#hi i have never drawn glimmer before | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lunarduty · 2 months

Text

𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝙀𝙔𝙀𝙎 𝘼𝙎 𝘿𝙀𝘼𝘿 𝘼𝙎 𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙀

☾ definition: dacryphilia refers to sexual pleasure or arousal from seeing tears or hearing the sounds of crying. 141 + ALEJANDRO + RUDY + GRAVES X F!READER TAGS | nsfw, smut, crying, mention of a safe word, f!dom, overstimulation, orgasm denial WC | 3,099

JOHN PRICE

… sees you cry and praises.

if john could see your eyes right now, he’d tell you not to be embarrassed. would probably coo at you like a prized horse. ask you what was wrong, and if there was anything he could do to help.

problem was, you weren’t sure what it was you were crying over - the bite of wood against your skin, or john’s tongue between your thighs.

both were agonizing in their own ways. both BURNED with something that hurt too good to admit. both demanded your attention, but as always, john eventually won the fight for it. the tiny little scrapes and bumps caused by the old wood of his desk had started to numb when the tears came. john’s fingers pushing into your cunt acted as a sort of balm. you couldn’t feel anything but him.

his broad shoulders had kept your legs spread for far too long at this point, so they eventually began to ache too. they tremble and quake around john’s shoulders. you know he feels it, and thinks it’s because of his tongue and fingers.

he’s not far from the truth.

and just as soon as john’s eyes shoot up, you’re throwing your head back. eyes squeezing shut, shuddering breath disguised behind a moan, hoping to just cum on his mouth and he doesn’t have to know he caused the tears that seem to burn your eyes. he’s kept you on the edge for so long, it wouldn’t be hard to simply focus on his tongue and let go.

there’s a burn behind your eyelids. more tears form when his fingers curl and his tongue flicks a certain way.

“john,” you breathe out, ending his name with a pant. “it’s… i-”

“look at me, love.”

it was an order. plain and clear. your head snaps up immediately, finding his half-illuminated eyes in the lowlight of his office. dark hair looking raven black, eyes blown up to match - but even then, you see them LIGHT up with amusement. even in shitty lighting, john catches the glimmer of tears. right on the edge of falling down your pretty cheeks - you probably don’t even notice. it only makes him harder.

he laughs in a low rumble. “so fucking pretty, aren’tcha?”

you nod; panting, writhing, crying.

john leans his head in closer, pushing in his fingers as far as they’ll go. “pretty girl gonna cum for me? all sweet and tight around my fingers? keep watching me, love - gonna cum now? yeah, go right ahead, dove. you more than DESERVE it.”

the orgasm hits like a truck when john grinds his tongue against your clit. just before your eyes squeeze shut again, a tear finally breaks free and glides down your cheek - warm and flushed from a climax that he’s sure someone must’ve heard.

john has always promised he’d never make you cry, but this is a damn good exception.

☾

KYLE 'GAZ' GARRICK

… sees you cry and dotes.

gaz has always gone on and on about how much he wants to keep you separate from his work. to leave all the roughness behind when he’s with you. it was never really a problem until tonight - sweet and gentle and slow to a fault.

too sweet. too gentle. too slow.

kyle is careful to keep a STEADY pace - a careful rock of his hips, lightly grinding against yours when he’s pressed in deep, making you feel each and every inch of him before gradually pulling out to do when same thing over again. and you know he doesn’t do things without an express purpose - after extending your orgasm a few times, it’s safe to say that your safety isn’t the top priority for once.

he hasn’t gone much faster than this languid pace. selfishly listening to your stunted breaths and pained whimpers of his name.

if you ask him to go faster, gaz slows down. if you beg for something harder, he smiles and kisses you and tells you to be patient.

but what has all this patience gotten you? two incredibly drawn out orgasms that fucking ACHED when they hit and kyle stubbornly keeping his thrusts slow and torturous under his guise of being gentle. it’s all a little too much. too intense. your eyes squeeze shut, face nestled against kyle’s neck, hips shifting up when he buries his cock in to try and grind out another orgasm.

unfortunately, gaz knows you. knows your movements and knows your sounds - the shortening of your breaths and desperate whimpers and choked moans and… sniffles?

his pulls his head up immediately, eyes narrowing in on the tears pricking the corners of your eyes. and gaz grins - he can’t help against it. his cock pulses when a finger comes up to brush a tear away before it has a chance to fall down your face.

“poor baby,” he coos. if you weren’t so wound up, you might’ve noticed how tight his voice sounds. “it’s alright. doing so well for me. gonna make you cum again, don’t you worry. just hang in there, yeah?” his words are breathed against your lips, and by some miracle, gaz picks up the pace. hips picking up speed, even rocking a little stronger and it isn’t until you heard the slap of skin do you truly realize how SOAKED he got you.

the initial tears were caused by kyle’s torturous pace. a new set follows the old when he finally fucks you properly. gaz doesn’t mind - he likes wiping them away.

☾

JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH

… sees you cry and teases.

“why’re you crying, bonnie? did you hurt your feelings or something?”

soap knows you won’t respond. not that you could.

the pace of his thrusts are too rough. too quick. too deep. using all his weight to slam into you again and again, not letting up for a moment. the worst part is, you know he has the stamina to keep going, even if you beg him to slow down. to let you breathe air that doesn’t taste like him.

your nails dig into the skin of soap’s chest as you shake your head. everything ached in a delicious way but it wasn’t your feelings that were hurt. soap moves his hand from his bruising grip on your hips to clasp around your jaw, shifting your head to look him straight on. he wants you looking at him, even through WATERY eyes.

soap grunts as he shifts into a better position to fuck you in. his hair is mussed from your fingers. skin blotchy and flushed from exertion. he still grins at you. “then why’re you crying? want me to stop? is that it?”

“no!” you cry out - half a moan and half a shout.

a thoughtful hum vibrates against his ribs as soap’s fingers release your jaw, only to come up and wipe away a tear that leaked from the corner of your eye. “ahh, i get it, lass,” he breathes out, continuing his rough thrusts with a deep groan. “you’re cryin’ so pretty ‘cause you like getting fucked so good. am i right? my girl loves getting fucked ‘till she cries?”

you’re silent. eyes falling shut, mouth agape, head tilting back to ignore soap’s teases and just feel the addicting slide of his cock. he slows his thrusts only to grind against your pelvis and it’s such a massive difference in sensation that you nearly cum on the spot. it works to make you cry out his name.

“fuck- johnny!” and you do. so, so prettily.

☾

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY

… sees you cry and worries.

simon’s face still hurt - a spot right over his cheekbone, purple and swollen and it aches almost enough to make him forget about how sore the rest of his body is.

it’s easy enough to ignore. it’s not liquor or ibuprofen that dulls the pain. his old methods of healing after a rough mission seem useless in the wake of pressing you back on the couch. it’s the touch of your skin, the smell of your hair, the noises you make that really pull him back together. you’re careful not to tug at him too hard or touch any of his TENDER aches, even when he begs you to.

yeah. it’s easy for simon to forget how close he was to not be here fucking you.

his fingers dig into the armrest of the couch, forcing his throbbing body to move as fast as he wants it to. an impromptu fuck on the couch wasn’t exactly planned tonight - you went on and on about how much you wanted to take care of him. but you’ve been clinging to him all night. never letting him out of your sight. it was just a natural progression and simon sure as shit wasn’t complaining.

“fuck, lovie,” he groans out slowly. if you keep moving your hips like that, he’s not gonna last much longer.

and fuck, simon was so close, he could taste it. feel it building in the base of his spine and how tight his stomach gets and it all makes it a little easier to forgo his aches to simply drive into you again and again. your arms wrap around his torso, brushing against tender ribs - when simon hisses, he’s unsure if it’s the pain or the sudden tightness around his cock when you jolt. simon’s mind goes blank and he’s just so fucking close and…

you make a new noise. unfamiliar to the ones simon has memorized when he’s fucking you. his eyes are HAZY and unfocused when he looks at you, and he didn’t quite know what he expected to find. tears accompanied the sniffle he heard, and your hand comes up to wipe them away in haste.

simon’s hips freeze instantly. “hey, hey, hey. what’s wrong? you okay?”

fuck, did he do something wrong?

to his surprise, you scoff. smiling despite wet cheeks and red eyes and simon blames his impending orgasm for how slow he is to understand. “i’m okay,” you reassure him. when your fingers trail up his spine, simon can barely breathe. “i just love you so much. don’t be so RECKLESS next time, okay?”

your legs tighten their hold around his hips. pulling him closer even when simon wants to pull back and really make sure you’re okay. you don’t allow it, instead grinding up against him at the same pace he’d been fucking you in - still sniffling and wiping a tear away on his arm.

simon swears he’s never cum so hard in his life.

☾

ALEJANDRO VARGAS

… sees you cry and stares.

morning has always been alejandro’s favorite time of day.

pinkish gold sunlight coming in through the window promises a beautiful day that he’ll likely be too busy to truly enjoy but welcomes all the same. alejandro hears the bustle of traffic outside - your place isn’t nearly as nice as his, but it’s closer to base and he’s never been known to waste time with you. alejandro is just a little tempted to rip his gaze away from you to enjoy the sunrise coming over las almas.

but he doesn’t. he never does. you’re just too fucking pretty.

alejandro kills two birds with one stone. pulls you out of bed and leads you over to the window just as the sun paints the clouds a deep gold. it saturates your skin in such a perfect way where alejandro can’t help but to touch it. touch your face, your neck, your shoulders, your back, your stomach, and well, he knows your pussy would look fucking HEAVENLY under the light as well.

“pretty fucking girl,” alejandro groans out. he usually likes watching his cock sink inside of you, but there was something about the glow of your skin pressed against the window that makes him just stare at your face. his thrusts are slow and deep, and your breath fogs up the glass, and you keep tugging your shirt down when alejandro pushes it up because you’re the one who has to face your neighbors every day.

when you came along, he didn’t think there could ever be a more beautiful sight than when you first smiled at him.

you proved him wrong with just a few tears reflecting the sunrise.

alejandro could’ve came right then and there. his hips did a little stutter and he grunted when you let out a little whimper while squeezing your eyes shut and he just watched a tear glide over your cheek. he almost pulls you away from the window to flip you around. fully face him so the glass doesn’t GREEDILY soak up all your tears because he’s fucking you so firmly against it.

“al- alejan- fuck, i’m so…”

“i know, baby. keep looking at me. yeah, lemme see those eyes. fuck…”

he kisses you. has a hand tangled into your hair and twists your neck into a better angle and kisses you to taste the salt on your lips and it’s like a bomb went off. alejandro’s hips pick up their pace and you rock back against him and fog up the glass even more when you shudder on his cock.

he cums with your tears wiping off against his own cheeks and salt on his tongue.

☾

RUDOLFO PARRA

… is the one to cry.

