taking his length into your hand. He let out a shaky breath.

“All this for me?” You asked, a smirk tugging on the corners of your lips. You spread the precum around the tip using your thumb, not taking your eyes off his face.

“All yours,” Bruce responded, reaching over to the bedside table, and grabbing a condom. “I need to be inside of you, right now,” Bruce said, moving your hands. He ripped into the aluminum foil of the condom and slid it onto his length. You opened your legs wider for him.

“Then what are you waiting for?” You asked, your hands on his shoulders as he leaned over you.

Bruce growled, leaning down to kiss you as he slowly entered you. He let out a series of little gasps and growls as he bottomed out. “So wet,” he breathed out. “So wet, all for me,” he said right in your ear, his warm breath fanning over your ear and neck. His hair fell in his face. “I don’t know if I’ll last long,” he admitted as he began to move.

“That’s okay,” you whined. “I just wanna watch you come,” you said, brushing his hair out of his face.

It was almost too much for Bruce. The way your slick, velvety walls fluttered around him with each thrust was already sending Bruce to the edge, but he was holding back. He wanted to enjoy this, and not blow his load immediately.

You could swear that Bruce was made for you. He slotted so perfectly between his legs. His cock was the perfect size

Your chest was pressing up against his. Bruce’s lips just barely brushed against yours with each movement of his hips. Your hands found their way back to his hair, tangling your fingers in his dark hair, holding him close to you. The wet noises echoed through the room, only barely drowned out by Bruce’s soft whimpers. You could feel his heart through his chest, beating wildly, only for you. He dips down, licking a stripe down your chest, he enjoyed the salty taste of your sweat. His movement was languid, each snap of his hips was made with purpose.

“Bruce,” you whined, lifting up your hips. “Faster,” you begged. Bruce leaned down and quieted you with a kiss. He didn’t listen to you, still lazily fucking you. He propped himself above you, his chest brushing against yours, while his free hand reached down to rub at your swollen nub. You watched as Bruce’s eyes slipped close in pleasure. You were charmed as you watched him. His lips slightly parted, breathing in your air. Each movement of his hips pulled a noise out of Bruce. He growled your name, causing you to clench around him. You noticed that Bruce’s thrusts were getting sloppier.

“Please—” he begged. “I need you to come again,” he choked out. "Need to feel you— fuck.”

“I’m close,” you panted out. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t stop. He kept up his sloppy but steady pace his heart hammering in his chest.

“Bruce!” You keened as your toes curled and your back arched into him. Your body was tingling as your orgasm swept through you. Bruce let out a whine, and he soon followed. His body jerked, and you could feel him twitching inside of you as he came. He laid his head on your shoulder as he caught his breath.

“I love you,” he whispered breathily.

“I love you more,” you said with a grin. He smiled in response. Bruce took in a breath as he pulled out of you, and disposed of the condom in the nearby bin.

“I’ll let you win this one. You know. Because I love you,” he said as he laid back down, pulling your sweaty bodies together.

You let out a thoughtful hum as you relaxed into him.

“What are your plans for the rest of the evening?” Bruce asked his lips against your cheek.

“Spending time with my boyfriend, hopefully.”

“What a coincidence,” Bruce murmured. “Because I was hoping to spend more time with my girlfriend.”

Even with the blackout curtains, you could still see his bright eyes. You felt bubbly in your chest, and you smiled brightly at him.

Bruce’s breath hitched as he gazed at your bright smile.

This, he decided, was certainly worth living for.

#Bruce Wayne x Reader #dc x reader #reader insert #female reader smut #Bruce Wayne smut #battinson x reader #peach's writing

[p1nkcanoe]

Prompt: Swiss giving Phantom/Aeon his first knot

Pleader

[ swiss x phantom smut ]

warnings: knotting (duh), dubcon elements words: 2053

Click here to read on Ao3 or read below:

“Mmmrrnn~”

“If you don’t stop making noises someone’s going to come looking for us,” Swiss warns. He bends over Phantom’s back where he’s bent at the waist and pressed to one of the old mahogany library desks and gives him another deep thrust, rolling his eyes when the ghoul makes yet another noise as if he hadn’t heard him at all. “Unbelievable.” 

