#flaming gorge | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

y2kuromi · 1 month

Text

⭑ : 呪術廻戦 ❛ 𝗟𝗜𝗘𝗕𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗨𝗠𝗘 : satoru gojo x fem! reader

࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 synopsis: yuuji sees a completely different side of gojo-sensei !

contents: tooth rotting fluff w a dash of angst! established relationship (married), second person & told from yuuji’s pov. extremely whipped satoru! petnames, suggestive dialogue

summer isn’t over yet! collection, can be read as a stand-alone

yuuji was initially ecstatic about the prospect of living with gojo-sensei. he’d imagined lazing around, gorging on sweets and watching cartoons on tv — maybe a few training sessions squeezed in with gojo-sensei — ideally it would’ve been just the two of them.

his fantasies came crashing down when realised gojo-sensei’s “house” was actually a “home”. the walls in the foyer were riddled with picture frames. he felt like he was intruding on gojo-sensei’s personal life, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the pictures on the walls.

there was a woman beside gojo-sensei in most of the pictures. she had (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair. a friend? or a girlfriend? — nah. according to fushiguro, gojo-sensei got zero play. though she had to mean something to him. it was evident in the way he looked at her.

his cerulean eyes entirely averted the camera lens, instead devoted to committing every inch of her to memory

“that’s my wife” gojo said softly,“she’s gorgeous isn’t she?” he laughed wryly as he stared lovingly at the smiling woman in the photo. yuuji nodded slowly, studying his teacher closely.

“is she okay with me hiding out here?” he asked tentatively, shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“ahhh about that” gojo says sheepishly, “i haven’t had the time to mention it to her so you’ll have to wait here while i talk to her” he ran a hand through his hair, snowy white tendrils curling around his fingers.

classic gojo-sensei.

“oh” yuuji chuckled, the situation was amusing to him. he couldn’t wait to tell fushiguro — the sour reminder that he couldn’t had his laughter dying in his throat.

gojo-sensei shrugged off his shoes and patted yuuji’s shoulder, “don’t worry she’ll say yes , i’ve got her wrapped around my finger”

yuuji waited patiently in the foyer, amber eyes flickering over the expensive decor and woodsy frames of gojo-sensei’s family. he could faintly make out traces of your conversation

"oh? you're home early for once" you smiled, leaning into your husband as he placed a kiss on your forehead. "what's the special occasion 'toru?"

"do i need a reason to want to see my beautiful wife?”

“nope” you hummed, “‘m just surprised to see you” not that you were complaining. satoru was a busy man and you cherished the rare moments you spent alone together

“how was your day sweets?” he asked, taking your hand in his, his thumb stroked over knuckles, soft, loving.

“same old” you shrugged, “we’ve got some big case coming up next week, so i was pretty busy today. had a tonne of paperwork and meetings too"

"my busy bee" he smiles, "i missed you s'much, i hate going on these stupid business trips"

"you'd like them more if i came with you" you said teasingly, poking his rib with your free hand "i ran into kento the other day, you sure i shouldn't come back to jujutsu sorcery too?"

"nuh uh" he shook his head firmly, "stay at your law firm pretty, 'm gonna need someone to defend me when i kill all the higher ups"

"what have they done now?" you sigh exasperatedly, turning the knob on the gas cooker and reducing the heat. the faint clicking sound echoes in the kitchen as the orange-blue flames simmered quietly.

"what haven't they done" he grumbled, leaning against the counter. he gently tugged at his blindfold, lithe fingers unveiling the cerulean eyes that you loved so much. his snowy hair fell softly around his face, a curtain that failed to hide the anger he felt coursing through his veins.

"poor baby" you cooed, hands trailing up to his face and cupping his cheeks, your fingers smoothed over the frown etched on his face, pushing his lips together in a duck-lipped pout, "wanna tell me about it?"

"y'know yuuji? the new first year that's sukuna's vessel?"

you nod, allowing your hands to fall from his face and rest on the counter. his greedy hands make their way to your waist, rubbing circles on the soft flesh peeking out beneath your untucked dress shirt.

"well they sent the first years on a mission to rescue people from the detention center, after sending me on that stupid mission overseas mind you, and the kid had to fight a special grade curse"

"is he okay?" you ask, hands ghosting over satoru's bigger, veiny ones. he sighs, a look of mild irritation fleeting over his face at the memory. in retrospect, none of that mattered now. he was home.

"yeah he's fine" he shrugs, "sukuna ripped his heart out and he died, but he revived him eventually"

"your definition of fine is questionable satoru" you snicker, and he feels his heart melting at the sound of your laughter. "why'd they send them on that mission anyways?"

"they just want yuuji dead, he was supposed to be executed remember? and they're really scared of sukuna which is crazy 'cause he's kinda weak"

"someone needs to humble you" you say, amusement dripping from your words like honey, "pride comes before fall 'toru"

"you humble me all the time sweets" he grins, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead.

"i'm just doing the universe a favour" you tease, "what do you want for dinner? rice? noodles? or we could order food from that thai joint you like if you want”

"i'll eat anything you cook sweets,” he murmurs, “though i have something else i wouldn’t mind eating”

“satoru” you gasped, “you just got home and you’re already trying to get between my legs” you smack his shoulder playfully

“i’ve missed her too” he shrugs, “i’ve missed all of you”

you shook your head, “can’t believe i married such a feen” a languid smile tugs at the corners of your lips. you could try all you wanted to resist his charms, but he’d always win in the end

"so...about yuuji" satoru starts, testing the waters, "the higher ups really want him gone, i can't keep him at jujutsu tech right now"

"i can see why you wouldn't" you hum, leaning on the tips of your toes to reach for the salt. satoru had a habit of placing the things you needed in places you couldn't reach just so he could have the honour of retrieving them for you

“need help with that sweets?” he asks eagerly, pushing himself off the counter and sifting through the wooden shelves. he easily brings the jar of salt down and hands it to you

"you have to stop doing this, it’s such an inconvenience" you sighed, but you were grateful nonetheless.“you’re insufferable i swear”

“‘m still yours” he says suavely. satoru’s smile is unwavering though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

you can tell the thing with yuuji is weighing heavily on his mind. he’s more restless than usual. his lithe fingers run up and down the counter as he stares into space

“‘toru?” you prompt, nudging him with your elbow, “i can hear you thinking”

“i don’t know where to keep him” he exhales, “i would ask shoko, or kento but then i’d risk getting them in trouble with the higher ups”

“what about the secret room we found in our third year?” you asked, “you could keep him there, unless they found out about it”

“i would keep him there.. but i just...don't want him to feel alone," he says softly. you didn’t think it was possible to fall even deeper in love with satoru, but he never failed to surprise you. “he's just a kid, so i— i want to look out for him.”

he knows it’s a big ask. you can hear the gears turning in his head as he figures out how to possibly convince you to let sukuna’s vessel stay in your home.

"can he stay?" he pleads, "can yuuji stay with us please? it’s only until the kyoto goodwill event" he's clasping his hands together, imploring you with his infinitely blue eyes. you raise an eyebrow. knowing satoru, yuuji was probably waiting around in the foyer

"he's already here isn't he?" you ask, shaking your head fondly as a guilty look flickers across his face. classic satoru. although you would've loved for him to give you a heads up, you didn't mind a bit. it would be nice to have some company when satoru went on his missions

“i didn’t really have time to plan all the details before bringing him with me” he says, sheepishly rubbing a hand behind his neck, his fingers brushed against the soft strands of his undercut, "are you mad? don't be mad baby"

"no" you laugh, "i'm not mad 'toru, he can stay"

it’s the little things like this that make you realise just how much power you have over him. within seconds your husband is whirling you around, hands gripping your waist tightly and pressing chaste kisses on your face as he sets you down

"yuuji she said you can stay" a wide grin blooms across his face as he bounds into the foyer excitedly. the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, reduced to the faint resemblance of a child getting their first sleepover approved

you set the jar of salt down on the marbled counter. trailing after your husband. true to your suspicions, yuuji itadori had been standing awkwardly, twiddling his thumbs together in his hoodie pockets and silently taking in the intricacies of your home.

he couldn’t help but feel out of place.