“it’s okay, rudy. doing so good for me. i’m almost there, you don’t have to cry.”

was he crying? fuck, he was. rudy didn’t even notice until you smiled at him fondly, bringing a hand up to brush away a tear that broke past his lashes and threatened to fall down his face.

rudy waits for the hot flash of embarrassment to hit him, but it never does. maybe it’s because this is you. but it's more likely because he’s so fucking close to cumming, he can’t focus on anything else but you. keeping his hands locked around your hips, strong enough to keep them moving back and forth even when you try to slow them down and draw out his orgasm.

you hadn’t even notice rudy’s big, wet eyes until you attempted to slow down. keeping a more steady pace in his lap to give your thighs a rest, and yeah, to wind rudy up just a little. he works so hard. he DESERVES to get fucked out of his mind now and then.

maybe you went too far, though. when you try to stall your hips, his hands make sure they keep their pace. his own hips buck up off the bed to get even deeper.

“i know you wanna cum.” it’s difficult to keep your voice steady. to not devolve into harsh pants and groans like he has. “but not before me, okay? make me cum, rudy. fuck, make me cum…”

he huffs - such a large demand for someone so fucked-stupid. rudy is so smart, so capable, and so fucking useless right now that maybe it’s too much to ask of him. so to help him out, you pry his hand off your hip. bring it up to your mouth and slide the whole length of his thumb between your lips, letting it glide across your tongue.

rudy instantly gasps and his hips jolt up. you can feel his cock throb even harder inside of you.

but with his thumb coated in saliva, you bring his hand down to where you meet. rudy takes it from there - give him a task, point him in the right direction, and he’ll complete it. he rubs his thumb in tight, DESPERATE circles while his other hand keep your hips in a deep grinding pace until you cum all over him.

it was good. fucking fantastic. but not your favorite part.

rudy knows he’s finally allowed to cum, and he does. so achingly beautiful in the way his jaw drops open, saliva stringing between his teeth. eyes hazy and wet with damp cheeks and a pink nose and when he groans, his voice is hoarse and choked.

eventually, when you fall against his chest, all you hear are rudy’s hard panting and his sniffles.

☾

PHILLIP GRAVES

… sees you cry and laughs.

graves can be a real asshole sometimes. sarcastic, arrogant, and you know him well enough to know that he kinda likes it. makes him feel larger than life. untouchable. now is no different.

“c’mon, hun. i wanna hear it. y’can’t cum until i hear you say it.”

your arms are thrown over your face, hiding the way your teeth grit together and your eyes screw shut and how your jaw hangs open to gasp for air whenever graves bullies his cock even deeper with each thrust. and to be honest, you barely heard what he said - it was all just white noise. still, you know what he wants. and you’re a little too PROUD to give in.

there’s silence. graves scoffs and you feel him lean forward to grip your arms in his hands. being ripped away from your face reveals a little tremble of your lips, tiny red splotches on your cheeks, and tears lining your eyes.

graves laughs as if it isn’t his fault. torturing you and playing with you. resetting the goalpost of what you need to do to cum.

the laugh is deep and GENUINE - the kind you’re treated with in the middle of the night away from his shadows, saved especially for you. the grin that accompanies it isn’t bad either. but the laugh is like a slap to the face (something graves might’ve inflicted if his hands were free - after all, you haven’t said your safe word.)

“my poor baby.” he says it so condescendingly. with a quirk of his brow and tilt of his head. as if he and his cock hadn’t caused the tears. “bet it’s gettin’ painful, huh? bet a good orgasm will make you feel right as rain.”

you slowly nod because god, you need to cum.

so graves hums, still wearing a smirk as he shifts on his knees. you whimper under the movement, spine arching, eyes solely focused on him. “then you gotta ask permission, right? c’mon, hun. sound off for me. i know you can do it,” he encourages while his fingers trail slowly down your body. going straight where you needed him the most.

normally, if you weren’t so wound up, you might’ve gotten smart with him. but as extra initiative, graves bends his spine a little. pushing his cock in just a little deeper and plainly getting off on how you gasp and your eyes finally push out hot, wet tears.

this has gone on for too long. everything from your pussy down is throbbing.

“shadow 0-1…”

“hearin’ you loud and clear, baby.”

“requesting permission to cum…”

#call of duty x reader #cod x reader #cod fanfic #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #call of duty smut #gaz x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #rudolfo parra x reader #phillip graves x reader

1K notes · View notes

tainsan · 6 months

Text

opposites attract.

↳synopsis: you are on the verge of being expelled, so your teacher helps you find a tutor, yet what you weren't expecting was much more than just tutoring sessions.

↳ word count: 14.3k

↳ a/n: i know this isnt misfits or misfits related but i wanted to give you guys something whilst you wait for the next chapter. i havent been active due to a majot burnout, but im getting into the swing of it again. I hope you enjoy this one shot whilst you wait for the next chapter <3

↳ warnings: fem bodied reader, mentions of alcohol, explicit smut, fingering, oral (f rec), unprotected sex (wrap it pls), gn pronouns but Yunho calls reader a good girl.

MINORS DNI 18+ CONTENT AHEAD

"Expelled, what do you mean?" you exclaim, the words of your professor hitting you like a sudden, unwelcome storm.

Your professor leans forward, her expression grave. "If you don’t make a change," she replies, her tone weighted with concern. "Your recent academic performance has been far from ideal, and it's no secret that you'd rather be out partying and socialising than studying. I've tried to advocate for you for the past few months, but even the student council is beginning to lose faith. You need to make a change, or else they will remove you from this program."

The news leaves you feeling torn. You have always been drawn to the vibrant social scene on campus, and it was no secret that you enjoy a good party. Balancing your studies with your social life has been a constant struggle, and it has finally caught up with you in the form of this dire warning.

Taking a deep breath, you try to gather your thoughts, your mind a whirlwind of confusion. "I don't know what to do, though," you admit, your voice tinged with both desperation and uncertainty.

Professor Turner fixes her gaze on you, her expression stern yet caring. Her half-moon glasses perch on the edge of her nose lends an air of wisdom to her appearance. She had always been one of the few teachers who genuinely believed in your potential, even if you hadn't quite lived up to it yet.

She leans forward slightly, her eyes locked on yours. "You can start by addressing that persistent partying issue," she says, her tone deadpan but not without a hint of exasperation. "I've always seen your talent, but it's time for you to believe in it too. My patience for you is wearing thin, and the threat of expulsion is very real. You need to get your studies together, and fast."

Her words strike a chord, and bow your head down, tears starting to form in your eyes. The urgency of the situation finally sinks in, and you know it is time to make a change.

Professor Turner's expression softens, and she leans back in her chair, understanding the turmoil in your eyes. "I know it can be challenging to balance both, but it's essential. Perhaps you can establish a more structured study schedule and limit your social activities during the week.”

Looking up at her, you notice the warmth and unwavering belief in her eyes, which provides a glimmer of hope amidst your uncertainty.

She continues, "In fact, I found a tutor for you. Someone had to cancel on him at the last minute, and he's willing to take you on until your grades improve. He’s an incredibly sweet person, his grades are the best in my class."

Although you would rather avoid any study sessions or anything to do with your university academics, you reluctantly take the paper showcasing the number of the tutor your professor found for you. The paper displays the name "Jeong Yunho" along with his contact number. You have never heard of him before, which was unusual considering you considered yourself as a social butterfly who knew nearly everyone on campus. It occurred to you that there truly was a first time for everything.

As you held the paper, a sense of curiosity overcame your reluctance. You pondered the mystery behind this unknown tutor and wondered what kind of person Jeong Yunho was.

—

Clutching your bag tightly under your arm, you reluctantly made your way towards the library on a Friday evening. With every step, you grumbled to yourself, yearning to be at a lively party instead, drowning your sorrows about the looming threat of expulsion. The future seemed bleak, and hope was a distant memory. When you left Professor Turner's office earlier, you almost crumpled the paper she had given you, fully intent on disregarding any contact with whoever the hell Yunho is.

The journey to the library is slow, partly because you have never set foot in the place before, and partly due to your resistance against the impending academic endeavour. You had never planned on being a library regular; it wasn't part of your college vision. Yet, the harsh reality of the potential consequences weigh heavily on your mind. Losing your education at this point would not only set you back years but also jeopardise all the hard work you have invested to even make it to this esteemed school in the first place.

With every reluctant step, you can’t help but reflect on the choices that have led you here. It was time to face the music, find this enigmatic Yunho, and see if, against all odds, he held the key to salvaging your academic future.

Pushing open the heavy wooden doors of the university library, you're immediately greeted by the familiar scent of aged books and hushed whispers. The soft lighting casts a warm glow over the rows of shelves filled with knowledge, and you can't help but feel out of place in this quiet atmosphere. You've rarely ventured into this sanctuary of academia, and your lack of familiarity is evident as you scan the cavernous space, unsure of where to start

Stepping further into the library, your frustration and reluctance grow. You have little idea of who you're even looking for. The notion that Yunho might be some stereotypical "nerd-looking" guy briefly crosses your mind, and you can't help but feel a twinge of guilt for the shallow assumption.

After several minutes of wandering the labyrinthine aisles, you find yourself standing in the centre of the library, defeated and ready to give up on this wild goose chase. You can't even muster the energy to be disappointed; you're too focused on your own internal battle between academic responsibilities and your desire for the social scene.

Just as you turn to head for the exit, your hasty retreat is halted by an unexpected and rather forceful collision. You practically bump into a broad, solid chest that seemingly appears out of nowhere. Startled, you stagger back a step, nearly dropping the papers that you have clenched in your hand.

Looking up, you're met with the sight of a tall man, much taller than you. The first thing you notice is his thick black-framed glasses perched on his nose, giving him a rather studious appearance. However, his eyes sparkle with warmth and curiosity, and his friendly, wide smile catches you off guard.

"I'm sorry," you stammer, feeling flustered by the unexpected encounter.

The man's voice is deep and soothing and light-hearted as he replies, "No need to apologise. Are you looking for someone, or can I help you find a book or something?"

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should reveal your purpose in the library. But the kindness in his eyes and the genuine desire to assist make you decide to share. "Actually, I'm trying to find someone named Yunho. I was told he could help me with my studies."

His smile widens, his eyes scrunching in the process, and he extends a hand in greeting. "Yunho, at your service. It's nice to meet you."

You shake his hand, feeling a mix of surprise and relief. Yunho is not what you had expected, and the moment you assumed he'd be a stereotypical "nerd" is now a distant memory. As you look into his friendly eyes, a sense of hope and optimism begins to replace the frustration and doubt that had plagued you earlier.

"You're Yunho?" you ask, a hint of surprise in your voice, as he begins to lead you towards where it appears he was sitting.

"Yes, is it hard to believe?" Yunho responds, a slight nervousness in his tone. "I can get my ID out if you're sceptical." He quickly reaches into his pocket, his ears turning a shade of red as he rushes to grab his ID.

Hastily, you halt him, not wanting to put him through the trouble of proving his identity. Silently, you smile to yourself, he is sweet.

You and Yunho take a seat at a quiet corner table within the library, and you find yourself fidgeting with unease in your chair. Yunho, observant of your discomfort, wisely refrains from commenting, valuing your need for privacy.