It’s Swiss’ fault, really. He’d teased the quintessence ghoul all day long with lingering touches, playful little slaps on his ass and even a sneaky dick grab during lunch, gotten him all worked up and then had the audacity to act surprised when he came searching for him out in the library during their work hours. Luckily Swiss has the library to himself. He’d been assigned to organize the books from the storage room with Rain, but then the water ghoul had somehow managed to get roped into something “more important” in the basement and Phantom was more than happy to volunteer in his place. 

“Oh, Swiss…” the smaller ghoul tries between pointed thrusts. “Good. It’s so good.” His claws dig scars into the wood that will never be buffed out. 

“I’m glad, I really am, but you’ve really gotta stop talking.” 

To no one’s surprise, Phantom lets a particularly loud moan fall past his lips with the next snap of his hips and Swiss is quick to slap a palm over his mouth to shut him up. The sound echoes throughout the library equally as loud as Phantom’s vocalizations, and Swiss cringes. He changes his position, smothers the ghoul’s chest with his back and leans on his forearms so that they are bent and flat on the table. His hand pushes harder over Phantom’s mouth so unforgivingly that the ghoul struggles to breathe out his nose, whimpers and drools into his palm. He’s quieter, but only because he’s muffled. In actuality, he only seemed to somehow get louder despite the slowing of Swiss’ thrusts and the attempt at smothering his noises. 

Swiss pulls out slowly, rests his forehead on Phantom’s sweaty nape and breathes in his rich scent and the barely there tingle of quintessence sparkling under his skin, and pushes back in even slower, focusing on the warm feeling and embrace that is Phantom and his pretty hole. He fucks him like this for a while, lets him calm down until his breathing evens out and he reduces back to little hums and the occasional whimper, and eventually Swiss hesitantly unmuzzles him. The reaction is almost immediate. 

“Please, Swiss. Please.”

“If I go any faster you’ll get us caught.” 

“No, that's not–”

“Then what are you even begging for?” 

Phantom pushes his forehead into the desk, groans and squeezes around the ghoul so tight that one of Swiss’ hands attaches itself to his side and digs in for purchase and control. Phantom mewls and Swiss almost covers his mouth again but then he watches as he lets his tongue fall from his mouth and he licks wet and broad at the desk under him. It’s an adrenaline-driven action, that much is obvious, but Swiss can’t help but watch in awe as the ghoul falls victim to his own lust and desire. 

“Give it to me,” he finally says, muttered against the now slick and sticky surface. “Need it.” 

“You have it–”

“No, not enough. Want it,” he cranes his neck to look the multi ghoul right in his golden eyes. His own flash purple with a sudden surge of quintessence. There’s something there, something wild. It’s hard to ignore. “Want your knot…” 

Despite how much Phantom’s admission makes his cock throb and his skin to flush with red hot heat, he shakes his head and rises back up to his full height, giving the ghoul another slow, deep thrust. “Oh, no… Not here. This is not a good place for that.” Phantom whines, drops his forehead back into the spit-slick wood and digs his claws into it. He looks like a child throwing a fit and Swiss won’t have any of that. 

“Please, need it so bad.” 

Swiss shuts him up with a particularly hard and quick thrust, brushing up against that spot in him that makes him jolt and his mouth to fall open in silent cry. “No. Take what I'm giving you.” 

Swiss thinks that it’s enough to keep him from begging, enough to get him to shut up and take what Swiss is offering, but then Phantom whines and curls his fingers from the edges of the desk, wraps his hands around the back of Swiss’ thighs, his tail around his torso,  and pulls him closer with a seemingly newfound strength. It throws him off guard and he gets pulled in deep, deeper than his last few thrusts, and Phantom moans out again, loud and unabashed. To say Swiss is irritated is an understatement. He growls, deep and threatening, and shoves the ghoul’s hands and tail away from his skin, but Phantom is quick to put them right back, and this time he digs his claws into the flesh of cheeks, breaking skin and forcing a hiss from the larger ghoul. He shoves him away again, harder this time, and Phantom’s about to try again when Swiss grabs him by his wrists and pins his hands to the desk with bruising force. The loss of his hands doesn’t stop him from trying to grind himself back onto his cock. 