there were pairs of everything — shoes neatly arranged on the coat rack. umbrellas tucked in a corner in the foyer. coats hung up next to each other on the wall.

the pale blue wallpaper hung row after row of framed photographs. their wooden mahogany panels reflected the warm lights. yuuji’s light brown eyes flickered on the pictures in all their glory and glossy sheen.

the ones that caught his eye captured a young fushiguro’s trademark scowl, the irritated quirk of his brow and the curled spikes of his hair that defied gravity.

he was standing beside a girl who looked just like him, except she was slightly taller with long bone-straight brown hair. yuuji’s eyes lingered on her smile as your beanstalk of a husband shook him excitedly

he wondered what fushiguro would say if he knew he’d seen pictures of him as a little kid. ( he’d probably summon his shikigami on him )

“really?” he beamed, eyes momentarily drawn away from the plethora of frames. you feel your heart melt into a sickly sweet puddle of happiness and warmth, as you watch satoru drape his arm over yuuji’s shoulder

“yes really” you laugh, “it’s nice to finally meet you yuuji, you’re a friend of megumi’s right?”

yuuji nods frantically, his mop of pink curls bouncing enthusiastically . his mannerisms were nervous and eager. he wanted to fit in. he wanted you to like him. you could tell — he reminded you oddly of your husband ( they were practically the same person in different fonts )

“speaking of megumi, he doesn’t know yuuji’s alive so please don’t let it slip when he calls you” satoru murmurs, taking slow steps towards you.

he knows he’s asking for too much now. you practically raised megumi and it would be nearly impossible for you to keep something like this from him. satoru can see the cogs spinning in your head, the subtle anger in your heart and for the first time in years he’s afraid.

“we’ll talk about this later” you say through gritted teeth. he pleads silently with his eyes and you swallow your protests, you exhale loudly before turning towards yuuji again “c’mon yuuji, i’ve just started on dinner”

yuuji kicks off his shoes and nudges them neatly beneath the shoe rack before padding after you. satoru isn’t far behind

“it smells really good mrs. gojo” yuuji says politely, as he takes a seat by the kitchen island, legs dangling as he drums on the smooth marbled counter.

“thank you yuuji” you beamed, “do you prefer rice or noodles?”

“ahh i’m not really picky” he says, “i like all kinds of food really, but i suppose rice? if it isn’t too much of a hassle, i really don’t want to be a bother-”

“slow down yuuji” you said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “i’m really glad to have you here, it gets kinda lonely when ‘toru’s away on business trips so make yourself at home okay?”

no wonder gojo-sensei was always happy, his wife was an angel. yuuji thought as he nodded fervently

“i can make the rice baby” satoru offers, his hands make their way around your waist, he doesn’t miss the way you stiffen under his touch. you’re mad at him, and he knows you have every right to be

“thank you” you said, putting as much feeling into the words as you could muster, “come with me yuuji, i’ll show you around”

yuuji was positive he was intruding now, standing in the middle of megumi’s room while you stripped navy blue pinstripe sheets off his bed and replaced them with canary dressings.

“are you sure i can sleep here?” he asks, “ i don’t mind taking the couch..”

you seemed horrified at the idea of yuuji sleeping alone on the couch. he still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that you actually wanted him here. he was so used to being unwanted

growing up with his grandpa was something he wouldn’t trade for the world, yet he’d always craved the warmth of a mother. a mother’s love was the purest, and there was nothing more blameless than the softness in your (e/c) eyes when you looked at him

“i mind yuuji” you frowned” and i want you to stay in gumi’s room, his clothes should fit you since you’re around the same height”

“thank you again for letting me crash here” yuuji didn’t think he could say it enough. he didn’t deserve such kindness, not when the king of curses lived rent free in his head

“don’t mention it yuuji” you said, “i meant what i said downstairs, i could really use the company”

you ruffled his hair softly before resuming your ministrations of making the bed. you tucked crisp sheets beneath the mattress and fluffed up pillows with ease.

“you’re a really good mom, why don’t you and gojo-sensei have any kids of your own?” yuuji only realises the question is slightly insensitive after the words hang in the air and an unreadable look fleets across your face, “i’m so sorry that was really rude of me-”

“you’re good yuuji” you laugh, you sit down on the freshly laid duvet and pat the space beside you. yuuji hesitates but he sits down eventually

“it just never happened y’know? we adopted tsu and gumi a few years back, plus toru’s always seen his students as his kids, he cares about you guys a lot”

“even me?” it doesn’t seem plausible to him. all he’s seemed to do is cause problems for gojo-sensei ever since he ate that gross finger

“especially you yuuji” you smiled, ruffling his hair, “you remind me of him funny enough, even though i used to hate him back in our school days”

“really?” he gawked, he was practically falling over megumi’s bed with anticipation.

“really” you affirmed , “he was a real piece of work back then, i bet he’s the reason yaga has so many grey hairs”

“how’d you fall in love with him then?” yuuji enquires, brown eyes sparkling with immense curiosity “and how’d you meet?”

“are you guys gossiping about me?” satoru gasps, peeking around the doorway, “how mean of you yuuji, i thought we were friends”

“ahhh we weren’t gossiping per-say, mrs. gojo was about to tell me how you met”

“can i tell him?” satoru’s eyes sparkle, “the way i remember it i walked into the common room and cherry blossoms started falling, classical piano was playing softly in the background and-”

“that didn’t happen” you said, “he’s finally going senile” you tried and failed to push satoru out the doorway but he stood his ground.

he stood almost toe to toe with you, a pleased grin blooming on his face as he towered over you. yuuji’s eye’s flickered between you and your husband, cheeks dusted a rosy pink as he stifled giggles

“it did happen!” satoru insisted, “i’m sure shoko has a recording of it somewhere, now as i was saying.. she took one look at me and fell head over heels in love”

“you’re deluded” you muttered, “i didn’t love you until our second year, get your facts right”

“so you did fall head over heels in love with me” he grinned, “so early too? i knew you couldn’t resist my charms — owww!”

satoru feigns as you finally manage to shove him out the door after hitting his shoulder. by now, yuuji is a spluttering mess on the soft tatami mats lining megumi’s floor

“i’ll tell you what really happened one of these days” you said over your shoulder, “you can shower and settle in, take as long as you need, we’ll wait for you to come downstairs before we start eating”

your smile falls the moment the door clicks shut behind you. satoru feels his heart shattering. he’s so sure he’s going to die because his wife is mad at him. the universe might as well combust into nothing but ashes

“baby-” satoru starts, catching your wrist in his palm. he grips the bone loosely, careful not to hurt you “‘m sorry, you know that, but megumi can’t know”

you trudge down the stairs in silence, opting only to speak when you’re seated beside satoru in the living room. your cat natsu watches you wearily from her cat post, slanted eyes shooting satoru a well meaning glare.

“you can’t ask me to keep this from him” you said, shaking your head, eyes looking everywhere but your husband’s piercing blue gaze. “you’re taking things too far now”

“i know” his voice is a mere whisper, the words barely speak themself into existence, “i’m being selfish again, but you’ve gotta understand (y/n)”

“i can’t” you splutter, you feel tears treading your waterline “put yourself in his shoes, c’mon satoru we’ve seen him at his worst, why would we do something that could hurt him?”

“i’m not doing this to hurt megumi, i’m doing this to protect yuuji”

“just think about it please” you frowned, “if instead of executing suguru they kept him alive and let us think he was dead, you’d never forgive them”

he doesn’t miss the way your voice catches over the three syllables. he doesn’t miss the way your fingers tremble against his forearm. he hates this — arguing with you, he could think of infinite things he’d rather do than this.

“that’s different” his voice is wavering now, “suguru made his choice, yuuji didn’t ask for any of this” he winces as the words fall from his lips. to think he’d stooped to speaking ill of the dead. he doesn’t believe that, not really.