"Alright," Yunho began, adjusting his glasses with a hint of nervousness in his demeanour. He reaches into his bag, carefully pulling out two well-worn textbooks and a stack of papers, placing them on the table in front of you.

"I wasn't entirely sure which topics you needed help with, so I brought materials for all five modules you're studying this semester."

You examine the books, their covers showing the marks of countless readers who had delved into their pages.

"Are these your books?" you inquire, surprised by the thoughtfulness he has put into his preparation.

Yunho shakes his head, his cheeks flushing slightly as he admits, "No, I borrowed them from the library. Microbiology isn't my field of study."

Your disbelief is evident as you fix your gaze on him. The rosy hue on his cheeks deepens as he fiddles with the sleeves of his oversized sweater and adjusts his glasses nervously. "You don't study microbiology?" you ask, genuinely surprised.

"No," Yunho confesses, his embarrassment now fully on display. "I just study it as a hobby."

You can’t help but be impressed by his dedication and the sheer audacity of teaching a subject purely out of passion.

"That's impressive," you state. You were well aware that to tutor a subject officially, one typically needed to pass a test administered by the school, certifying one's proficiency. The fact that Yunho was willing to help without any formal obligation was both admirable and unexpected.

Curiosity gets the better of you, you inquire, "What else do you tutor?"

Yunho hesitates for a moment, his fingers still absently adjusting his glasses. "Um, history, algebra, and applied sciences," he finally reveals, his modesty and shyness contrasting with his evident knowledge.

As you listened to him speak, you found yourself captivated not only by his academic prowess but also by the way he wore his thick glasses and his endearing shyness. Yunho was turning out to be a surprising and impressive individual, and you couldn't help but feel a growing fascination with the person who had just entered your academic world.

“So how much do you know about Microbiology?” Yunho questions, thinning through some of the papers in front of him.

“Uh, the basics I guess.” you mumble, your knowledge not the best seeing as you have missed many lectures the past few months.

Yunho's gaze meets yours, and you sense him observing your unease as his eyes traverse your form.

With a soft tone, he reassures you, "it’s okay, you can be honest. I'm here to help you, so you have to be honest. Then I can help you in the best way possible.”

For a fleeting moment, his words touch your heart, a warmth spreading within. Yet, you quickly suppress the feeling, reminding yourself that there is no time for such emotions in your busy life.

“I’ve forgotten a lot, to be honest.”

“That’s okay, we will start with the basics today, to refresh your memory.”

Under the soft glow of the study lamps in your cosy corner of the library, Yunho begins to unravel the basics. The excitement in his eyes was unmistakable, his passion for the subject evident with every word he spoke.

"Alright," he begins, tracing his finger along the pages filled with complex diagrams and scientific jargon. "As you likely already know, microbiology is the study of tiny organisms, like bacteria, viruses, and fungi. These microorganisms are everywhere, and they play a crucial role in our lives, from the food we eat to the diseases we encounter."

Yunho's explanation is clear and concise, making sure to break down complex ideas into easily digestible pieces.

He continues, "Uhh, the basics: the three main types of microorganisms. First, there are bacteria. They're single-celled organisms that can be both good and bad. Some bacteria help with digestion in your gut, while others can cause diseases."

You nod along, your memory starting to be refreshed. Yunho's enthusiasm is contagious, and you find yourself getting more and more interested in the subject.

He flips to a page with colourful illustrations of various microorganisms. "Then there are viruses, which are even smaller than bacteria. They're not considered living because they can't reproduce on their own. Instead, they need a host cell to replicate. Viruses are responsible for many illnesses, like the flu or COVID."

You absorb the information, appreciating how Yunho made the complex concept of viruses relatable. "And the third type?" you prompt.

"Ah, fungi," Yunho smiles. "Fungi are more complex microorganisms. They can be beneficial, like the yeast used in baking bread, or harmful, causing infections like athlete's foot. They're known for their unique cell structure and reproduction methods."

Whilst he explains, he encourages you to ask questions, making sure you are following along. The library's serene ambiance, coupled with Yunho's patient teaching, created a comfortable learning atmosphere. He didn't rush, taking his time to make sure you grasped each concept before moving on.

He continued to cover the basics of microbiology, including the significance of studying these microorganisms, their role in medicine, agriculture, and environmental science. Yunho's passion for the subject was evident in the way he animatedly discussed the various branches of microbiology, from medical microbiology to environmental microbiology, each with its unique focus and importance.

In the quiet of the library, during this unexpected first study session, you find yourself lost in thought. This wasn't how you had imagined it would go, and you can’t help but be impressed and thankful for Yunho's extraordinary patience and intelligence.

You had initially expected a conventional tutoring experience, but Yunho has proven to be so much more. His explanations were crystal clear, his passion for the subject contagious, and his willingness to help you with genuine enthusiasm is striking. He isn’t just a smart individual; he is a rare combination of intelligence and empathy.

You marvel at the fact that he wasn't the stereotypical snobby, know-it-all type who might look down on your abilities. Instead, Yunho is an embodiment of understanding and non-judgment. As he continues to make the complex subject of microbiology comprehensible, you can’t help but feel immense gratitude.

The study session with Yunho nears its end and you find yourself in a much different frame of mind than when you had started. Initially apprehensive about having a tutor, you have been pleasantly surprised by the experience. Your worries have somewhat melted away, replaced by a growing sense of confidence and gratitude.

Yunho, having covered a significant portion of the microbiology basics, closes the textbook with a satisfied smile. "I think we've made some good progress today," he says. "But there is still a lot we have to cover before exams next month. I expect to see you every Wednesday and Friday until then." Yunho attempts a stern voice, jokingly pointing his finger at you.

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “Yes sir.” you salute him, acting back on his funny actions.

Gathering your belongings, you prepare to leave the library, yet Yunho surprises you with a genuine offer.

"If you ever have questions or need further assistance, don't hesitate to reach out. I'm here to help, and I enjoy teaching. We can meet on more days if you need."

You smile at the sincerity in his voice, “that’s okay, Yunho.” you say before turning towards the exit.

Walking out of the library, a lightness seems to settle upon your chest, replacing the initial apprehension with a sense of accomplishment. Glancing at your phone, you note that it is only ten in the evening. This realisation fills you with a newfound sense of freedom and opportunity.

With a contented smile, you contemplate the evening unfolding before you. The memory of the house party, just a short walk down the road, initially seemed distant due to your earlier commitment to the study session with Yunho. Despite knowing that you should be heading home to review your notes, a mischievous thought crept into your mind – what Yunho didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

A sly smirk plays on your lips as you begin to make your way toward the house party. You can’t deny the allure of a night filled with fun and perhaps a little indulgence. Yet, as you take your first steps, a fleeting moment of hesitation overcomes you. You pause, reflecting on the considerable effort Yunho had put into helping you today.

It is a big realisation. Few, if any, have ever invested so much time and effort in your growth and success. Your heart warms for a brief second at the thought, but just as quickly, you push aside those emotions. You have your reasons – a past that still haunted you, and the fear of getting your heart broken once more. You can’t afford to be vulnerable.

Despite your better judgement, you continue your journey to the house party, determined to enjoy the night to the fullest.

Unbeknownst to you, though, Yunho's presence would linger in your thoughts throughout the night.

—

Several weeks have passed since the start of your study sessions with Yunho, and it has been quite the transformative period. Initially, you had been reluctant to engage in any additional study outside of your scheduled sessions with him. But over time, Yunho's presence had become a reassuring constant in your life, offering a sense of peace and support that you couldn't quite admit to yourself.

During the past couple of weeks, you found yourself increasingly immersed in your books and studies, even sometimes choosing academic pursuits over the lively parties that your large, party-loving friend group frequented.

The shift in your priorities had not gone unnoticed by your friends, who seemed disheartened by your withdrawal from their activities. A residue of guilt clings to you every time you opted to hit the books rather than attend a party. Your ‘friends’ have grown vocal about it, casting you as a bore and a waste of time, berating you for supposedly losing your popularity.

Amid this turmoil, your study sessions with Yunho had become a sanctuary, a refuge from the social pressure and expectations. What you didn't fully realise was the profound positive impact these sessions were having on you, not just academically but also in terms of your personal growth.

Just a few days ago, you faced your first exam since you had started your sessions with Yunho and today you are receiving the results. You are well aware that if you do not pass this, it is not a huge deal seeing as it is not a final exam. Yet you do need to prove yourself to the student council by at least getting a D.

The anticipation is palpable in Professor Turner's classroom, the air thick with nervous energy. She stands at the front of the room, clutching a stack of papers that hold the results of the previous week's exam. Your heart races as you sit there, your anxiety mounting with each passing moment.

Whilst Professor Turner begins to distribute the grades, your palms grow clammy, and your heart races even faster.

As Professor Turner finally reaches your desk, she hands you the paper with a warm smile that holds an underlying pride. In the corner of the sheet, a vibrant red 'C' was marked. It isn’t the highest grade in the class, but at this moment, it feels like a monumental achievement.

A sense of accomplishment washes over you like a warm wave, as you realise that all the effort, Yunho's unwavering support, and Professor Turner's belief in you is beginning to pay off.

You cannot wait to let Yunho know about the news.

The campus courtyard was alive with activity as students milled about, enjoying the pleasant weather and the break from their studies. Among the various clusters of friends, you spot Yunho, standing with a small group of his own. His friends seem to be engaged in an animated conversation, their voices and laughter filling the air.

You observe Yunho for a brief moment, his expression appearing neutral as he attentively listens to his friend's conversation. Your gaze then drifts down to the sight of Yunho pulling up the sleeves of his knitted sweater, revealing his unexpectedly well-defined forearms. The contrast between his baggy clothing and his toned physique momentarily catches you off guard.

But as you approach, your excitement is impossible to contain, the momentary thought of how toned Yunho is elsewhere leaves your mind. Your heart races, and you feel a surge of joy within you. The sense of accomplishment overwhelms you, and you can’t wait to share the news with Yunho, regardless of the audience.

Without hesitation, you stride purposefully toward him, determination etched across your face. The moment you reach him, you suddenly feel a little small under the eyes of his friends who seem to have noticed you approaching.

“Yunho,” you say gently, attempting to get his attention.

Yunho turns around, surprised to see you talking to him outside of your study sessions.

“Hey, what’s up?” Yunho questions, his attention fully on you as he forgets his friends existence.

“I passed the exam,” you beam, “well barely it was only a C.”

Yunho’s eyes widen as his face breaks into a bright, genuine smile. His eyes, behind his thick glasses, now sparkle with delight.

"That's amazing! I knew you could do it!" he exclaims, his enthusiasm matching yours.

His friends can’t resist exchanging glances among themselves, finding it rather peculiar to witness your conversation with Yunho. After all, you are a highly popular figure in their school, while Yunho remains a reserved and relatively unknown individual.