“Oh, you little– you’re pissing me off. Why are you being so ungrateful?” 

“Need it, Swiss. Please. Knot me. Knot me right here. Right now.” 

Truth be told, Swiss’ knot isn’t even inflated yet. Yeah, it’s very slowly starting to build, but if Phantom hadn’t started begging for it, it truly would have been an afterthought–a problem for another time–because no, Swiss hadn’t planned on knotting someone in the library today, especially with work hours ending sometime within the next half hour. This was supposed to be a quick thing, a fun little fuck, a distraction from the real tasks at hand, and now his knot is growing, beginning to bump against Phantom’s hole as it swells against his own desires. And of course, the other ghoul notices. 

A loopy little smile appears on the ghouls face as Swiss fucks him, his body rocking up the desk with every thrust of Swiss’ hips. He looks back at him with his cheek pressed to the surface, brows furrowed together and tilted up at the center in pleasure, and his mouth left just the smallest amount ajar so that he drools from the corner of his mouth into a little puddle. He keeps fucking him controlled but deliberate and Phantom’s lips curl up even more when Swiss’ knot fills out that much more. 

“Shut up,” he warns. A large hand gets placed in the center of Phantom’s back, right where his dark and light side of his body splits, and he leans forward to press his weight into the heel of his hand. The pressure pushes the air from his lungs and Phantom moans out little ah, ah, ah’s with each push into his ass until his lungs deflate and Swiss allows him the smallest intake of breath just to keep him from complaining. 

He feels it, too. He’s inflating rapidly. The sight of Phantom’s flushed face drawn up all pretty while he fucks him on his dick along with the sound of his moans and his pleads replaying in his head over and over again, it’s too much to keep him from not. But no matter what, under no circumstances, will he knot the ghoul. No matter how much he tries to fuck himself on it, or how much he begs, he won’t tie them together. Not here. Doing so would just create a burden for the two, and embarrassment he’d never live down if someone were to walk in on them. So he readjusts his feet, finds that angle that feels good and new, and starts to really fuck him again, not caring about the punched out noise that comes out of him on the first thrust. He’s gonna fuck him good, fuck him thoroughly and quick before his knot swells up completely so that he can’t knot him. It’s a foolproof plan… If Swiss wasn’t already so swollen. 

Swiss lets go of Phantom’s wrists, replaces them on his hips instead so he can pull the ghoul back on his cock when he snaps his hips forward. The sounds of skin on skin echo throughout the large space and Swiss forgets about being careful, forgets about the risk, and pounds him into the hard wooden edge. When his hips meet his ass, Phantom’s hip bones knock painfully against the desk. He doesn’t seem to mind too much. 

“Yeah, yeah. That’s good. So good. Keep going, give it to me. Give it to me, I know you want to,” he babbles. 

“I’m not knotting you, I already told you.”

“You want to.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.” 

He’s beyond arguing with him. Phantom’s close. He is too. His belly burns, tightens up with each clench of Phantom’s hole around his painfully hard dick, and each bump of Swiss’ knot has Phantom begging and sure-set on getting it. “Keep clenching around me,” he groans and moves his hands up across Phantom’s back to hook over his shoulders. His back arches gorgeously and he readjusts his body to plant his elbows on the desk, his hands over Swiss’ in an attempt at intimate closeness. “Keep clenching, I’m close.” 

Phantom does as he’s told, clenches tight around Swiss and the multi ghoul groans, sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. Phantom’s tail finds its place curled around his torso again. The spade digs into the soft plush of his belly, surely imprinting itself there. The coil in his belly tightens, gets tighter and tighter and tighter until it finally unwinds and he shoves himself as deep as he can go without popping his knot inside. He grinds deep, cums hot and sticky ropes of cum into Phantom’s hole, and Phantom’s tail begins to tighten impossibly more. 

“Ant–” he starts. His voice catches in his throat when Phantom drops his chest and wraps his arms back around to grab at strong hips. “Ant–don’t–” By the time he moves to shove his hands away it’s too late. Phantom grinds back on that fat cock, pulls his hips and his body in hard with a burst of strength, and with a lewd pop Swiss’ knot slips into his hole and Phantom screams. 