“you still wouldn’t forgive them” you prompted, “and i don’t want ‘gumi to go through any more, tsumiki being in a coma is hard enough as it is”

“i know baby, i know” satoru says softly, he cups your trembling face in his hands and places the sweetest of kisses on the tears that threaten to stream down your cheeks, “trust me on this okay? he’ll be fine i promise”

“okay” you nod, letting your husband, your one and only, wipe away the tears spilling over your lashes.

satoru could really kill the higher ups for putting him in this position. one where he nearly sacrificed his wife’s happiness for something as insignificant as jujutsu sorcery. with his lips still pressed to the corners of yours, he makes a silent vow with himself

it would be you before everything. it was you before everything

“you’re so beautiful” he whispers, his thumb grazing your bottom lip “you. are. everything. to. me” he punctuates each word with a kiss. his lips committing every inch of you to memory

they ghost over your cheek, your quivering lip, your shoulder, your wrist, and finally the silver wedding band encasing your ring finger. and they linger on the cool silver for what seems to be eternity before satoru speaks up again

“dance with me?” he prompts, although he’s not really asking. he’s already whisking you onto your feet and starting up the record player. the vinyl spins on its axis, as constant as his infinite love for you.

“what?” you sniffed slightly, “like we did in our first year?”

“like we did in our first year”

satoru’s hands were on your hip, drawing you closer, he felt your chest brush against his for a second as he leaned into you. you swayed gently side to side, keeping in time with the intricate melodies streaming from the gramophone

his six eyes tell him his student is watching, listening. curious doe eyes peeking from the stairwell. he doesn’t mind. satoru had never been one to hide his affection. you were his. and he was infinitely yours.

“can i tell you a secret?” satoru murmurs, as he twirls you back into his arms. he wishes he could stay like this forever. with you. he’d selfishly sacrifice the universe to keep having moments like this. he would kill for you. he’s positive he would. he’d do it without hesitation.

“i thought we didn’t have any of those” you quipped. satoru feels his heart melting. watching the sadness in your eyes fade into utter bliss was like watching the sun come out after a rainy day. maybe even better.

“it’s a good one i promise” he grins, you raise a brow sceptically but you’re listening “i was the one who fell head over heels in love with you. way back in our first year…and i didn’t even know what love was, i was so confused”

“when did you know?” you asked, “you always say you knew the moment you saw me, but you were an asshole then”

“it was the first time we snuck out together” he admits, “when we went to that night market. you were right, i was jealous of suguru but could you blame me? i wanted you all to myself”

“you’ve always been so greedy” you giggled. satoru doesn’t need the six eyes to see that you love him regardless. it’s evident in the tenderness of your tone and the way your (e/c) sparkle when you look at him

“cut me some slack baby” he groans “i’m trying to be romantic”

“you don’t need to try, i heard through the grapevine i can’t resist your charms” you hummed

satoru cracks a smile at the inside joke, a slow symphony of contentment.he kisses you again and it’s sweet and full of blind adoration. loving you is his religion. the only thing he’s wholly committed to. your hands looped around his neck, carefully avoiding the ever-so-sensitive scar that ran beneath his chin

your hands founds repose in the soft strands of his hair, carefully threading through the ivory curls. satoru could feel himself melting into you, he clung to you as if he was scared to let go and his calloused hands clutched at the warmth that radiated from your skin. he was so impossibly close you could feel his eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks.

yuuji peered at the scene with stars in his eyes. he knew he should look away. that this moment was sacred, strictly for the two of you. but he’d never seen gojo like this before — completely vulnerable, completely himself in the confines of your embrace.

here he wasn’t the strongest, the richest, the one-man clan, the one whose mere existence shifted the balance of the world. here, he wasn't satoru gojo, he wasn't gojo-sensei, he was just 'toru.

#𓂃˖ letters from: satoru #❛ 五条悟 ❜#satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jjk fluff #jjk angst #⭑ : js ‘toru gave me js george vibes #i love gojo too much pls sedate me <3

1K notes · View notes

buggie-hagen · 2 years

Text

#flaming gorge area

1 note · View note

55szn · 2 days

Text

moth to a flame - cl16

charles leclerc x fem!reader smau summary everyone says pierre is the one for yn, everyone but charles warnings cheating fc ally rossel notes requested!💐 i love pierre but this was fun to write ngl🫣

probably will do a part 2 some time in the far far future

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc and 172.181 others

yourusername our job is beach (for now)

tagged pierregasly

view all 2.189 comments

pierregasly 😍😍

pierregasly gorgeous mon cœur ❤️

user they are sooo😫😫😫

user SHE IS STUNNINGGGG

user my favorite couple on the grid by farrr

user yessss she’s the best wag she is gorgeous and so nice🥹

user + her relationship with pierre is so cute😣💘

user love herrr

MESSAGES

PHOTOS

INSTAGRAM

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, landonorris and 2.998.831 others

charles_leclerc does he know where your heart lies?

view all 11.719 comments

user shady ass caption what have you got between hands leclerc

user dammmn okay girl

user seems aimed🫣🫣🫣

user I KNOOOOOOWWWW and i’m nosy as fuck i wanna know😤

user slay i guess

pierregasly mr. mystery? 😂

carlossainz55 🧐

user even he was weirded tf out

user boy who is “he” ????

user caption is overshadowing this serve😍😍

user my bitch’s pose is naaaessty

user he’s such a teenage girl with this dramatic ahh caption 😭

user need to study his brain

user yes but i want to know

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

liked by yourbsf, lilymhe and 217.081 others

yourusername 🙃

view all 8.181 comments

yourbsf gorg💘

user i’m not saying i get charles… but i get charles

user i too would fuck everything up for a girl like that

user slut

user i can’t even judge her cuz if i could i would’ve gotten with both of them as well

user she did it for us🫡

user NOT THE WAY I LOVED YOU😧

user she’s messy af😭

lilymhe beauuutiful girl 😍

user lily said i support women’s rights but most importantly i support women’s wrongs!!

user and she’s so real for that

user getting one millionaire dick was not enough for you?

user ngl i’m so jealous of her😞

user right like she got with two of the hottest drivers on the grid she lucky af

user she is still a bitch

user i’m so confused with these comments what happened

user there was a paparazzi pic of charles and yn kissing (you can’t see their faces so ppl weren’t sure) but now pierre has unfollowed both of them sooo…yeah

user what a whore

user yeah well charles is just as shitty as her but i don’t see anybody bashing on him🤷‍♀️

user girl you got caught cheating on your boyfriend with his friend and now you’re in here thirst-trapping get a fucking grip

user and she looks good doing it so what.

561 notes · View notes

florencemtrash · 4 months

Text

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Five

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warning: Gore, violence, some angst

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Meryl struggled forward, trying to keep from tripping on his floor-length robes. A head of ivory hair trailed out after him at a leisurely pace. A blood red hand at her side gripped a slick shortsword. The blade mimicked the cruel curve of her horns.

You remembered her from the party.

Teal silk and blood and the lake.

Koschei.

His hand dove into the folds of his robe, withdrawing a dull knife. You caught her smile before she dodged Meryl’s swift kick, sword arching down in a swing that cut cleanly through his back leg.

You didn’t stay to watch the second swing that nearly separated Meryl’s head from his shoulders. The street was still eerily silent.

Meryl hadn’t gotten the chance to raise the alarms.

You ran to the other side of your apartment, knocking one of the windows open. The smell of smoke, acrid and bitter, flooded your nose. Your stomach turned, nearly emptying itself of your dinner.

A blanket of haze covered the bottom floor, the flickering of flames beginning to lick up the outer edges of the massive room.

The Alcove - your home - was on fire.

Your apartment was built separately from The Alcove with no direct path linking the two together. Normally you would simply walk down the stairs and enter through one of The Alcove’s main entrances with its hand-carved archways and stone pegasuses. But with the murderous female lurking outside, that was simply not an option.

You pulled the neck of your sweater up and over the lower half of your face, ignoring the stinging of your eyes. You steeled your nerves and slid your foot out, finding purchase on the decorative molding that lined the walls. Many times you’d thought about scaling the walls instead of trekking down dozens of flights of stairs. You’d never actually done it.

The soft skin of your palms protested as you shimmied your way down and then jumped the last ten feet onto the walkway. There was no grace in your movements, and no time to dwell on the rough landing before you began flying down the stairs, begging the Mother and Meryl to give you time to cross the expanse of the library.

Meryl’s apartment lay on the opposite side of The Alcove on the first floor, and unlike your apartment, had a door leading directly to the stacks. The white rune, carved into Meryl’s door, stared at you like the eye of a god.