The smile of pride that graces Yunho's face stirs a flurry of butterflies in your stomach, a sensation that has become increasingly common in recent times. Yet, you can't quite bring yourself to acknowledge the feeling, even to yourself.

Yunho's hand rises with a touch of hesitation before gently resting on the top of your head, playfully ruffling your hair to convey a silent 'good job.' Your entire face warms at the simple gesture, a blush creeping across your cheeks.

"Now, it's time to focus on those major tests, okay?" Yunho exclaims, his voice brimming with enthusiasm as he makes an effort to infuse you with the same excitement.

"Yes, sir," you respond with a playful salute, evoking a chuckle from his lips. Saluting Yunho has become somewhat of a habit, and he finds it endearing every time you do it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

You offer a nod, a warm smile gracing your face as you wave and bid farewell to Yunho and his friends.

Walking away, you feel a deep sense of gratitude for Yunho's unwavering support, not just as a tutor but as a friend who is being a great help in your journey toward success.

His encouragement had been a driving force in your recent accomplishments, and you couldn't have been happier to share this victory with him and his friends in the vibrant courtyard, a testament to the bonds forged through your academic pursuits.

As you depart, Yunho's gaze lingers on your retreating figure, a faint smile gracing his lips as he replays the conversation in his mind. The moment you vanish from his sight, his friends swivel toward him, their faces etched with bewilderment and curiosity.

"When you mentioned you were tutoring someone, you didn't say it was them?" Wooyoung exclaims, genuine confusion stemming from the exchange they just witnessed.

Yunho, momentarily caught off guard by their reactions, inquires, "What do you mean?" He shifts his attention toward the group, ready to address their inquiries.

"Dude, she's the most popular person in this school; you don't just get to talk to them," San chimes in, his astonishment mirroring Wooyoung's.

Yunho, however, didn't buy into the notion of social hierarchies. He pokes San in the forehead, responding, "We're not in high school anymore, and there's no such thing as popular girls and guys."

Wooyoung's expression softens as he mulls over your interaction. "And they were so nice," he continues, noting Yunho's reaction. "I didn't expect someone with their status to be so nice."

Yunho's annoyance flares at the stereotype implied in Wooyoung's words, his brow furrowing. "Don't hold such stereotypes," he chastises his friend. "They... they are the sweetest person I know."

San's eyes widen as he glances at Yunho, connecting the dots. "Holy moly," he exclaims. "You like them, don't you?"

Yunho scrambles to hush him up, his cheeks flushing. "Shut up," he grumbles, though the embarrassment in his voice hints at a deeper truth.

—

“Ugh, I’m never going to pass this test,” you groan as you throw your head into your hands, frustration emitting from your every fibre.

"Come on, don't be so pessimistic. You've got this, and I believe in you," Yunho exclaims, his warm smile casting a ray of encouragement over the room. He watches as you succumb to a hissy fit, a mix of frustration and self-doubt, a smile covering his features at your actions.

"You always say that, but this time I am doomed," you groan, your voice muffled by your hands as you bury your face in them.

Gently, Yunho reaches out and takes your hands, coaxing them away from your face. The contact sends a brief tremor through your heart, and you can’t help but notice the warmth of his touch.

"You can do it; you're the smartest person I know," Yunho says softly, locking his eyes with yours. His words catch you off guard, and you look at him, a puzzled expression furrowing your brow.

"I'm not smart; if I were, I wouldn't need a tutor," you state flatly, a hint of self-deprecation in your tone, which elicits a chuckle from Yunho.

"I'd be an idiot not to see your potential. I just think you had your priorities muddled when you first came here," he remarks.

Curious, you probe further. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it's no secret you enjoy a party," Yunho replies.

"No, before that."

"Oh," Yunho responds, and he continues, seemingly on a roll, "Well, I'd have to be blind not to see how smart you actually are. You're very capable of applying knowledge and solving problems. You have an excellent memory; most of the time, I only have to explain something once, and you've already processed it and applied it. It's very impressive. You're incredibly talented too. I see all the drawings you do in your book when you’re bored."

Yunho continues his praise, yet he is unaware of the emotions that well up within you. When he eventually glances in your direction, he is taken aback to find your eyes glistening with tears and a smile gracing your face.

"Did I say something wrong? I'm so sorry if it wasn't my intention," he inquires quickly, a sense of concern crossing his features as he worries he may have inadvertently hurt your feelings.

You shake your head and wipe away a tear, still smiling. "No, Yunho. It's just... no one really sees me like that anymore."

Now Yunho is confused for a different reason. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, most people see me as the 'popular girl' or 'the life of the party.' I don't know. It's nice to be seen as something other than the stereotype.”

"I know what you mean," Yunho says, his hand ruffling his hair as his cheeks turn a faint shade of red.

"What do you mean?" you ask, intrigued by his response.

"Well, I'm usually seen as a nerd or a loner. People only talk to me when they need help with assignments or answers for exams. It was nice at first, feeling needed, but now it just feels like I'm being used in a way. I only have two friends, and they spend more time with each other than they do with me." Yunho admits, his gaze drifting down to his fingers, where he idly picks at a piece of dead skin on his nail.

"I know it's weird coming from me since you're literally my tutor, but I don't think your intelligence defines you," You begin, causing Yunho to look up at you with a puzzled expression, waiting for you to elaborate.

You continue, your words flowing with sincerity, "You're a sweetheart, Yunho. I see you helping people, not because you have to, but because you genuinely enjoy it. You're kind, a gentleman, and incredibly thoughtful. Your sense of humour is beyond anyone I've ever met before; it's refreshing to talk to someone whose humour isn't just 'your momma' jokes or making others look bad to get a laugh."

Yunho furrows his eyebrows, taking in your words, his expression almost studying them.

"Plus," you add, a warm smile gracing your face, "whether you like it or not, I consider you my friend."

—

The evening sun casts a warm glow over the campus as you join your friend group in the bustling cafeteria. Laughter and chatter filled the air as you settled in with them at your usual table. The topic of conversation quickly turns to the party happening later in the night, an event that has become increasingly rare for you to attend. The thought of partying when there was a crucial final exam on the horizon weighs heavily on your mind.

"Hey, you are coming to the party tonight, right?" your friend asks, a glimmer of anticipation in their eyes.

You hesitate for a moment, knowing what your priorities were. "I wish I could, but I really need to study for the final exam," you explain.

Immediately, your friends' expressions grow sour, and they exchange incredulous glances. "Again? You're always studying or making excuses. It's like you're avoiding us," one of them remarks, frustration creeping into their tone.

Their words sting, and you feel the pressure of their expectations bearing down on you. "I'm not avoiding anyone; I just have to prioritise my studies, you guys know I might get expelled." you insist, your voice wavering slightly as you try to maintain your composure.

But your friends aren’t satisfied with your explanation.

"You never come to parties anymore. You're turning into a loser nerd, just like that loner Yunho," another friend declares with a snide tone, and the others chime in agreement, chuckles leaving their mouths.

The words strike a nerve, and you can’t hold back any longer. How dare they insult Yunho, who has been there for you during your toughest times of studying? The anger that has been building up inside you erupts.

"Yunho is not a loser," you snap, your voice filled with indignation. "He's been more of a friend to me than any of you. If you can't understand the importance of my studies and support me, then I don't need ‘friends’ like you."

At that moment, you make a decision. These friends are just immature individuals who only care about getting drunk and partying. They value popularity and shallow connections over your well-being and academic success. You have had enough of pretending to be something you weren't just to fit in.

"I don't care about popularity if it means I have to be fake and have fake-ass friends," you exclaim. With that, you push your chair back and leave the table, leaving your former friends behind, realising that true friendship means understanding and respecting your priorities, not forcing you to compromise your goals.

Walking away from the cafeteria, you feel a mix of anger, relief, and sadness. It was painful to let go of friendships that had once meant so much to you, but you knew that your academic journey is more important than trying to fit into a mould that didn't truly represent who you were.

Tears well up in your eyes, and you can’t prevent them from spilling over as you stand just outside the school gates. You pay no mind to the curious glances of onlookers, for your emotions are too overwhelming to be hidden. You aren’t entirely certain if these tears are born of sadness, frustration, or a turbulent mix of both.

Without even thinking, you pull out your phone and dial Yunho’s number. You are not sure if you want to be alone tonight, yet you definitely do not want to go to a party. The only person you know will be available is Yunho. Maybe you can have an extra study session tonight.

It takes the phone only five seconds before Yunho picks up, his voice bright as he greets you.

"Hey, Yunho," you begin, attempting to maintain a sense of composure, but the tremor in your voice reveals your unease.

Yunho's keen ear picks up on the shakiness in your tone, and concern washes over him as he responds with a soft, soothing voice, "What's wrong?"

You sniffle, trying to brush off the emotions threatening to overcome you. "Nothing, it's nothing," you reply, your voice still carrying the traces of distress. "Are you free to study? I don't have anything to do, and I need to go over a few things."

Yunho is aware that a big party is scheduled for tonight, information he had gathered from Wooyoung, who also enjoys such gatherings. He finds it puzzling that you, too, had initially expressed an interest in attending the event, but he refrained from voicing his curiosity.

"I am free, but the library is closed today, and the school is closing soon too," Yunho explains, an idea begins to take root in his mind, and he hesitates before asking, "You could come to my place?"

The offer hangs in the air for a moment, full of unspoken implications. Yunho's excitement about the prospect of having you over is palpable, yet he tries to maintain his composure. He knows that his place will offer a quiet environment for studying.

The offer hangs in the air, and for a brief moment, you hesitate. You are well aware that accepting Yunho's invitation would signify a slight shift in your academic tutor relationship. The unspoken implications dance in the silence between you.

Yunho, on the other hand, finds his nervousness manifesting in the way he chews the inside of his cheek. His heart races as he awaits your response, unsure of how you would react to his proposition.

Despite your initial reservations, you can’t seem to bring yourself to decline his offer. The warmth and genuine concern that Yunho has consistently shown makes you feel safe and comfortable around him, and you find it difficult to resist the idea of studying in his presence, even if it means stepping slightly outside the boundaries of your tutor-student dynamic.

“What’s your address?”

Making your way to Yunho's apartment, the anticipation of seeing him outside the usual academic setting adds an extra layer of excitement to your steps. The prospect of stepping into his personal space, even for a study session, feels like a small adventure.

You reach his apartment door and take a moment to collect yourself, your heart beating just a bit faster with each passing second. When you knock, the immediate rustling sounds from the other side of the door indicate that Yunho is indeed home.

The door opens, revealing a sight that takes your breath away. You are accustomed to seeing Yunho in smart attire, his hair always neatly styled, and he consistently looks presentable. However, the man who stands before you now is quite different.

Yunho is dressed in a loose grey T-shirt that hangs comfortably on his frame, and he wears a pair of black sweatpants that appear as cosy as they are casual. His hair is fluffy and untamed, in stark contrast to his usually well-groomed appearance. Yet, for some reason, this version of Yunho is just as captivating.