His orgasm multiplies in intensity tenfold and he doubles over when his knees go unexpectedly weak, smothering the ghoul with his body once more and digging his teeth into the soft and sweaty skin between his neck and his shoulder. Phantom goes rigid beneath him, reaching his own orgasm and spurting all over that pretty, antique mahogany with gorgeous, strangled cries. 

Swiss can’t believe it. The little shit knotted himself. 

“Fucking shit,” Phantom cries. His voice trembles, laced with hints of pain and the aftershocks of his orgasm. He releases his hands from Swiss’ hips, untangles his tail, and tries to adjust against the wood but the movement only pulls painfully at where they’re tied and both ghouls hiss. 

Swiss plants a kiss over the already bruised mark on the light side of his neck–a stark contrast to the roughness it took to put it there, and he sighs, nuzzles into the ghoul’s hair. “Now look at what you’ve done… I hope you’re proud of yourself.” 

Phantom hums, indeed pleased with himself. The slightest rumble of a purr begins to vibrate from his chest. 

“Put us quite in a predicament…” 

“How long does it take to deflate?” 

“A while.” Swiss’ arms curl under Phantom’s hips and he squeezes, embracing the ghoul in warmth and attempt at comfort. “Just don’t move. We’re gonna be here for a while because of you.” 

Phantom’s purr gets louder and he wraps his tail around Swiss’ thigh. The multi ghoul rolls his eyes and gets as comfortable as he can get with the awkward angle and position. His eyes stay fixed to the door to the rest of the abbey and he says a little prayer that nobody comes in to check on his progress with the books.

#title from pleader by alt-j #swiss ghoul #phantom ghoul #swiss x phantom

[jooshergoober]

Silence of Voices

𖤐 Peeta Mellark x Reader

[previous] | [masterlist] | [next]

III.

You sat at your designated seat in the compartment, awaiting for everyone else to dig in before taking a bite of your own food.

It was just a safety precaution, you thought.

You gave a glance at your mentor, your eyes narrowing as he gladly took bites put of his rich food, as the other two watched without moving.

You managed to hear your mentor say something about passing the marmalade to him, but you watched as Katniss Everdeen, plunged a knife right between his fingers. The sound made everyone look at her with tension.

You gave a small smirk as you watched the scene, you thought he deserved it.

You heard a familiar high pitched voice come from behind Katniss, “That is mahogany!” She screeched out.

You turned your eyes back to your plate, staring.

“Do you really want to know how to survive?” Your mentor finally spoke again, or at least you think.

You perked up and looked at him, somewhat hoping he would actually give advice.

“You get people to like you.” He said sternly, staring at Katniss with a serious look.

You let out a small groan, rolling your eyes, before glaring at him.

“That’s the advice you have to give? Getting people to like us is like asking someone who ain’t got nothing in his pocket for change!”

He looked at you with a smirk, “Any item you receive can make a difference in your chance of survival. You only get extra materials from sponsors.” He continued to spread that disgusting sauce on the food in his plate.

“Getting sponsors is simple. You get them to like you.”

“Oh wow, almost as if I somehow knew that.” You scoffed and shook your head, and looked at him with your eyes looking at him through your lashes, a death stare it was.

He only watched you with unamused eyes, “Well its not working out for you.” He smiled before turning his attention back to his food.

You shook your head and looked away, leaning back in your chair, not bothering to involve yourself in the conversation now.

Your eyes found the window, now seeing the crowds of people from the capitol. The sight made your eyes widen at how many people there were, and a variety of styles greeted you.

You heard Peeta mumble something before getting out of his chair to look through the window behind you, you looked at him, and watched as the boy waved at the crowds with a bright smile.

You scoffed as you all were escorted out of the compartment, making your way to with all of the contestants.

They put you onto a metal table and started to change things about your body, waxing, or fixing things up with your hair. Perhaps it was to look presentable to the crowd.

After what felt like hours, they put you into a room, alone and lying on the metal stand. You stared at the ceiling, waiting in silence.