Some vague myths about ancient giants crossed your mind. They’d been worshiped in these lands before the rise of the High Lords with brains so vast you could climb in through their ears and walk amongst the grooves like a child in a corn maze. You felt like that child now, the familiar turns and patterns of the atheneum slipping away into mist.

You had no patience to walk the last flights of stairs. You threw yourself off the lower walkway, ankle twisted painfully beneath you as you crumpled onto the floor.

Just make it to the door. Just make it to the door.

The first duty of a Librarian was to save the atheneum. Always.

Again that white rune stared at you from across the floor, winking with the flashes of firelight as the flames gorged themselves on book pages.

Save the Alcove.

You ignored the pain in your leg, running towards the door with gritted teeth. Three bodies littered the floor, blood blossoming around colorful robes like roses in springtime.

Save the Alcove.

You wrenched the knife from the sliver in the wall, slicing your palm open with a sharp intake of breath. Warm blood spilled out, dripping onto the floor and then down the wall as you pressed your palm against the rune, muttering the words all Librarians knew by heart - words that would seal The Alcove from the outside world and draw all oxygen from within.

“Beali tchnemonon aschzernai belar-” The rune began to glow, rivers of white light tracing the carving on the door. The doors began to groan as threads of magic shot outward, weaving through the stone and preparing to seal it shut.

“Stop. Say nothing.” A voice said, soft as velvet and hard as scales.

Your tongue froze up, the rune dimming as teeth sank into the soft flesh of your mind and began to tear through your mental shields.

___________

Azriel chewed carefully, washing down the meat with a swig of sweet wine. All throughout dinner Helion had been glowering at him, one hand gripping the golden hilt of his steak knife like he was prepared to aim it between Azriel’s eyes.

“Did you spend the whole day with her?” Feyre had asked him when he’d finally arrived for dinner twenty minutes late.

Everyone else was dressed in their court attire. Even Cassian had changed out of his leathers and was currently pulling at the high collar of his shirt. But not Azriel. He’d arrived late in plain clothes, hair disheveled and face impassive. He gave a nod in response to Feyre’s silent question before settling down beside Cassian. His brother threw him a knowing wink.

Rhysand looked pleased with himself. Feyre looked pleased. Everyone was pleased… everyone but Helion.

“Finally! The Shadowsinger arrives!” The comment rolled off his tongue and fell flat, “Now we can eat.”

“I apologize, Helion. I lost track of time.” Azriel said truthfully. He had lost track of time. He wished he’d lost track of it for longer. Then he might still be in your living room, dreaming about kissing you.

Dinner was a business affair. Theories about Koschei’s next plans punctuated by the appearance of roasted chestnuts, soft-boiled quail eggs, honey rolls, and stuffed duck on the table.

“He can’t escape the lake.” Rhysand said, “Though the gods know he’s trying.”

“He can’t escape yet.” Helion countered, brows furrowed in concern, “There’s a piece we’re missing to this.”

“The Cauldron.” Feyre ran a lazy finger over the lip of her wineglass to disguise the unease settling in her stomach, “He’s searching for it.” She tilted her head towards Azriel, “Az found evidence that some of Koschei’s followers have been breaking into the temples further up north.”

Helion shook his head, “It wouldn’t do them any good to search an old hiding place. And it’s not like the legs of the Cauldron are with the priestesses anymore. They must be looking for something else.”

“What else is in the temples except old books and ceremonial artifacts?” Cassian asked.

“Old books can sometimes be the most powerful objects in the world.” Helion said with a small smirk, “I wouldn’t look down on them so much.”

“Tell that to a sword.”

“Tell that to a two-thousand page text thrown at your head.”

Cassian grinned, “I would dodge it. Easy.”

“With that inflated head of yours, I’d hardly be able to miss.”

Azriel smiled inwardly. That sounded like something you might say. Not even four hours since he’d last seen you and he was missing your gentle smile, the crease in your brows when you read, the occasional jangle of your bracelets when you shook out the cramps in your wrist.

Feyre thought long and hard, staring at the surface of her wine like the answers might materialize there. She couldn’t get her mind off the Cauldron. The most important events that had taken place in the last fifty years could be tied back to its magic. The magic that currently flooded through Nesta and Elain’s veins.

With its power anything seemed possible - even separating a deity like Koschei from the lake where he’d been confined for centuries.

“What if they’re not looking for the Cauldron itself?” Everyone looked at her, waiting to hear the High Lady’s next words. “What if they’re just looking for something tied to it?”

Cassian dropped his knife to the table with a clang.

“Nesta.” He breathed. He immediately reached out across the bond, feeling Nesta stir on the other side. She was still safe in Velaris, although he pitied any poor soul that tried to go after her.

“Or Elain.” Feyre continued.

It’s no secret they were Made. They wouldn’t need to break into a temple to figure that out or to find out where they’re staying. Rhysand sent his bonds down the bond, one hand reaching out to rub her thigh.

Nesta and Elain could handle themselves, but that didn’t mean Feyre could shed the protective nature she’d developed through her formative human years.

Who else then? Who else has taken power from the Cauldron?

Jurian.

He’s human. He has no magic that Koschei could want. And the human queen has been long dead too.

Helion glanced at Cassian who only waved him off. Rhys and Feyre did this often - getting lost in their private conversations and only sharing their thoughts at the very end.

Meanwhile, Azriel was having his own private thoughts.

Immunity, the innate biological process of recognizing and protecting against foreign entities, is a phenomenon that can be extended and applied to magic.

“How does it apply to mating bonds?” Azriel asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over the room.

The fire crackled steadily, warming your back as you sat hunched over a volume titled “An Exegesis on the Works of Bhenaui The Stone Giant”.

“Hmmm?” You mumbled.

He pointed to the last page of your paper where an introductory sentence on mating bonds had ended abruptly.

“You didn’t finish your thought.”

“Well, that’s because I’m not completely sure what my thoughts are… at least not yet.”

“Would you tell me your thoughts? Even if you’re not sure?”

You motioned for him to hand it over, the papers floating over to you on a phantom hand made of shadows. You flipped through the pages absentmindedly, your previous thoughts coming to mind as you held your work.

“Parents, children, siblings - they all tend to have similar forms of magic. Magic that recognizes family members the same way that blood does.”

Azriel nodded. He’d already read that section of your paper. Although the thought of sharing some magical connection with his half-brothers and father made his stomach turn, he couldn’t deny your logic.

“I always thought that mating bonds must be some special extension of that. Magic that’s not the same, but perfectly complementary.”

“Like the difference between two sets of keys, versus a key and a lock.”

“Maybe? I suppose that’s not a terrible analogy to make, but I’m not sure.” You shot him a smile, “You’re beginning to think like a Librarian, Azriel.”

His heart sang in his chest, shadows flurrying around him. You’d quickly learned that his shadows gave away more than his face ever would.

“What an insult to Librarians.” He quipped.

You snorted and shook your head, tossing a pen at his head. He caught it easily, just as you knew he would.

A faint flutter of panic grew in the background of his mind, unprompted and unexpected. He pushed it to the side, focusing his attention back on what you’d told him back at your apartment.

“Magic that recognizes family members the same way that blood does.”

Koschei had been brother to The Weaver and The Bone Carver - both dead after centuries, if not more, of confinement to The Prison and The Cottage. It didn’t make sense for him to be searching for them. Perhaps he wanted the Cauldron to bring them back from the dead, but even that seemed like the stretch. Koschei didn’t strike Azriel as the kind of being to care for the safety and life of his siblings.

If Azriel were in Koschei’s position, he wouldn’t be after the Cauldron. Not necessarily. The thing he’d really be dying to know was who had separated him from his power, and how.

“Magic that’s not the same, but perfectly complementary.”

Like a lock and a key.

“Uh… Azriel?” Cassian gently grabbed Azriel’s shoulder, shaking him.

Inky shadows climbed up his hand, the light of his red siphons swallowed up by the darkness that had begun to pour off of Azriel.

That panic was steadily growing into something he couldn’t ignore and he couldn’t stop thinking of you. You with your brilliant ideas and a theory that he still couldn’t quite grasp, like he was trying to hold salt water in his hands.

“Something-something feels wrong.” Azriel gasped out, a scarred hand clutching at his chest. “Cass, something’s not right. Something’s not right.” He repeated the words until he finally recognized what was wrong.