He still wears his thick glasses, but the way he looks now, so relaxed and approachable, makes your heart flutter. You can’t help but notice the subtle differences that render him all the more appealing. Your eyes linger on his toned arms, a part of him that was typically concealed beneath his attire. The sight of them, revealed in the simple T-shirt, is enough to send a rush of warmth throughout your body.

Yunho's appearance today is a stark departure from his usual academic demeanour, and it leaves you both pleasantly surprised and, admittedly, a little flustered.

"Hey, uh, you can come in," Yunho stammers, a faint blush covering his cheeks.

You step inside, casting a brief but appreciative glance around Yunho's apartment. The space is on the smaller side, but it exudes a cosy charm that instantly puts you at ease. The apartment is immaculately clean and well-organised with a sense of tranquillity that contrasts with the bustling student life outside.

The living room is adorned with shelves, and the shelves are full of an impressive array of books, neatly arranged in rows. The sight of so many books gives you a glimpse into the depth of his knowledge and his passion for education.

As you look around, you notice a comfortable-looking sofa with a warm throw blanket tossed over it, a sign of a space that was both functional and inviting. The soft glow of a desk lamp illuminated a study area with a well-kept desk, hinting at countless hours of diligent work.

Yunho's apartment is not large, but it feels like a haven for anyone seeking a peaceful refuge from the outside world. It reminds you of Yunho.

"Do you want something to drink or eat?" Yunho asks, his voice tinged with a touch of nervousness as he observes your exploration of his apartment.

You take a moment to absorb the cosy ambiance of his living space before replying, "Have you had dinner?"

Yunho's cheeks flush a deeper shade of red, and a small, endearing smile graced his lips. “I haven't yet, I was going to order something later.”

“Can we eat together? I haven't eaten since this morning.”

Yunho grumbles your name, reprimanding you, "I told you, you need to eat regularly; it helps with..."

You finish his sentence with a soft chuckle, "Concentration, I know, Yu."

The use of the affectionate nickname "Yu" slips easily from your lips, and you are unaware of the profound impact it has on Yunho. His heart races at the sound of it, though he tries to hide his reaction with a smile.

You continue, "We can eat while studying, right?" Your suggestion seems to lighten the mood, and Yunho is more than willing to accommodate your request.

“Of course.”

Yunho and you sit on the floor of his living room, your books and notes spread out on his coffee table, which also hold the remnants of an empty pizza box from your meal earlier. This makeshift study space is cosy, and the atmosphere is filled with the shared pursuit of knowledge.

Yunho is positioned in front of you, as he often is during your study sessions, carefully watching you as you diligently take notes. He couldn't help but admire your dedication and determination, and his heart swelled with pride as he saw your progress.

As you write, a strand of hair slips from behind your ear and falls in front of your face. It is a simple, everyday occurrence, but to Yunho, it is a moment of subtle beauty. He feels a strong urge to reach out and tuck that strand of hair behind your ear, to be close to you in that small, intimate way. However, he holds back, not wanting to push any boundaries that existed between you.

He watches with fascination as you decide to tie your hair up, using a hairband that was on your wrist. The act of gathering your hair and securing it in a ponytail seems almost magical to him. Yunho can’t deny the allure of how you look with your hair up, a sense of casual elegance that tugs at his heart.

In this moment, his thoughts stray to less innocent territories, but he quickly redirects his focus to the task at hand. He can’t afford to let his mind wander too far, not when the two of you are deep in a study session and he is fairly certain you would never harbour feelings for him in that way.

However, the image of you with your hair tied up stays with him, etched into his memory, a reminder of the many facets of your charm that make it increasingly difficult for him to keep his feelings at bay.

You furrow your brows, attempting to decipher a particularly complex passage about pathogens. It is a subject that has always managed to baffle you, and tonight was no exception.

Glancing up, you are caught off guard by the intense gaze of Yunho. He was already intently staring at you, an indescribable emotion in his eyes. Clearing your throat, you shift your focus back to the book, feeling the weight of his attention. Yunho immediately averts his gaze, pretending to be engrossed in his own book.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to take a chance and ask the question that has been bothering you about the microorganism. "Yunho, can you help me with this? I don't quite understand this."

Yunho's attention snaps back to you, his eyes focusing on the book. However, as he leans in to get a better look, the words on the page seem to blur. Determined to help you, he moves closer, sitting next to you on the floor. His arm brushing against yours, his thigh lightly touching yours, creates a subtle yet undeniable physical connection.

Yunho looks down at your bare thighs and he mentally curses you for wearing a skirt, he isn't sure how to pay attention when you are so close to him.

Yunho begins to explain the terminology and you find it increasingly challenging to concentrate on the subject. Your eyes are locked on his face, drawn to the way his lips move and the subtle changes in his expression as he explains the concepts. His proximity was both distracting and comforting, and you can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement in your chest.

You cannot deny the allure of Yunho's presence. His crisp scent, a mix of a rich, woody sweetness and a hint of cologne, fills your senses and sends your mind racing. It is an intoxicating aroma that evokes a sense of freshness and warmth, creating an almost magnetic pull.

Listening to Yunho's explanations, you struggle to keep your focus on the topic at hand. Your eyes remain fixed on his face, capturing the play of emotions and the genuine care he puts into helping you understand. In this moment, the connection between you is undeniable, and the unspoken tension in the air seems to grow with each passing second. Little did you both know the profound effect you are having on each other as you lean against one another, on the verge of something unspoken. The second Yunho moves back to his seat, you suddenly feel awfully cold and empty, yet once again you push the feelings away.

The two of you continue your study session, when Yunho suddenly removes his glasses and rubs his eyes in a gesture of weariness. His actions catch your attention, and your gaze remains locked on his face, momentarily entranced by the change in his appearance.

In all the time you have spent with Yunho, you have never really taken into consideration how handsome he might be without his glasses. Now, as you observe his bare face, you are struck by his natural beauty. His features are chiselled and symmetrical, and there is a timeless quality to his face that make him incredibly appealing.

Yunho's clear eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, hold a depth that you haven't fully appreciated before. His skin was smooth and unblemished, and his lips had a natural rosy hue. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a different charm to him that you have never taken the time to notice.

For a moment, you find yourself in awe of how genuinely handsome he is, and you can’t help but appreciate the sight of him with his glasses off.

The study session is coming to a close, and as you gather your books and notes, you notice a curious look on Yunho's face. It is evident that he has something on his mind, and your curiosity gets the best of you.

"Is there something??" you inquire, your voice soft and inquisitive.

Yunho hesitates for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. "When you called, you seemed upset. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I was just worried."

You look at him with a touch of surprise at his perceptiveness.

The fight with your friends wasn’t something you had planned to discuss, but you can sense the genuine concern in Yunho's expression, and you feel compelled to share.

Taking a deep breath, you begin to explain the situation, recounting the immaturity and unfair accusations that had led to the fallout. Yunho's shock and disbelief at their behaviour is palpable, and his expression reveals a mix of sympathy and frustration on your behalf.

"I can't believe they'd act like that," Yunho exclaims, his voice laced with sympathy. "It's their loss, you know. You're an incredible person, and they're the ones who are missing out."

Yunho's words are comforting, and the warmth of his understanding makes you feel as if a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. It is a rare and welcome feeling to have someone truly empathise with your situation, and you find yourself grateful for his support.

Yunho watches you with a tender look when suddenly his curiosity gets the best of him, and he asks, "What does your boyfriend think of you coming to my house and spending so much time with me?"

You let out a sigh, the question touching a nerve you are not quite ready to address. "I don't have a boyfriend," you confess, and for a moment, there is a hint of vulnerability in your voice.

Yunho, genuinely surprised, raises an eyebrow, trying to hide his excitement as he peers at you. "Why not?"

You sigh again, your gaze dropping to the floor. "Most of the boys I'm around aren't ready for a relationship. They just want something casual, and I don't want to get my heart broken."

Yunho's brow furrows as he considers your response. "I didn't expect that," he admits, his voice tinged with surprise.

"What do you mean?" you ask, genuinely curious about his reaction.

Yunho sets a piece of paper he had been studying in front of him, "I mean, you have guys falling at your feet. Don't you have one person you enjoy spending time with?"

You ponder on his words, your eyes lingering on Yunho, who is now fully engaged in the paper. He isn't looking at you; instead, his gaze is focused on the words before him.

After a moment of contemplation, you respond, "I enjoy spending time with you."

The second the words leave your lips, Yunho looks up from his reading, and the world seems to momentarily stand still around you. His heart skips a beat, and for a fraction of a second, everything else fades into the background. Your words hang in the air, and Yunho lets them sink in.

In this suspended moment, it is as if the universe conspired to create a connection that went beyond friendship and tutoring. Yunho's heart pounds in his chest, and he can’t help but meet your gaze with a mixture of surprise and affection.

Yunho cannot deny the impact of your confession. It is a sentiment he has quietly harboured but never dared to voice. Now, as the reality of your words settle in, he can’t help but feel a sense of joy and gratitude for the special bond that has grown between you, transcending the boundaries of tutor and student.

—

The night is alive with the promise of revelry as you arrive at a party, a whirlwind of colour and sound. It has been some time since you'd attended such an event, focusing intensely on your studies. But tonight is different. Hongjoong, an old friend who had no knowledge of falling out with your other friends, had invited you. You trusted him not to judge your academic priorities, and the prospect of enjoying yourself was too tempting to resist.

You had chosen to let loose for the evening. After an intense study session last night, you felt you deserved a break. You wear a stunning deep purple dress that hugs your curves, accentuating your figure in all the right places. The fabric clings to you like a second skin, and its elegance draws the admiring gazes of many in attendance. Though you are well aware of the attention, you can’t help but feel indifferent to it now. Your priorities have shifted, and the superficial desires of others hold little sway over you.

Entering the party, the vibrant atmosphere envelopes you. The music throbs with an infectious beat, and the dance floor pulses with people lost in the rhythm. Laughter and conversations fill the air, and the warm glow of colourful lights creates a dazzling backdrop for the night's festivities.

Spotting Hongjoong in the kitchen, you make your way through the bustling crowd. He is deeply engrossed in a lively conversation with some of his friends, a characteristic grin lighting up his face. A sense of nostalgia and anticipation welled up within you as you drew closer.

You approach Hongjoong, who is mingling near the drinks table, a welcoming smile on his face as he spots you.

“Do you want a drink?” He offers, but you decline, stating that you have an early lecture the next morning.

Hongjoong nods understandingly, knowing you are dedicated to your studies. You are grateful for his response, as he does not press the issue but simply smiles and continues with the conversation.

“So you’ve gone back to your nerd roots,” Hongjoong jokes as he hands you a cup of cola.

You laugh as you take the cup, “it’s been a while since I've studied this hard,”

“You were always stuck in a book in highschool,”

“It’s nice to feel like my brain isn't rotting anymore,” you exclaim laughing.

“I’ll cheers to that,”

As you chat with Hongjoong, you enjoy catching up and the lively atmosphere of the party. When all of a sudden you see a familiar figure from the corner of your eye. At first, you thought your mind might be playing tricks on you, but as you turn your head, you realise it was indeed who you thought it was.