You closed your eyes slowly before you heard the metal door, to the room, begin to creak open.

Your eyes snapped open as your weakly turned your head to the person who walked in, yet you could only scoff at the person you saw.

“I haven’t seen you since that day, (reader).”

You sat up and leaned your head back, “Never thought a family reunion would happen when I might die.” You spat out before glaring at the fancy dressed woman.

She only smiled and walked closer to you, “Now, that’s no way to talk to your mother.” She said sweetly, her smile fake as the flame in her heart.

You only looked away before you sighed, “So you’re my stylist.” You stated the obvious as she nodded and looked you up and down.

“Don’t make me look like a fool for your entertainment.” You hissed out and glared at her while pointing at her.

She only chuckled, looking at you as if you were a joke. You hated her guts, after she left for the capitol so she didn’t have to be reaped again, but that thought made you sick.

You both conversed for a bit before she finally began to help you into your own outfit. You wore an outfit that made you look confident and independent, yet it still showed your feminine side. Your hair stayed down, styled neatly with a feathered pin holding your bangs up. You wore a black leather suit, with a tail skirt that was faded into black and red, to match the fire and coal from your district.

You couldn’t complain on your mother’s design choice, but it wasn’t at all what you were expecting. You would never say to her face that it looked nice.

You looked at her once more before she turned her back and began walking to where all of the other tributes were, including Katniss and Peeta.

You watched her pause before speaking, “I won’t be able to escort you out, but enjoy your time while it lasts, (reader).”

You scoffed and crossed your arms, “Shouldn’t you be hoping I survive at least?” She made the flame in you burn even faster, your temper rising.

She didn’t say anything but motioned you to continue walking. You ignored her but kept walking, finally seeing the other tributes and your own from your district. You grit your teeth in silence as you walked into the direction of Katniss and Peeta, seeing another stylist with them.

He was talking with them, but was interrupted by the gate opening and carriages started moving. You watched as they stood on theirs so confidently while you smirked and stopped, finally behind them.

“Got any space for one more?”

They both looked down at you and gave you a small grin before they motioned you to stand with them. You took one step before you ended up sitting at the edge of the small platform. The other two looking at you, their smiles fading, in a form of disappointment.

You weren’t going to become allies that easily. Especially when you were here to get your fate over with already instead of waiting it out and dying a slow death.

You could only wait for what is to happen.

i changed some of the dialogue that the characters say just so im not copying word for word from the book/movie so sorry if its a bit weird ^^; I ALSO APOLOGIZE FOR POSTING LATE school is getting in the way.

Taglist: @orangepeetals, @mymadokamagica, @l4venderia, @ilovetoomanymen, @imobssesedwithtoomanysheet, @love-golden-hour

#josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson x reader #peeta mellark #peeta mellark x reader #the hunger games #peeta x reader #the hunger games peeta

[theletterstohogwarts]

The Heir of Slytherin

Author: Letters to Hogwarts

Summary: Tom Riddle catches you sneaking into the restricted section of the library.

Main Character(s): Tom Marvolo Riddle

The haunting voices of pearlescent ghosts fade into whispers, while the luminescent glow of moonlight percolates the intricate gothic windows; creating a subtle mosaic of shadows. Soft flames, encased within ferrous lanterns, accompany your solitary descent along the tenebrosity of the stone staircase, as you arrive at the threshold of the secluded section of the library. With a wave of your wand, the ornate copper lock clicks open before granting you access to the collection of forbidden literature.

As you wander through the profusion of bookcases, delicately caressing the threadbare edges of the hardback covers, you happen upon an efficacious looking book before pulling it from the shelf. Allowing your gaze to linger on the sordid cover, your eyes glide over the intriguing incantations before the mellifluent melody of your name, echoing throughout the room, piques your interest.

Turning towards the sound, you’re met with the sight of a tall, dark, and handsome fifth-year student, enveloped in a veil of darkness and a soft halo of light illuminating his elegant features. There was an enigmatic aura surrounding the boy as you admire his rich mahogany hair, the soft curls cascading delicately over his brow and those dark golden, velvety eyes contrasted beautifully against his pale complexion.