It wasn’t his panic that he was feeling. It was yours.

___________

You screamed, thrashing about on the floor as you gripped your head between your hands.

Get out. Get out. Get out.

You pulled at your hair, slapped your skull like that would be what it took for the female to relinquish her hold on your mind.

She was buried inside like a parasite - a virus slowly taking over the cellular machinery, copying it all down as she rifled through your memories as easily as a picture book.

You shrank away from her as she lingered on one memory in particular.

It was your fortieth birthday, although you didn’t look any older than eight. Helion sat on the floor, long legs extending beyond the cramped space between the fireplace and the couch. It was a small apartment you shared with your mother with its pale green walls and yellow daisy curtains.

He filled every inch of it with light. His smile was so dazzling you thought he must have been one of the fairytale knights you’d spent every night obsessing over. He certainly played the part, gifting you a wooden pegasus with wings that hovered a foot above the ground when you asked it to.

“You can’t keep doing this, Helion.” You’d stayed hidden at the top of the stairs, your pegasus nuzzling into your side and then going still.

“She’s my daughter, Leda. What am I meant to do?”

“You’re meant to leave us alone.”

“Leda-”

“She’s growing too slowly. You saw her today, she should be fully grown by now.”

“...I know.”

“If anyone finds out who she is… the power she possesses. Mother help us…”

“I know. I’m-I’m sorry, Leda.”

“You can’t keep doing this.”

That was the last childhood memory you’d had of him, and when the pegasus’s magic had worn off, leaving him stiff and immoble, the novelty of having a knight for a father had worn off too.

You were crying now, tears streaming down your ash-stained cheeks as the female above you clicked her forked tongue. Her eyes were two chips of moonstone split by wide, rectangular pupils.

“A High Lord’s bastard.” She sang with pleasure. “How fun.” She leaned down and grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking it up so forcefully you had to bite your tongue to keep from screaming. “No. No.” She clicked her tongue in disappointment, “Don’t stop. I want to hear you scream. Scream.”

With a roar of anger you latched onto her arm, immediately feeling a flood of memories and emotion pour into your mind.

Sick, twisted satisfaction. Pleasure. Meryl’s decapitated body hastily hidden behind a pillar. When she’d gone down into the lower levels of The Alcove, searching for the diary, she hadn’t expected to see him there. Hadn’t expected him to give her a hard time. Hadn’t expected him to fight back.

The three other fae, slaughtered in haste. Koschei would not be pleased. He would not let her join him on the lake. But she had the book. She had the book.

The female hissed, the disorienting motion of being in your mind while you were in hers causing panic. She’d been trained to keep others out of her mind. She’d endured far more training than you had. So why couldn’t she kick you out?

More memories. More emotions. Rising fear. You soothed it using the training she’d received. She wasn’t the virus. You were. You felt all her memories. The terrible aftermath of war on the continent. The feeling of being burned alive.

The female was trying to break away from you now, but you wouldn’t let her, not even as the smoke grew so thick it clogged your lungs. You felt her memories as if they were your own, and so long as she was in your mind, she was forced to experience it all as well.

His power is beneath the lake. Trapped. Buried. He can’t leave his soul behind. Can’t diminish himself any further. He can’t leave the lake.

Koschei.

The lake. What’s buried beneath the lake?

Andrian. ANDRIAN!!!

Get the key. Get the key. Get the key.

The scream of her brother’s voice as Koschei splits his head in two.

When your eyes burst open they’re so bright the female turns her face away, sobbing. Your blood soaked hand searches the floor for the knife you dropped, the knife you can see is less than a foot away. But you’re not looking at it. She is.

She registers what you plan to do. Every thought of hers reflected in your mind like a ghostly afterimage. But it’s too late.

You grip the knife in your hand.

Slam it through her eye and out the back of her skull.

It’s a strange feeling to be in someone’s mind when they die. To feel like it’s your body slowly fading from existence with one final breath.

The female’s body slumps motionless over yours, and her final memories of her brother play out one last time.

…Then it’s just silence and the crackling of the ever approaching flames.

When Azriel reaches The Alcove, the windows have all burst, angry tongues of fire licking the sky and gasping for breath.

“Y/N!” Azriel roars, shooting off towards the door so hard the cobblestones crack beneath his feet. “Y/N!”

White lights begin to splinter up the stone walls, filling invisible cracks that begin to take the shape of ancient runes. Swirls, symbols, repeating lines trace their way over the windows, sealing them shut as the flames start to hiss in protest, eating up the oxygen faster than they can draw breath.

The door has been blown apart, the inside of The Alcove nothing more than a hurricane of ash and smoke. But when Azriel reaches them, he slams into an impenetrable wall of magic.

“NO!” He crashes against the barrier. Light scatters outward, but holds against the shadows that burst forth from Azriel’s body. Power explodes from his siphons, but still the magic holds.

“Y/N! Y/N!” He flies up to the windows and tries again to no avail.

The bond is still there, burning away in his chest with a passion.

He will not lose you. Not like this. Not today.

He touches back down on the ground, legs braced on the street as blue light begins to wrap around his chest and arms. His shadows mix in with them like ink in a tumultuous sea.

He’s about to let his power flood out when he sees it - two dim pinpricks of light that pass through the barrier as easily as sparrows diving through the air.

You’re nothing more than a gray shadow, your knees and hands coated in a mixture of ash and blood, as you emerge from the roaring flames. Your eyes gleam a pale yellow, seeing and unseeing at the same time. You make it to the front steps and when you stumble, Azriel is there to catch you, one arm looping around your waist and you’re immediately thrust into another memory.

It’s dark and cold in the cellar. So dark that even after two days the most Azriel can do to prove he still exists is to slap his legs, then his arms, then his face. Then he knows he’s still alive. It’s the pain that helps him remember.

“Y/n. Y/n. I need you to look at me.” Your eyes are unfocused, still glowing as Azriel helps you walk forward, one hand clasping yours close to his chest. “Y/n. Y/n. Please. Darling, please.”

His mother sings to him, a gentle, sweet melody that’s filled with more sorrow than words. His hands are heavy with gauze and ointment, the lingering pain magnifying and shooting through his small body whenever he moves them to touch his mother’s face or to wrap his arms around her neck.

But this is the only hour he’ll get with her this week. So he ignores the pain. He savors only the feeling of his mother’s arms around his weak back and the song she sings, hanging onto every word and committing them to memory.

You’re vaguely aware of Helion’s deep voice shouting your name. When he touches you, you can feel his relief as acutely as the rumble of thunder before rain. The emotion rolls over you, calming your heart.

For a brief moment you’re still the little girl he placed on top of the pegasus on your fortieth birthday. For a brief moment your mother is still alive, suppressing the smile on her lips as she watches the creature wobble to life, shake its wings, and begin to fly.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

We're getting into the action/plot now folks! Hold on tight because I have IDEAS! It's going to take time for me to explain it all in the story, but I promise you I have a plan

Taglist: @rosebunnysblog @icey--stars @laceandsuch @coralseacourt @cherryinsalemverse @flowerprincezz @valeridarkness @annaaaaa88 @deeshag @bluesiphonsbaby @allyjoe755 @sidthedollface2 @auggiesolovey @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @transparentmoonglitter @ang-taylorsversion @ssmay123 @just-m-2 @sevikas-whore @lalalucha @svtwonwoow @user707sthings @cherryinsalemverse @evylynny @decrepit-bees-knees @eleganttravelercloud @ghostwritermia @smitty-werbenjagermenjenson @fussel9913 @st0rmyt @glitterypirateduck @mischiefmanagers @waytoomanyteenagefeels @acourtofdreamsandshadows @sakurafrost3-blog @utterlyotterlyx @vickykazuya @venussdovess @xxxalicerogersxx @mattiescove @goldenmagnolias @secret-ly-here @kindaslightlyacidic @brujitafantomatico @venussdovess @xxxalicerogersxx @earth-to-lottie @balsalmic-vinegar @darbuckle21 @justagingerliving

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel x mate reader #the inner circle #acotar fanfiction #azriel fanfiction #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfic #the shadowsinger and the inkbird #the day court

682 notes · View notes

mitsdriveswhere · 2 years

Text

Flaming Gorge, UT

#the dumbest shit in the weirdest places #traveling #travel #road trip #driving #utah #flaming gorge #photography #this was a beautiful drive but there is no service anywhere in this gorge lmao #camping

3 notes · View notes

bloompompom · 1 year

Text

✧Extra Benefits✧

In which you treat Eren to some of the other benefits of your arrangement, and he gladly returns the favor.