Quickly, you bid a quick goodbye to Hongjoong and make your way through the crowd, heading straight for the person, who seems to be stumbling around slightly.

Concern etched on your face, you approach him and ask, "Yunho, what on earth are you doing here?"

Yunho's expression is a mix of surprise and embarrassment as he struggles to regain his composure. "Uh… I’m not really sure," he admits, his voice tinged with nervousness.

You can’t help but feel a combination of amusement and warmth at his unexpected presence. Yunho, who usually exudes an air of composed intelligence, seems to be a bit out of his element in the party scene. Nonetheless, you appreciated the effort he made to be there.

"Are you okay?" You question, his anxious eyes dart around the crowded room, taking in the chaotic atmosphere of the party.

Yunho hesitates for a moment before admitting, "Would it be weird if I said I don't like it here?"

A warm smile graces your face, understanding his unease in this unfamiliar setting. Without hesitation, you reach out and gently grab his hand, your fingers interlocking boldly. Yunho is taken aback by the physical contact, feeling the warmth of your hand in his, and his heart flutters in response.

You lead him to a more secluded area of the house where the music is not as deafening, and the crowd is much thinner. The change of scenery provides a welcome respite from the overwhelming chaos of the main party area. Yunho can’t ignore the way your small hands feel in his large ones, the sensation sending a shiver down his spine. It is a simple gesture, but it makes him feel closer to you, dispelling some of his unease.

In the quieter, more secluded area of the house, you and Yunho find a temporary refuge from the bustling party.

"What are you really doing here?" you ask, curiosity in your eyes.

Yunho's expression shifts, and he admits, "Wooyoung dragged me here. I didn't really want to come, and I already don't like it." His eyes scan the room, taking in the scene around him.

For a moment, Yunho's gaze settles on you, and he notices your choice of attire, a short, form-fitting dress that accentuates your curves. It is a striking sight that leaves an indelible impression on him. His mind wanders to non-innocent places, etching the image of you in this dress into his memory. He can’t deny that you look stunning, and his thoughts momentarily venture into uncharted territory.

Although his initial discomfort at the party has faded, the sight of you in that dress stirs something within him, something he has only thought of late at night. It is an unexpected sight that leaves Yunho in a state of internal turmoil, struggling to keep his thoughts in check as he tries to focus on the conversation at hand.

The pulsating music and the chaotic atmosphere of the party seems to close in around you. Suddenly a thought crosses your mind, and you turn to Yunho, considering your options.

"Do you want to get out of here?" you ask, your voice barely audible over the party noise.

Your question snaps Yunho out of his thoughts, and he looks back up at you as if he had been caught taking in your form. His gaze meets yours, and for a brief moment, you can see the vulnerability in his eyes. It is a rare sight, and it makes you feel even more connected to him.

It takes less than a second for Yunho to answer, "Yes."

Without further hesitation, he intertwines your fingers with his, and you both rush towards the exit of the house. Yunho's larger frame shields you from the reckless partiers who are going strong, ensuring you don't get caught in the chaos of the crowd. The touch of his hand is both reassuring and electrifying, and it feels like an unspoken agreement between the two of you; an escape from the madness into a more tranquil and intimate setting.

You are not sure how you ended up at Yunho’s apartment, yet you cannot quite complain. Since the study session at his house you have desired to be back at his, it was so comforting and peaceful in his house and you love it there.

"You can make yourself at home, I'm going to grab us some food," Yunho explains as he opens the door to his cosy apartment. He moves to grab his wallet from the coffee table, ready to head out to pick up the food.

However, as he attempts to pass you and make his way to the door, you stand in front of him, blocking his path. The look on your face reveals your disappointment, and it is clear that you don’t want him to leave so soon.

"Can we order it?" you ask, your voice filled with a longing for his company.

Yunho hesitates for a moment, weighing the options, but he ultimately replies, "It'll be quicker for me to get it now."

Despite his practical reasoning, you insisted, "Please stay with me Yunho."

Yunho can’t help but be touched by your plea. The vulnerability in your voice causes a flutter in his chest, and he is acutely aware of the genuine connection that has developed between you. He smiles and relents, realising that he doesn’t want to leave you either.

"Okay," he speaks softly, "I'll order it."

Your gratitude was evident in your eyes, and you knew you had made the right decision. Yunho's presence is something you cherished, and you are both beginning to understand just how much the other means to you.

You settle onto his couch, and soon enough the Chinese takeout that you had ordered arrives, the delightful aroma filling the room. It is a welcomed comfort that you both enjoy as you unwrap the containers and share the delicious meal.

You watch as Yunho picks a movie that he recommends, and you were intrigued to see his choice.

As you and Yunho start to watch the movie, you can’t help but feel a chill in the room. The soft glow from the TV illuminated your silhouette, the short dress you are wearing now seems impractical in the cosy setting.

Yunho, ever attentive, notices your discomfort and decides to speak up. "Are you cold?" he inquires, a hint of concern in his voice.

You hesitate for a moment but soon admit, "Yeah, a little."

Without further ado, Yunho offers a solution. "I have some warmer clothes you can borrow if you want. I could grab them for you."

His thoughtful gesture leaves you flustered, but you manage to stammer out a grateful "Yes, please." Your heart warms at the consideration he shows, and you appreciate his willingness to make you more comfortable.

Yunho quickly gets up and disappears into his bedroom. He returns with a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, both of which were his own. His choice of clothing was deliberate, as he handed you his favourite hoodie. He has often wondered what you would look like wearing it, and now he has the perfect excuse to find out. The hoodie is warm and smells like him, making you feel closer to him in a way you hadn't anticipated.

Yunho can’t help but watch you with a warm smile as you accept the clothes. However, the smile quickly fades as he realises his mistake, and he feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

"Oh, sorry," he quickly stutters out, chuckling nervously as he ruffles the back of his hair, "You can change in my bedroom."

You laugh gently at him, he is so cute.

“Thank you,” you smile before walking into his bedroom.

Entering Yunho's bedroom, you can’t help but take in the clean and organised space. His room is a testament to his meticulous nature, and you appreciate the attention to detail. But what truly catches your eye are the posters of various games adorning the walls. You admired the artwork and can’t help but think that they add a personal touch to the room.

Shaking off the distraction, you proceed to change into Yunho's clothes. The hoodie he has given you is larger than you expected, enveloping you in warmth and reaching down to your mid-thigh. The realisation of just how big Yunho begins to dawn on you.

His hoodie seems to swallow you in its comfort, and you can’t help but feel a little bit smaller. His physical presence is undeniable; he is taller than you, his shoulders are broad, and his hands are significantly larger than yours. The contrast is alluring, and you can’t deny that the thought of him towering over you, his sheer size and strength, stirs something within you.

You feel arousal pooling in between your legs, but you push aside the feeling, not sure if Yunho would feel the same way.

The hoodie is so long, you make a bold choice to not wear the sweatpants, seeing as the hoodie covers everything. Plus, there's no harm in seeing Yunho’s reaction.

You step out of the room, and Yunho is skimming between channels, trying to find a different movie to watch.

When Yunho hears your footsteps approaching the living room, he turns around to look at you, expecting to see you in his clothes. However, what he sees leaves his heart nearly stopping. There you stand, wearing nothing but his hoodie, your legs exposed and on full display.

Yunho's breath catches in his throat, and he swallows deeply, trying to suppress the flood of sensations and indecent thoughts that surge through his mind. His cheeks flush a deep shade of red, and he is unable to tear his eyes away from you, his gaze inadvertently lingering on your enticing figure.

In this moment, he finds himself captivated by your beauty and the unexpected intimacy of the situation, struggling to maintain his composure. The sight of you in his hoodie was something he had never expected, and it sends his heart and mind into a whirlwind of emotions and desires.

"What's wrong?" you inquire, noticing the wide-eyed and bright red expression on Yunho's face as he gazes at you with an intensity you haven't seen before.

It is as if a switch has flipped in Yunho's mind, and suddenly, confidence takes over his being. You watch in amazement as he stands up from the couch and moves with a determined purpose towards you.

With each step, it is evident that he is almost out of breath, his chest heaving with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. He stops in front of you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. For a moment, you feel like you are the only person in the world for him, and the possessiveness in his gaze doesn’t go unnoticed.

Yunho's large hands land gently on your shoulders, and they slowly trail down to clasp yours. His touch is electrifying, and as he guides you backward, you soon find yourself pressed against the wall, pinned there by his presence. The air seems charged with an unspoken desire, and you can’t help but be captivated by this new side of Yunho.

Yunho murmurs your name, his voice thick with desire and uncertainty. He continues, "You can tell me to stop if you want..."

You don’t hesitate for a moment. In a hushed, eager tone, you reply, "Yunho, just kiss me for fuck's sake."

Yunho gently cups your cheek, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a mixture of tenderness and desire. Leaning closer, his lips press against your cheek, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as they venture down toward your mouth. He pauses for a moment, watching you closely, his breath brushing across your face, sending shivers down your spine.

With careful consideration, he presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, testing the waters, and eliciting a soft gasp from you. Feeling the tightening grip of your hand on his shirt, he gains the reassurance he needs to continue. Slowly, he deepens the kiss, his lips melding with yours, the softness and warmth sending a wave of astonishment through your body. His lips move against yours and all the feelings of the past few months pour into the kiss.

Yunho delicately probes his tongue into your mouth, you can’t help but respond. Your fingers tighten their hold on his shirt, and a surge of electric sensations course through your body, leaving you breathless and eager for more.

Yunho's kiss tastes like pure indulgence, a blend of desire and longing that leaves you yearning for more. The feeling is exquisite, and you can’t help but moan softly in response to the intensity of the moment.

His lips leave yours, trailing down your neck from the curve of your jaw. Soft gasps escape your lips as he explores the sensitive skin of your throat, sending shivers down your spine as he presses you harder against the wall, the heat of the kiss overcoming the two of you. The pleasure is overwhelming, and you instinctively threw your head back, granting him better access to your neck.

Yunho breaks away from the kiss, a hint of frustration in his eyes as he tosses his glasses aside, irritated by their intrusion. His dark and intense gaze is now fully revealed, making you realise the depth of his desire. Without delay, he reconnects your lips with a hungry passion that leaves you breathless.

His hands begin a journey down your waist, their touch igniting sparks of pleasure. With astonishing ease, he lifts you off your feet, his strength both surprising and exciting. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist, and that is when you feel his hardness prodding you through your underwear. You suddenly feel extremely thankful for not wearing the sweatpants as he now has easier access to where you want him most.

Yunho carries you toward his bedroom with an air of urgency, his strides confident and determined. With a swift, well-placed kick, he sends the bedroom door wide open.

He gently sits on the edge of the mattress, you find yourself in his lap, the warmth of his body enveloping you. The world outside fades into insignificance, and you are left with a sense of anticipation that sends shivers down your spine. The connection between you and Yunho grew stronger, and the intensity of the moment only heightened your desire for one another.