An eerie chuckle echoes throughout the antiquated library as a charming smile begins to frame his chiseled features, “didn’t expect to find you sneaking around the restricted section.”

“Tom Riddle.” You say, the sound of his name dripping from your lips like honey. “I, uh...” With a quirk of his brow, he struts his way towards you with an audacious superiority, taking a great deal of pleasure in seeing you flustered underneath his intense gaze. Mindful of the intimate proximity, he dares a step closer before allowing his arm to slither, like the lustrous silver serpent embellished on his emerald green robe, behind your back to take possession of the leather-bound book.

“I’m impressed.” He praises, voice laced with quiet admiration, before allowing a sudden and presumptuous thought to ruminate in his mind. “The study of dark magic is forbidden, you know... deemed too dangerous by the professors.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” The honeyed tone in his voice, smooth like silk, catches your attention as you turn towards the Prefect. “I, on the other hand, find it to be rather useful... I could teach you.” He proposes, as you watch the soft flesh of his lips contort into a sinful smirk, eyes conflagrant with anticipation. “Perhaps, even share my knowledge of unforgivable curses... if you’re interested.” You notice his delicate fingers wrapping themselves around the base of his yew wand, twitching in ambitious vivaciousness. “Shall we,” he suggests, exuding a charismatic charm before you eagerly follow the undeniably intelligent boy further into the depths of the secluded section of the library.

#harry potter imagines #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader

[fortheloveofbuddie]

Isomnia fic sounds great!

Hi anon!

Thank you, it’s one of my main wips rn but truth be told, I haven’t written much on it lately (or at all) 😅

Ask me about my wips 💌

Here’s some snippets and introduction to the storyline 🥹

Introduction here ✨

First snippet here and second snippet here ✨

And one more below for you 😘

As he decides to not address it any further, he walks up to the bar, rubbing his cheeks with a hint of frustration written all over his face. He leans against the bar, looking out at the people around, laughing and having a good time. He wants to enjoy this time off, he truly does but the effects of the alcohol is tiring his body and he has to force himself to stay awake by rapidly blinking his eyes as he turns away from the rest of the 118.

He orders another drink to keep his mind occupied but it doesn’t last long as Buck walks up from behind him, startling him but he doesn’t show it. Yet Buck seems to take notice of the tension that’s risen in his body, a gentle hand placed on his shoulder.

“Hey man, you okay? Things got a little… strained back there” Buck nods towards the crew who are still laughing and joking around loudly, not ashamed of drawing attention to themselves.

Buck’s choice of words makes Eddie snort and he’s seconds away from rolling his eyes until he sees big blue eyes watching him with a softness that he hasn’t noticed before. “That’s an understatement, don’t you think?” Eddie utters, tense shoulders dropping at Buck’s simple yet thoughtful act. He meets Buck’s eyes and he can feel a small smile playing on his lips as he does. Eddie knows that he can never be mad at Buck, not even when he has barely slept in the past month.

Buck chuckles, ducking his head as he shies away from Eddie’s gaze but only for a moment. He looks back down at him, only to find rich mahogany eyes, dark and mysterious, yet full of hidden depths waiting to be explored, carefully watching him.

“Maybe, yeah. But I also know that you’re usually stubborn enough to not just let something like that go” Buck states as he sits down next to Eddie, their proximity perfectly reflecting the closeness of their bond as Buck’s warm knee rests against Eddie’s. “Something going on with you?” Buck asks, his voice gentle and curious as he tilts his head slightly to inspect the man in front of him.

Eddie opens his mouth to reply but before he has a chance to, a measurably drunk Chimney joins them, wrapping his arms around their shoulders and bringing the three of them close together. “Rejoin us for a good time” Chimney jokes, happiness beaming off him and he pats their shoulders before he takes a step back. “Hmm? Come on” He tries a bit more convincingly and both Buck and Eddie know that there’s no point in trying to argue with him - they’re joining the team again - whether they like it or not.