♡ content: eren jaeger x fem!reader. one shot. modern au, friends with benefits, casual sex, smut & fluff, massaging, oral sex (f!receiving) in the shower, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, you're both little sluts, hickeys, brief mentions of alcohol, explicit sexual content, explicit language. reader discretion advised. 18+ ♡ word count: ~5.3k ♡ a/n: i swoon the idea of lovin' on an intimacy-starved man

You busy? Work was ass. Up to showering together?

You only had to read the text once. It wasn’t that hard to decipher.

It was the polite way of asking, ‘You up for some shower sex?’ To which your answer was always the same, whether a shower was involved or not.

Yes.

It was Friday night. You had spent the majority of it locked away in your apartment, dedicating hours to wining and dining yourself while gorging on trashy television. The place was tidy, your belly full, and the flame to your favorite candle lit the room with just its flicker. It was perfect. Your own slice of heaven, you imagined.

Part of you wanted to keep the night as it was—quiet. But you couldn’t complain if this already indulgent evening ended with some casual, not to mention really good, sex. You should probably start to clean up dinner.

His name was Eren, by the way. The friend-with-benefits. The fuckbuddy. Whatever you wished to call him.

You met him in one of those friend-of-a-friend situations a while back. Once at a dinner, and a second time at Sasha’s birthday party. You thought he was cute, but you weren’t obvious about it. At least, you tried not to be obvious about it, but then again, you ended up here, didn’t you?

Seriously, though. Eren was the type of guy that’s distractingly good-looking. Like, ‘Where in the world did you come from?’ sort of gorgeous, you know?

Anyway, you had apparently spoken enough for him to recognize you on the third go-around. This time, at a bar and without the buffer of mutual friends. You were out with your own circle, him with his, and he was still ballsy enough to approach you. He slid over to you in that come here often way and bought you a drink before you had the chance to turn him down (which, to be clear, wouldn’t have happened).

He was so quick about it, so smooth, and yet you couldn’t help but wonder what took him so damn long; he could have had you in his bed the first time you met, if you were honest.

Eren was nice. Nice enough that you stayed out together until the bars closed. But he was more than nice, he was charming, that was for sure. You liked how he kept you close and asked if you’d like another drink before yours could empty, as if there were someone bold enough to swoop in with Eren prowling around you.

You didn’t know how seriously you should take him, partly because you were sure he wasn’t taking you very seriously either. But that was good. That was what you were looking for. Something unserious with someone who knew what they were doing. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that Eren fit the bill, smiling at you, all big and bright, as if he wasn’t fully aware that it was panty-dropping worthy. You couldn’t stand it.

So, as one could easily predict, you went back to his apartment. And yes, you fucked. After, Eren asked for your number. You prided yourself on it, even if he did go about it cheekily, rattling off something along the lines of 'We should do that again sometime.' You couldn’t exactly remember. But you had to admit it: after the second time, you were the one to suggest it become a regular thing, no strings attached.

And it had been just like this for the last three months.

Eren gave you enough time to put away dinner and get the dishes into the sink. You were even left with a few minutes to freshen up. Not too much since you’d be showering, but you brushed your teeth at least. You didn’t bother to change, opting to stay in your sleep shorts and tank. They’d soon be on the floor.

You checked the time when you heard Eren knock. 9:03 p.m. You only noted it because he was still dressed for work when you opened the door, though his tie was hung rather loosely around his neck.

You didn’t have a moment to question it—or to close the door—because his lips had already crashed onto yours, his hands cupping your cheeks in an instant. He took a few steps inside, walking you along with him, and pressed you up against the wall.

You froze. All but your lips, of course. You were swept up in his presence. His rough hands on your face, lips moving against yours and ridden with greed. You could still smell his cologne, faint and mixed with him, but it was still there. It was a scent you could only describe as masculine.

You decidedly broke the kiss, offering only a peck between your words as you chuckled, “Hello to you, too.”

Eren stared down at you, eyes heavy, his expression dull. “Sorry. Just needed you.” He caught himself. “Not like that.”

You didn’t tease him for it because you understood what he meant by it. That was the whole reason you were doing this, right? Life was fucking stressful enough as it was, so why did sex have to be, too?

You lightly pushed on his arm to reach past him and toward the front door. “Let’s not give my neighbors a show this time, okay?”

He smiled. You expected more, at least a short laugh through his nose, because there was a story there. One that you didn't have the time to get into now.

With the door shut and locked, you kissed him this time. He kissed back, but it was rigid, forced. Like he was there but wasn’t really there, if that made sense. You've had sex with him after a bad day before, on plenty of occasions, too. That was some of the best sex you'd ever had, the occasions when he fucked you without restraint, but this was different.

You scanned his face. The only meaningful thing you could conclude was, “You look exhausted.” You weren’t sure if you meant to say it aloud.

It was true, though. His eyes were sullen. The vibrancy they normally sported had vanished. He didn’t address it, instead brushing off your comment. “I’m fine. Just a long week at work.”

You decided not to ask any questions. That wasn’t a part of the arrangement you had going on. You each were here for one purpose, and one purpose only: to get each other off. And that was why when Eren went to kiss you again, you reminded yourself there wasn’t any use in prying, and you let him.

Eren kept you against the wall, your arms strewn around his neck to hold him there with you. His large hands smoothed down your sides. They curved over your hips with authority, rolling them against him, using you to get himself hard. It was working. You could feel his cock stiffen with every tilt of your hips. It stole a tiny moan from you, and Eren seized the opportunity to swipe his tongue against yours.

You brought a hand to the back of his neck, toying with his hair—barely tied back and looking like it had gone untouched since this morning—then down the collar of his shirt. You blindly attempted to undo his tie, but as you trailed over the crook of his neck, just where it met his shoulder, you noticed how tense he felt. The muscle barely gave when you rubbed over it with your thumb. Even so, you heard the little groan at the bottom of Eren’s throat, his head lolling to the other side.

The poor guy needed a break. From what, you didn’t know, but one was certainly called for.

You knew you weren’t supposed to care, but you weren’t heartless either. And while your relationship relied more on the benefits than your friendship, that wasn’t to say you didn’t like him.

For what it was worth, you got along with Eren quite well. It came with the territory, you supposed, as it was easy to learn a thing or two about a person after seeing them a shameful number of times a week (a number you wouldn’t disclose), even if it was just for sex.

Well, there was an occasional sleepover. Here or there, and reserved solely for those late-night booty calls. You mutually decided it didn’t break the rules so long as no cuddling was involved.

The first time Eren slept over, you remembered him deadpanning, "Do I look like someone that wants to cuddle?" after you said he had to stay on his side of the bed. To be honest, he did look like a cuddler, and you told him just that. You called him a big softie, to which he only rolled his eyes. You had since discovered that was a sassy habit of his.

Truthfully, you’d argue you learn even more about a person this way. Fucking—just fucking—was nothing like dating. There wasn’t any shame in it. You didn’t need to act coy and you could ask each other for exactly what you wanted. Pull my hair. Talk to me—dirtier. You know the drill. Plus, you learned Eren liked some interesting positions.

All that was to say, it was comfortable. You and Eren were comfortable. So you didn’t think he’d find it strange when you pulled back from the kiss and told him, “I have an idea.”

You led him back to your bedroom, not the bathroom, and asked him to strip. “Down to your underwear.”

Eren looked at you with cautious curiosity, then started to take off his tie. His shirt next. He had the first two buttons unfastened when a smile poked at the corner of his lips. He appeared more like himself again when he glanced over to you.

“You sure you want me to leave the boxers on?”

You shot him some daggers—albeit playful ones—and said, “Yes.” As you left, you added, “And lie on the bed. Face down.”

“Kinky.”

You ignored it; your turn to return his infamous eye roll, even if he didn’t get to see it.