Yunho’s hands travel to your hips, where he kneads the flesh appreciatively. With a calculated move, he pushes you down onto himself, grinding you against his hardness. This causes the both of you to moan into the kiss, the both of you addicted to the sound.

“Yunho, please,” you mutter into the kiss, needing relief that you know Yunho will provide.

“What do you want, beautiful?” Yunho groans back against your lips when he feels you grinding yourself onto him.

“You.” you say with confidence, “always been you.” you declare and it has Yunho’s heart racing even faster in his chest.

Yunho realises the fun he can have in this situation, and he feels addicted to the control he has over you. You bury your face into Yunho’s neck, your embarrassment becoming apparent.

“How badly?” Yunho teases as he places long hot kisses on the side of your neck.

“Please Yunho, please.” usually you would feel humiliated, yet you have no time to feel any form of embarrassment, your desire is too strong. With a swift yet tender movement, Yunho deftly flips the two of you over, your back now resting on the plush comfort of his bed. He settles between your open legs, the space between you filled with electrifying anticipation as the world around you blurred into obscurity.

“Since you’re such a good girl, I have to take care of you, don’t I?”

Yunho's transformation is nothing short of mesmerising. The once innocent aura that surrounded him has gone, replaced by a commanding presence that leaves your head spinning. It is as if he has unlocked a hidden side of himself, and the intensity of his actions and words leave you completely captivated and yearning for more.

With a gentle motion, Yunho pulls the hoodie off, revealing your bare chest to his hungry eyes. He takes in the sight of your naked top half and your panties and it is better than all the times he has imagined it. Your nipples immediately harden in the chilly air and you hastily rush to cover yourself.

“Do not,” Yunho's gentle yet commanding voice holds you in its sway, preventing you from covering yourself. He takes hold of your wrists, his words alone enough to convey his desire, and you obediently nod in agreement, unable to resist his irresistible influence.

“Gorgeous,” he whispers as he scans over your body.

Yunho begins to leave soft kisses across your collar bones, reaching your shoulders and neck as he simultaneously massages the flesh of your breast. He leaves open mouthed kisses on your skin, suckling and biting marks into your skin that only he gets to see.

Slowly, he takes one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, sucking it, and biting the sensitive nub, an action that has you arching and moaning into his touch.

“You sound so beautiful moaning for me.” Yunho growls before moving to your other nipple and giving it the same attention, making sure to watch your every reaction.

In an agonising pace, Yunho trails his kisses down and you can almost feel yourself shaking from excitement as he nears where you need him the most.

You almost explode the second you feel Yunho’s mouth trailing along your thighs, his teeth nipping at the sensitive flesh.

Yunho chuckles darkly when he hears your excited gasps and moans, the sounds are like a beautiful melody to him, causing him to want more.

Yunho's sudden act of sitting up to remove his jumper catches your attention, and your eyes remain fixated on him. What you see beneath his clothes surprises you. His toned, well-defined upper body, his waist is slender, his shoulders are broad, giving him a somewhat hourglass-like figure. While he isn’t overly muscular, his physique was indeed a captivating sight. Chiselled abs adorn his stomach, and an irresistible desire wells up within you, compelling you to kiss every inch of his flawless skin.

Yunho's chest swells with pride as he observes your intense gaze on his body. He can hardly believe the turn of events and the desire he sees in your eyes.

Yunho smirks as your hands fumble towards his belt, desperately wanting his pants off.

"Patience, doll," Yunho asserts, his voice exuding confidence as he helps you remove his belt.

Left in only his boxers, you can see his length outlined through his black boxers and your breath is momentarily taken away. He is big, very big. You cannot help but let out a whimper of desperation as you look back up Yunho, who has a cocky grin on his features.

Leaning down, he starts placing light kisses on your stomach and thighs, getting close, but not quite close enough for your liking.

Instinctively, you run your fingers through his locks, trying to push him closer to where you need him. You hear Yunho chuckle at your eagerness, his heart racing knowing you want him as much as he wants you.

You watch Yunho’s every move, wanting to imprint every moment deep into your memory.

Yunho presses a gentle kiss against your clothed core, eliciting a soft mewl from your lips and Yunho hums in appreciation. You feel your whole body heat up in embarrassment as Yunho pulls your panties down, tossing them to the side of the room. You attempt to close your legs, feeling extremely exposed. Yunho feels himself losing self control as he looks at your soaking core, yet he tells himself to control his urges, wanting to make this last for much longer.

Yunho isn’t pleased with this and he lets out a growl as he speaks, “open those legs and let me see that pretty pussy.”

He grips your thighs, forcing them open and you can't help feel another rush of arousal course through you from his strength. It annoys you how slow he is, taking his time to get where you need him, he is too busy enjoying every small reaction, your desperation and eye fucking you, gauging every one of your gasps and twitches.

Yet the second his lips are on your core, the loud moan you let out is close to a scream and you feel him raviging you. His mouth works expertly against you, his tongue alternating between flicking your clit to lapping at your soaking hole has you seeing stars.

Your body squirms with pleasure under Yunho's skilled touch, your fingers instinctively weaving into his hair as he eats you like you are his last meal.

“Yunho, please…” your voice is hoarse as you look down at him.

Yunho gazes up at you, a teasing smirk playing on his lips, making your thoughts hazy.

“Please what, pretty?” Yunho questions, yet as you are about to answer, he slips in one of his long fingers into your core. The second he feels your warm walls around him, he feels himself fighting the urge to destroy you right there and then. You jolt at the sensation, tears lining your eyes because of how desperate you are to be filled by him.

“Want you…need you…” you say, your voice shaky as you throw your head back against the pillow.

“Oh baby,” Yunho tuts, his voice almost condescending as he stares up at your fucked out state, “your pussy is so tight, I need to prep you before, don’t want you to get hurt.”

Yunho's words send another wave of desire coursing through your veins. The contrast between his stern tone and his evident care for your well-being leaves you feeling both dizzy and achingly needy.

“You don't want to get hurt, do you now?” Yunho questions, gently slapping your thigh to get your attention back on him.

“No, I don’t,” you exclaim, doing anything to please the man in front of you.

“Good girl,”

He's ruthless, entering another finger into your wet hole, his tongue alternating sucks and nips on your clit. With ease, he manages to find the spot inside you that sets fireworks through you and you feel the coil in your belly starting to tighten in pleasure.

"So fucking good, doll." He groans, his face pressed against your core has your cunt throbbing. “Can you even take my dick? I don’t want to hurt you when you’re being so good for me.”

You feel yourself on the edge of an orgasm, desperate to topple over the edge. All you need is a little encouragement, and you're extremely glad Yunho is so good at reading you.

“Let loose, baby. Be a good girl and cum on my fingers.”

You let out a loud moan, almost a scream as your orgasm hits you and Yunho holds your shaking body down, licking your clit softly as you finish.

Before you can finish riding through your high, Yunho continues to kiss your pussy gently while adding a finger, the sudden stretch in your hole has you whining and writhing around from the sensitivity, his rough movements from his long fingers has you shaking even more. You beg for him to slow down and, thankfully he leans back, a satisfied smirk on his face as he watches you twitch beneath him.

Before you can comment on anything, Yunho leans down and captures you in another heated kiss, and you moan when you can taste yourself on his lips, a new rush of arousal flooding through your body.

“Do you want to keep going? We can stop if you want to.” Yunho's voice, filled with concern, warms your heart, but you can't help the groan that escapes your lips.

"I’d love to continue," you rush on your words, your enthusiasm unabated. Chuckling at your eagerness, Yunho moves back slightly, running a hand through his hair as he gazes down at you, a mix of pride and desire evident in his eyes as he looks at your fucked out state.

“Wait shit, I don't know if i have a condom,” Yunho says, worried as he ruffles through his bedside table, not able to find any.

“Wait really?” you question, not even the slightest bit worried about him not having a condom, in fact you almost try to hide your excitement, “it’s okay.”

“What?”

“We don't need it, I'm on the pill.” You exclaim, pulling him by his hand closer to you, so he sits on the bed next to you.

Yunho is taken aback by your boldness, yet he finds it extremely hard to hide his excitement. The low groan that escapes his lips doesn't go unnoticed by you, further fueling the growing intensity of the moment. Yunho looks up at you, his eyes dark as he studies your face for any form of discomfort. When he doesn't see any, he almost moans at the thought of finishing inside of you. “Fuck, baby. You're going to be the death of me.”

The second Yunho removes his boxers, your mouth is almost watering at the sight of his length. Not only is he long, but he is girthy, standing tall. Your mouth hangs slightly open as you take in the sight. You can feel your pussy throbbing at the thought of how well he is going to stretch you out.

“Like what you see?” Just like that, the caring Yunho is once again replaced with the cocky Yunho that you just love.

Instead of firing the bratty comment that is on the tip of your tongue, you simply nod your head, too overcome with the need for him to just destroy you.

Yunho leans over you again, spreading your legs wide to fit right between them, he takes his time rubbing up and down your slit, gathering your arousal to lube himself up. Your whines and whimpers are like music to his ears, and he doesn't know if he can ever get enough of you like this.

Lining up with your entrance, he takes his time to gently slide just the tip in, causing you to gasp lightly. Yunho buries his head into your neck, biting his lip as he attempts to maintain his composure. He knows he needs to take it slow in order to not hurt you, but the way you are clenching around him has his mind spinning with arousal.

He gets back up, his intense gaze watching your every expression as he eases himself in, going at a steady pace. The sting is definitely present and you squint at the light pain.

“Deep breaths, beautiful. You’re doing so well.”

You grab his toned arms as he pushes himself further in, his own breaths getting shallow as he feels your warm walls envelop his length.

‘Stay focused, Yunho,’ he thinks to himself, over and over, desperately trying to keep his composure, yet it proves more difficult by every passing second that your tight pussy sucks him in.

Pleasure surges through you but the only thing you are able to focus on is how full you feel. Your breath catches in your throat and you tense up as he gradually bottoms out, groaning, "So big."

“Yeah, does it feel good?” Yunho’s voice is raspy as he cages you in his arms, his eyes scanning your face.

“So good… please move.” is all you manage to say.

Yunho starts with some slow, teasing thrusts dragging his cock out before pushing it back in and it has you mewling out in pleasure.

“Fuck you’re so tight,” Yunho chokes out, his sanity practically gone as he feels your tight walls hugging his cock so nicely.

The beautiful sight of him on top of you, sweaty and lust ridden has you moaning and clenching around his cock. Wrapping your arms tightly around his strong back, your nails dig into his skin as he increases his pace.

"Does this feel good, pretty?"

You are only able to manage out a moan of approval, letting him know, yes, he is doing good. Yunho chuckles against your skin as you let out noises of pleasure, every one spurring him on and making him desperate to make you finish again. In a purposeful movement, Yunho leans his hips back slightly, so his cock is angled in a way where it hits your g spot perfectly with every thrust. Yunho knows he has found it the second your words and moan become a mixed blabbing mess, with this he smirks. He almost doesn't want to stop, he is having too much fun with you.