As they spend the rest of the night with their team, Eddie can’t help but to think about the way that Buck had been looking at him when he joined him at the bar, an unspoken gentleness written all over his face. In that moment, it had brought Eddie a sense of comfort that he hadn’t felt in a long time and parts of him were yearning to get it back. Buck has always been able to talk some sense into him, to calm him down in situations where it was needed and that’s why that moment had been different from the rest. He hadn’t necessarily needed the comfort, not by his own accord at least, but Buck had still been able to provide it, simply by being present.

Gonna use this as my wip wednesday 🌹

I was tagged by @dangerpronebuddie @tizniz , thank you babies 🫶

Tagging!! @watchyourbuck @daffi-990 @diazsdimples @cal-daisies-and-briars @wikiangela @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @honestlydarkprincess @giddyupbuck @butraura @vampbuckley @steadfastsaturnsrings @hippolotamus @spotsandsocks @thewolvesof1998 @wildlife4life @theotherbuckley @disasterbuckdiaz @exhuastedpigeon @loserdiaz @evanbegins 🩵🦋

#buddie #buddie wip #wip tag game #the insomnia fic #eddies in his pining era #while running on essentially on no sleep and caffeine #eddie diaz #evan buckley #wip wednesday

[jerzwriter]

It always starts somewhere...

This is my entry for Day one of @choicesjanuary2024 January Challenge. I hope you enjoy it!

Book: Crimes of Passion (post book 2) Pairing: Trystan Thorne x Carolina Rose Category: Fluff with a dash of angst Rating: Teen Words: 1,200 Summary: It's a tradition. A day Carolina always looks forward to, even if it's filled with bittersweet memories. But tonight, the tradition starts anew, with Trystan by her side.

Darkness had already enveloped the city as Carolina drew the curtains. Her face bright with anticipation, she gazed out her bedroom window onto the street below. There was only one thing on her mind as she mindlessly twirled the crystal flute of Chardonnay in her hand, nearly forgetting it was there. But the moment she remembered, she eagerly brought the glass to her lips, savoring the rich, oaky flavor as it swirled over her tongue, warming her more than the roaring fire ever could.

Despite the dipping temperature, she slipped off her cardigan and tossed it on a nearby chair. Eyes still focused on the freezing pavement, and she couldn't help but smile. This wasn’t the first time she had practiced this ritual; it was practically as old as she was, even its practices had been amended over the years. The ceramic mug her father bought for her when they saw Annie was no longer in her hand. The delicious aroma of the hot cocoa that had filled it was also gone, just like her father, who once sat at her side.  

The unwelcome visitor was drawing near. Sadness, reaching in and gripping her as it often did made her eyes flicker away, but she turned back with determination. No! Sadness and despair would not win today; not on a night as special as this. Her fingers traced the rim of the crystal chalice that her father had used years before. The only one she’d consider using today.

“Ves eso, Papi?” she whispered into the deafening silence. “Any moment now.”

He must have entered quietly, or perhaps she was too distracted to hear him because his breath was warm on her neck and his arms gently encircled her waist before she heard a sound. Then, she had to laugh. Was she even a detective after all?

“What will be any moment now?” Trystan whispered, brushing her hair to the side and placing gentle kisses on her freshly exposed skin. She leaned into him, a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding escaping her as she melted into his arms. Just like that, all was right with the world.

“Mi Vida,” she smiled. “This is a very important night.”

His eyes widened for a quick moment... concerned he had forgotten an important date. Then, his expression softened as he recalled the stormy forecast.

“That’s right,” he grinned. “The first snowfall of the year.”

“Mmm hmm,” she nodded. “More importantly, our first snowfall together.”

“I see you have your father’s wine glass,” he smiled. “And the curtains are drawn, so you have everything you need.”

She gently placed the glass on the table beside her and turned to face him; her eyes lingering on his moonlit features. “At least I do now." Her lips moved toward his, claiming them as her own in warm, comforting kiss.

“Mmm-mmmh,” he simpered before playfully pulling away. “Oh, no, Lina. No way. I’ve been waiting to participate in this ritual for some time, and I will not allow you seduce me away from it.”

She strolled toward the old mahogany sideboard with a chuckle. "Oh really," she said, pouring another glass for her love. A playful smirk tugged at her lips when she placed it in his hands. “Then you’ll need this... if you plan to do it right."