You were only gone for a flash. When you returned, a bottle of lotion in hand, Eren had undressed, his nice slacks reduced to a pile on your rug, but he remained at the edge of your bed.

“What happened to our shower?” he asked in somewhat of a pout. His eyes narrowed once he noticed the lotion. As boyishly as ever, he questioned, “Don’t you have lube?”

You pointed past him and over to the pillows. “Lie down.”

You should have assumed getting Eren to listen would be an uphill battle for you. But to your surprise, after one last scrutinizing look, he conceded. He was reluctant, but he turned to lie on his stomach, somehow making your bed look small.

Any other day, he would have put up more of a fight, you were sure. Eren needed to be in control like that. The domineering type, always scoffing at your pitiful attempts at pinning him down. Even if you were on top, it was only because he had put you there, holding you into place for him to fuck up into.

It’d bother you if it didn’t suit him so goddamn well. He wore it like a fine accessory—something he could pair with his favorite fitted tee and get just about anyone to bend to his will.

So seeing him like this, vulnerable in just his black boxer briefs—well, you couldn't help but chuckle.

Eren’s head poked up. “Don’t laugh.”

You didn’t hide it when you giggled again, walking up the length of the bed on your knees. And just as he was about to snark at you for laughing, seconds away from flipping over and tapping out, you straddled him with his lower back between your thighs.

“Oh, hush,” you said, nudging him back into the pillows.

You took some lotion into your hands. Lavender and vanilla. You expected a snide remark about the girly scent, but he stayed silent.

The lotion was cold, and you did your best to warm it between your hands before you brought them to Eren’s shoulders. He shuddered at the feeling—whether it was the chill or the foreignness, you didn’t know—but as you put your hands to work, he practically melted into the billows of your duvet.

Eren’s voice sounded smushed against the pillows when he said, “You really don’t have to do this.” The sound that followed, the weight in his exhale, said otherwise, right as your thumb dug into the divot of his shoulder blade.

It was nothing you wouldn’t do for a friend. You had done it for friends, in fact. Perhaps that was why you felt so comfortable with it, even if he did have a much nicer back than anyone else you’ve had in this position.

You smiled to yourself. “Don’t worry about it. Figured you could use this more than a blowjob, anyway.”

“I mean—”

“Don’t push it.”

Eren chuckled, but it faded as soon as your fingers traveled higher, pressing against his neck.

You massaged from there, taking your sweet time before continuing toward the middle of his back. When your hands strained, you'd bridge every break by grazing your nails up and down his tanned skin. It was funny almost, how you had seen so much of him, but you never had admired his back before. When would you have had the chance?

From here, you could study the grooves of every muscle and each angle of his bones. Beneath your palms, he was smooth and warm—why was it that men always ran so hot? Like your own personal space heater or something.

While you were busy thinking about that, Eren wondered if he should try and stop you. If he wasn’t so tired, he would have. That was what he told himself.

Of course, this wasn’t what he came here for, but he couldn’t bring himself to end it—to roll you over, fuck you, and fulfill the underlying promise to this visit. At least, not right now. Your dainty fingers prodded at him with precision, keen knuckles hitting just the right spot. For what was maybe the first time ever, sex was the last thing on his mind.

Eren didn’t know how to feel about it, or even if he should feel anything toward it. He didn’t know what to do with it—with this—at all. He found an unfamiliar comfort in it. After countless years and meaningless relationships, he couldn’t recall a time when his stress had been named and taken into someone else’s hands—quite literally. It was kneaded away with the heels of your palms. A pair of hands that touched him but didn’t ask anything of him. Not taking what you wanted from him, but giving, freely and of your own accord.

It was intimate. It was something Eren realized he had never truly experienced before. Surely, it must cross one of those imaginary lines you had drawn in the sand so haphazardly together. But before he could think on it any longer, he was fast asleep. Out cold.

You only noticed when his soft sounds whittled into steady, silent breaths. You peeked around to check and found that his eyes, barely visible behind his hair, loose strands quivering with every exhale, were shut without as much as a flutter.

You stood from the bed then. Satisfied with your work and thinking it best to leave him be, you tossed a blanket over him before closing the door behind you.

You returned to your night, exactly where you had left it. You went back for that pint of ice cream you had saved for dessert, entirely unbothered as you cozied up into your nook on the couch.

About an hour or so had passed, with you an episode and a half deep into your show, when Eren reminded you he was still there with nothing more than the creaking of your bedroom door.

You held back your pestering ‘Morning, sleepy head’ comment when he emerged from your hallway, comparable to some sort of nocturnal animal, lazily dressed in his clothes again.

He immediately apologized, “I am so sorry.” Extra emphasis on that ‘so.’

You figured he might react like this, knowing he was the prideful type and whatnot, but he looked more like a kicked puppy than the man that fucked you senselessly on the regular. Up until now, you didn’t think he even had any sense of shame.

You turned to him, handing him your full attention, and assured, “It’s fine! It happens!” It sounded a little fake, so you toned it down. “Really. It’s no big deal. You must have needed it.”

There was a pause, a long stare, and then Eren finally said, “I’ll get going. I shouldn’t have—”

“I’d still be up for that shower,” you chimed, interrupting him before he talked himself into a weird, uncomfortable hole. “If you are.”

Eren had a look on his face like he didn’t hear you correctly. How could you possibly still have any interest after he dropped by, borderline unannounced, on a Friday night only to nap in your bed? There was a fleeting moment, just as he was dressing, he believed you wouldn’t want to see him again. He was pissed at himself, thinking he screwed up a situationship that was practically handed down to him by God himself.

But he didn’t think of it any longer because, right now—with that way you were eyeing him—he was only grateful. He watched you push yourself up from the couch, too-knowingly, because you already knew his answer.

Fuck. Eren shoved his humiliation aside, just for now. He sighed, long but sharp, like you had vanquished him with a siren call. “Why not?”

The next thing you knew, Eren had you on the bathroom counter, thighs spread with him nestled between, swapping kisses to pass the time while the shower heated up.

He yanked your tank top over your head, and you made even quicker work of his button-down. Each fell to the floor, pooling at Eren’s feet. Piece after piece, until there was nothing left between you.

For someone that tossed you a measly, ‘Why not?’ he sure was pretty eager.

He kissed you deeply, with one hand around the nape of your neck, holding you still for him, while his other caressed your breast. He had your nipple between his fingers, rolling and pinching the sensitive skin until you tipped your head back with a mewl, offering him the expanse of your neck.

Eren obliged, sloppily licking and sucking the side of your throat. Like the efficient fuckbuddy he was, he had memorized where you liked for him to kiss. It wasn't rock science. The closer he was to that spot—the dip behind your ear—the needier you became. He knew you liked it even more when he nipped at it, so he did just that.

"No hickeys," you warned on a wanton breath.

Another rule. One that Eren often wrote off, but only because you were just as lenient with it. And tonight was no exception. When he began to bruise the delicate skin, small purrs of pleasure snuck past your lips. You clung to him then, your nails piercing into his shoulders—into the muscles you had just tended.

You wanted him to pull you down onto his cock right then, to bounce you against him over and over, and fuck you like making you come was the only cure to his awful week.

But he didn't. You felt his breath at your ear as he took the lobe between his teeth, murmuring to you, "Shower. Now."

Eren whisked you off the counter and over to the shower. He slid the glass door open for you to hop inside first. Like a true gentleman, and definitely not because he wanted to smack your ass on the way in. He’d never do that.

The water was hot, its steam thick and swirling around you. You let it run down your back as you kissed Eren again, wet mouths and hands slipping against each other’s bare flesh.

Once again, the purpose here was to get off, not to get clean. You had done this before, experienced the fumbling and falling, and lived to tell the tale, so you knew already which positions worked.

You slid your hand down the ridges of his stomach, gliding your hand over his cock effortlessly, thanks to the water, and he groaned. But when you started to turn around so he could take you from behind, he stopped you with a hand around your wrist.

“Let me,” Eren softly instructed.

You didn’t exactly know what he meant by it, but he started to kiss your neck again. Below your ear, then lower. Decorating your collarbone, and then your breasts. His mouth somehow felt warmer than even the scalding water as he took your nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. He didn’t neglect the other before wandering lower, crouching to his knees to peck at your navel and taste your hipbones.