He nodded with approval upon taking a sip. “This is quite good; I suppose the seduction could wait.”

“How noble of you!” Carolina teased.

“But, of course! I am a prince, after all.”

Shaking her head with delight, she fell into his arms and and Trystan tried to determine if that sound of her laughter had become his favorite melody of all. It was undoubtedly in his top three, each spot now claimed solely by his Carolina. But his body tensed as he realized her laughter had turned to tears that dampened the crook of his neck. He clasped the sides of her face, worry weighing on his features.

“Hey, hey,” he whispered, gazing into her tear-filled eyes. “Are you all right? I thought this was a happy tradition?”

“It is,” she sniffled, wiping away her tears. “But it’s different now, and it’s my first time sharing it with you.”

“Is that OK?” he asked. “If you’d rather be alone...”

“No, no!” She grabbed his hand and held it against her heart. “I’ve done this alone for years now, ever since my father died. Honestly, I never thought I'd share this with anyone else again, but now... I can't wait to experience this with you by my side.”

He pulled a chair closer to the window so they could sit without missing a thing, then motioned for her to sit on his lap. “I’m glad to hear that,” he assured. “Because there is no place I’d rather be.”

“So, how does this work?” He asked, getting down to business. “Do we do anything special while we wait?”

“Nope, we just keep watch. Whoever spots the first snowflake has to yell, ‘Look, it’s a blizzard!’ and then we share a toast.”

“A blizzard?” Trystan chuckled. “Carolina, a flake of snow does not a blizzard make.”

“Of course not, but it is how each one begins. Everything has to start somewhere, and that’s what makes it so remarkable. We watch one single snowflake fall to the earth, so innocent, so insignificant on its own, but when we wake up tomorrow the city will be blanketed in snow, and you and I will know, that it all started with that one little flake we watched together.”

She could feel him swallow as he gently turning her chin his way. “Everything starts somewhere,” he whispered. “And we never know what beautiful places it might lead.”

The world fell into slow-motion as their lips came together. The familiar, sweet taste filling their sense as everything else fell into the shadows. He pulled her closer, as her fingers ran through his hair, and the rest of the world was lost.  Neither knew how long they stayed like that, but they couldn't forget Trystan's childlike gasp when he briefly opened his eyes.

“Look," he pointed with exasperation. "It’s a blizzard!” A solitary silver flake glistened in the streetlights as it slowly twirled down to the street below. They jumped to their feet, foreheads pressed against the cold glass, unwilling to miss a moment as it descended to the earth.

“It is! It’s a blizzard!” Carolina squealed, grabbing their wine glasses to propose a toast. “It’s our first snowflake, Trystan! The first snowflake has fallen, and with it, a new chapter begins.”

“To new beginnings,” he smiled, reaching out to caress her cheek one more time before they emptied their glasses. Side by side, they watched as more flakes fell, one by one, until a whispy, barely there sheet coated the sidewalks.

“You see, it’s happening!”

“It is," he smiled. "I dare say that we will wake to that blanket of snow tomorrow."

“We will,” she beamed. "But until then, I was thinking I'd like to get under the blankets with you. Are you in?"

Trystan took Carolina in one arm, as the other hastily pulled the drapes closed, a devilish glint in his eyes.

"I am so in," he smiled. "Look at us, sharing new things every day."

"Yep," she agreed. "One day this will all be old hat... we'll be some old couple boring those around us with stories of all the blizzards we've watched begin together. Hopefully, you won't grow tired of it by then."

"Are you kidding? Each snowflake is different, no snowstorm the same... and every day is a new discovery because I fall in love with every little thing you do."

A/N: Incorporated all 3 parts of @choicesjanuary2024 Day 1, though, I cheated and didn't use the sentence as the first line! Also participating in @choicesflashfics, prompt "I fall in love with every little thing you do."

@choicesficwriterscreations Tagging others separately.

#choices fanfic #crimes of passion #trystan thorne #trystan thorne x mc #playchoices #playchoices fanfic #choices stories you play #january challenge #writing challenge #trystan x carolina