“What’re you—”

Eren cut in. “I want to make you feel good, too.” He kissed the crease of your thigh. “That’s why I came over, right?”

It was a rhetorical question that you didn't answer. You couldn't even if you wanted to. Your words would have hitched in your throat, no greater than an embarrassing sputter, the second he pressed his lips to you. Right between your legs.

He didn’t go for it immediately, opting to bring his fingers to you before his tongue. He thumbed over your clit, letting his other fingers splay against your stomach, and began to rub deftly. You squeaked, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth. He glanced up at you then, smirking, annoyingly aware of how easily he turned you to putty.

Eren dragged the pads of his fingertips down and angled his hand so he could tease at your entrance. He used only his middle finger, grazing it through you, up and down your slit. He wanted to comment on how wet you were already, but you’d say something smart back, he was sure of it. ‘We’re in the shower, dumbass.’

So when he did tease you for it—“Someone likes it when I play with her pussy, hm?”—he shut you up by pumping two fingers inside you. Your muscles fluttered around his knuckles, mouth dropping to a small ‘o’ as moans dripped from your lips.

Eren curled his fingers just right, and you felt your heel start to inch out from beneath you. It was a fight to stay upright—a caveat of the elusive shower sex.

“Fuck—right there. Don’t stop,” you panted.

He continued to fuck you with his fingers, his eyes transfixed on where they disappeared inside you, the lewd sounds of wet skin on skin, but he didn’t want to just finger you. He wanted you to come, and he wanted you to come on his tongue. He needed a taste.

Eren knew that was what you wanted, too, your hips rocking, achingly begging for more.

Another, “Don’t stop,” spilled from you.

He hummed, “I don’t know. Something tells me you want me to eat you out.”

Eren leaned in, real slow, lips ghosting over you. He slipped his fingers out of you and used them to spread you, just enough for him to lick at your clit. The heat of his tongue alone had your brain fuzzy, sparking like it could possibly short-circuit.

You immediately took hold of his head, your fingers weaving through sopping hair and searching for any support you could get. “Eren, ah—”

Even his kittenish licks, with only the tip of his tongue, had your back arching. He stabilized you with a hand on your hip. With his other, he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder. He could have even more of you—taste even more of you—like this, and he delved in.

His mouth closed over you, the flat of his tongue lapping at you with broad strokes. After months of practice, he was in tune with you by now. He mastered the craft of making you come, picking out the very moment his tongue becomes too much for you. Only then did he break to let the plush of his lips leave gentle, wet kisses against your clit. Each caused you to shiver, your skin prickling even in the heady temperature of your shower.

You propped yourself up with a hand against the glass door. Each time you faltered or twitched, the bathroom echoed with the indecent, smearing sound of your sweaty palm against the condensation. Slipping lower and lower until you had to smack it back into place. Then the process would repeat.

Eren’s tongue buried between you, hot, and dipping inside you. Each time, you fought the urge to rut against his face. You didn’t want to hide any of him. He looked so good there, eyes blazed and determined, his toned chest and pretty face flushed in a summer pink. You loved the telling hue, ruddy with humid lust.

He wiped his face, cleared some of the water from his eyes, before parting you with his tongue again. Every sound he pulled from you—every whimper and every shaky breath—emboldened him. You were close, he knew it, as your voice turned pitchy. Your hips spasmed; you were holding back. With his hand on your ass, fingers squeezing the fat of it, he started to maneuver you, working you over his tongue.

“Let go—that’s it. Ride my face." He spoke it against you, his voice a vibration buzzing through you, tapering off into groans once you did as you were told.

You were dizzy. The bottom of your stomach burned hotter, like blooms of fire or electricity or something else that was scorching to the touch—your thoughts were too scattered to choose. Whatever it was, you felt it at the base of your spine. You fanned it. You coaxed it out each time you helplessly rolled your hips over Eren’s mouth. It was filthy, all lips and tongue, kisses and licks, with him sucking at your clit.

His eyes never left yours. They were heavy-lidded, fighting the water that threatened to dribble past his lashes, but they were fixed on you. God, you looked so fucking sexy above him, water trickling down the valley of your breasts. Your perfect pussy could suffocate him, and he’d thank you for it.

Eren didn't need to say it; you could practically hear him. Hear the growl in his voice, the gravel of it as if his mouth was right against your ear and not stuffed between you. He wouldn't dare stop, but if his eyes could speak to you, he'd tell you—no, he'd demand that you come for him.

All at once, you tipped that edge. You cursed, your head lurching forward with your chin tucked into your chest. You had your eyes squeezed shut, so you didn’t see it but heard the clatter when your leg—the one over his shoulder—kicked a shampoo bottle to the shower floor. Neither of you even flinched, both of you wholly consumed with each other, even if it was only for this blissful blip in time.

Well, maybe a bit more than a blip. It went on longer than usual. At least, Eren thought so, and it certainly felt like it to you. Your fingers were still knotted in his hair, keeping him in place for you to use—you had actually formed a fist now. He waited for your choked breaths to drawl out into whimpers, but it never happened, so he didn't slow.

The stimulation was so much, and it was so good. You didn’t want it to stop. Lost in the daze of pleasure, its ripples of it still pulsing through you, you had Eren lick at you for as long as you desired.

Until he eventually had to come up for air. You whined at the loss, glaring at him as he swatted some water from his face and grunted, “Hold on a second unless you want me to die.”

“Keep going. Please,” you urged, driving his head back once you decided he had enough of a break.

He didn’t argue it, only continuing to do the same thing as before. The same thing that kept you coming back for more, night after night, and sometimes on the occasional lunch break.

You rode the feeling out for as long as you could, sitting on the delicious fringes that were just shy of coming undone—of becoming utterly ruined.

And when you came a second time, with Eren’s pointed tongue circling your clit, your mind went blurry to everything but the feeling. It was euphoric, radiating from your core until its warmth engulfed you like wildfire.

You yelped out his name, gasping for him in wracked sobs. Just like that, just like that. And, holy shit, was it fucking hot. Eren didn’t even mind your sudden roughness. If anything, he wanted to make you come a third time, just to hear that pathetic warble in your voice again.

But you were sensitive now. Even his gentle pecks against your clit, his laps to savor everything you’d given him, were far too much. Your leg was quivering after stretching at a cramped angle for too long and fell from his shoulder. It was a miracle you were upright, even if you were folded into the corner of the shower.

Eren stood to his feet, snickering to himself as he gave you a once-over. You looked fucked-out, with big and trembling breaths parting your lips.

“You good?” he asked. Note: this could be construed as genuine, but do not let that fool you. Eren was just that smug. You knew this because he was still grinning down at you. That smile you couldn’t stand.

Water droplets spattered your face. You smeared them away with your hands.

“Yeah,” you answered, all dreamily, or so Eren thought, only inflating his already enormous ego. “Never better.”

You both stepped into this shower well aware that neither of you held any intention of getting clean. There was no point in pretending to soap up, not with your legs starting to noodle out, so you reached for the handle to shut off the water.

You dried off, embarrassingly sat on the toilet lid because you felt more like Jell-O than human, then scrambled together a fresh t-shirt and a pair of underwear to sleep in. You resigned to your bed with a final, contented sigh, melding with the covers as if they were clouds.

Moments later, Eren returned, dressed and at your bedside. He rested a hand on your shoulder to ensure you were still awake.

“I’m going to head out,” he whispered.

“You’re tired,” you said, your voice a staggered mutter into the pillow. “Just stay.”

Eren didn’t say anything back, but he didn’t leave either. Fuck it, he said to himself. He was way too exhausted to drive.

You heard him undress, the sound of fabric slinking to the floor, for what was the third time tonight. Hopefully the last.

You slithered to the far side of the bed to make room, only lugging your favorite pillow along with you since you didn't like to share. The mattress stuttered as Eren crawled underneath the blankets, only stilling once he relaxed into the bed.

Though he maintained the space between you, you felt him drape an arm over your waist. You couldn’t guess why, but for whatever reason, you let it slide. Just for tonight.

And only when he knew you were asleep—when he was absolutely positive of it—he gifted you a faint, “Thank you.”

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren smut #eren fluff #eren yeager x reader

1K notes · View notes