Yunho grunts as he starts thrusting even faster, his hand coming down to flick your clit, needing you to come on his cock. He needs you to finish before him.

You feel your orgasm approaching fast, and Yunho can tell by the way you clench and claw at his arms, pulling him down to lock him in a heated kiss, he swallows your moans and whimpers happily.

Yunho pulls away from your swollen lips to bury his face in your neck, whispering praise into your ear.

“Who is making you feel this good, doll?” he whispers in his deep voice, “do you want to cumm, pretty girl? Be a good girl and cum on my big dick, I know you want to.”

The coil in your belly tightens even more, your legs starting to shake around him as you moan out his name pathetically.

“That’s it, beautiful, milk my cock dry.”

“Need to cum,”

Yunho’s chest tightens at the desperate tone in your voice and for a moment, he knows he is definitely able to get used to your desperate whines.

“Go ahead, baby cum for me, let the whole neighbourhood know how good I’m making you feel.”

That's all it takes for the coil in your stomach to snap, and your orgasm hits you hard. Intense pleasure ripples through you like tsunami waves, shaking your whole body and making your toes curl as your fingernails dig into his arms. The sensation overwhelms you as your world narrows down to the electrifying connection you share with Yunho.

Yunho follows in suit, his hips stuttering as he cums deep inside of you, his choked swears and moans in your ear as he wraps his strong arms around you, securing you in a tight embrace as the two of you ride out your orgasms.

After a few moments of silence, the only sounds to be heard in the room are the deep inhales and exhales of you and Yunho, the two of you lost in the aftermath of your passionate encounter. The intimacy lingers in the air, wrapping around you like a warm, comfortable blanket.

Yunho gently sits up, his arms shaky as he tries to regain his composure. A layer of sweat covers his face, and even in the low light of his room, you think he looks absolutely handsome. His dishevelled hair and flushed cheeks only add to his charm, and you can't help but admire him as he catches his breath.

Slowly, he pulls out, his seed spilling out of your swollen hole, a sight which has Yunho getting hard once again, yet he pushes the thoughts to the side and quickly rushes to the bathroom to grab a washcloth for you.

You can't help but feel a wave of insecurity and vulnerability as Yunho steps away to fetch the washcloth. The moment he disappears from your sight, a rush of unease washes over you, and tears begin to pool in your eyes. You never expected this level of intimacy, and now, seeing him leave even briefly, you fear he might be having second thoughts.

When he returns with the washcloth, he immediately notices the glistening tears in your eyes. Panic sets in, and he rushes to your side, cradling you in his arms.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern. "Did I do something to upset you?"

You sniffle and shake your head. "I'm sorry. I thought you disappeared for good, and I got scared."

Yunho's expression softens as he caresses your cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a tear. "Oh, baby, I would never do that. I promise you, I'm here for you. I'm so sorry for putting that thought in your mind."

He holds you close, offering the warmth and comfort you desperately need, reassuring you that he's not going anywhere.

“Yunho?” You look towards Yunho, whose gaze is already set on you with an affectionate gaze. Tenderly, he pushes a stray hair behind your ear, and a sense of comfort washes over you.

Leaning down, he places a soft kiss on your forehead, murmuring, "Yes, baby?"

Your heart flutters at the endearment as you continue, "What are we?"

Yunho raises an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a warm smile. He knew this question was coming, and he's more than prepared to answer. "Well, if you'll have me, I'd love to be your nerdy boyfriend."

A surge of happiness fills you, and you can't hold back your grin. "Only if you'll have me as your 'not so nerdy' girlfriend?"

Yunho chuckles and cups your face with his hands, sealing the moment with a sweet kiss. "Deal," he whispers against your lips, his arms wrapping even harder around you, securing you in a warm embrace.

“Let’s clean you up, pretty.”

—

“Sitting in Professor Turner's office, you're feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Yunho is right beside you, his presence giving you comfort and assurance. Professor Turner, the mentor you deeply respect, and her opinion matters greatly to you. You've been working tirelessly to improve your grades, and this is the moment of reckoning. To tell whether you are going to be expelled or not.

Professor Turner reviews your recent exam results, and you can't help but glance at Yunho. He's been your constant support, helping you study, explaining complex concepts, and motivating you to push your limits. There's a fond smile on his face, his warm eyes reflecting his pride in your accomplishments.

Finally, Professor Turner finishes her review and looks up at you with an encouraging smile. "I don't know how you did it, but your grades have not only improved, they have excelled. You are somehow one of the best in my class right now."

Your heart swells with pride as you realise the significance of her words. Tears fill your eyes and you feel the heavy weight that has been on your heart for months finally lift.

Yunho's proud smile widens, and the love in his eyes grows even more apparent. You feel a deep sense of accomplishment and happiness, knowing that with his help and your dedication, you've managed to exceed your own expectations and impress one of your most respected professors.

You look over at Yunho, gratitude shining in your eyes, and say,

"Well, I had an amazing tutor."

{i didnt proof read this, so if you see mistakes i apologise, im very tired}

#ateez smut #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #yunho #yunho smut #yunho ateez #yunho x reader #yunho au

3K notes · View notes

fluloa · 1 year

Note

BABY DADDY JAKE AND LIKE THEY HAVENT EVEN OFFICIALLY MATED FOR LIFE YET BUT HAVE A WHOLE ASS NEWBORN

why is this idea so cute to me??? i have no idea why but slay

You and Jake weren’t really a couple at the start. Sure, you had your moments. Like sometimes, he’d bring you a cute little bundle of flowers, or a new anklet and shit like that. But it was never serious, never really a relationship.

The first time he met you was during a hunting festival, with crystal beads in your hair and a mischievous glimmer in your eyes that he couldn’t help but be drawn to. He had a bit too much to drink, and it seemed as if you did too.

He walked up to you, trying to hide the intense nerve that shock his system because you were really fucking pretty. You were dancing carelessly, arms flowing out and he taps one of them, immediately cringing at the unplanned move.

You turn, the beads in your hair rattling against the base of your neck as you look up at him with curiosity.

“Hey,” he mumbles, crackling a tiny smirk that covers the immense panic he feels.

You blink, smiling a little as you look him up and down. “Hello.”

“You, uh,” Jake clears his throat. “You’re really pretty, and uh… would you wanna dance?”

God, he seems like a complete douchebag. But you like it, or seem to at least by the way your smile widens. You simply nod, turning yourself completely to him and placing the palms of your hands on his shoulders, and he watches you do it with wide eyes. He notices the way your head gently tilts, before you grab one of his hands, directing it to your hip. “You place here.”

He nods, flicking his gaze quickly to the other dancing pairs to see what they’re doing as he attempts to copy. You find it cute.

“I feel how tense your fingers are.” You comment, and his gaze snaps right back to you. His ears twitch down, airplane mode for a millisecond before they’re back up laying against his black hair.

“You can?”

“Mm,” you hum. “Relax.”

He tries to do what you say, breathing in through his chest and relaxing his hand sat against your hip but it’s hard, because he can’t help but feel the way the perky bone of your hip sticks out to his fingers and how smooth your skin is.

“Relax,” you repeat, letting a breathy giggle fall from your lips at his obvious lack of ability to do such a simple action. When his fingers finally slow and rest lazily on your skin, you smile. “For Toruk Makto, you are quite humble.”

You know completely what to do through the music, starting your hands at the base of his stomach before dragging them up to his neck and making your palms meet. “Take your hand off my hip,” you mumble. You spread your hands out across his chest, following out the length of his arms before finally meeting his hands, threading your fingers through his fingers and bringing them up and above both your heads.

You’re looking at your conjoined hands, but he’s looking at you. When you bring them down, you catch his gaze, and you’re taken slightly aback by the intensity caught in it. You slow your hands, staring at him as your mouth gently agapes.

Sprawled out on the green grass, Jake leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck as he enters you with drunken feverishly motions, groans slipping from his throat. Your legs curl around his torso, encouraging him to strive deeper into your cunt and kiss deeper at your skin. Your hands sprawl out across the map of his toned back, blunt nails catching onto his blue skin and creating tiny dinted scratches.

“Oh, my girl,” he breathes out. “Nice and warm. So— holy, so nice and warm.”

You mewl, digging your heels into the lower pinch of his back, “Jake, oh, Jake.” Your voice cracks into a edgy whine when he strengthens the pace of his cock, driving in and out of you fluently.

Breathing ragged and uneasy as you slump together, tangling in each other as you bask in the after moments of sex. Your tails curl together, wrap around each other and you sigh. Jake presses a gentle kiss at your forehead, rubbing his thumb on the fat of your thigh.

It was like that for a long time. Constant banter and flirting until you both gave in and ravaged each other, banging it out like there was no tomorrow. But you weren’t a couple, hadn’t taken it to the next step to connect your tsaheylos because why rush when you both can just be comfortable in an fun, open sex friends-with-benefits sort of deal? You were both fine with it, and there wasn’t anything that could change that.

But then came the random little pains and spikes in your belly, the nausea that sometimes grew when you ate, the increasing aching tender of your breasts.

You chew on your lip hard, praying to Eywa herself that it isn’t what you think it was.

The Tsahik tells you otherwise, and within seconds of her fingers grazing the skin over your belly, she nods. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” you rush.

“Silence, child. If you let me speak, I shall tell you.” Mo’at snaps. You nod violently, lips sealed close as you wait anxiously for her next sentence. “Eywa has blessed you with a gift,” she flats her palm on your stomach, unable to hide the gentle smile that stretches on her wrinkled face. “You are with child.”

You gulp, a mix of emotions running through you all at once. You slide your hand next to hers, feathering at your belly and feeling the soft skin there that’ll probably be decorated with stretch marks.

It’s nerv-wracking when you see Jake next, and he’s already got that giddy grin on his face as he strides to you. “Hey,” he murmurs, scooping an arm around your waist and pulling you into the warmth of his torso. He lands a sly kiss to your jawline, and you’ve got the feeling he wants to get straight into it today.

“Jake,” you say.

“Hm?” he mutters, gliding the hot of his tongue on the area just below your jawline. His fingers snake to your loincloth, toying with the lace that holds it together.

“Jake,” you repeat, voice sterner this time and that’s when he knows to back off, brow twitching up.

“What?”

“I have to tell you something,” you utter. He blinks blindly at you. “It’s serious.”

“Okay,” he returns, not without confusion wrapped in his tone. You breathe in, attempting to calm your nerves before you’re blurting it out all in one go.

“I’m pregnant, Jake. I have your baby,” you blurt. He stares at you, face unreadable and you take it as a sign to keep on rambling, but then he places a palm on your belly with his eyes set on the movement.

He lets a breathy chuckle leave his mouth, lets a grin stretch out onto his wide lips. “You do?”

You’re surprised to say the least to his reaction. “Yes—“ your sentence halts to a stop when Jake kisses you, palming a hand on your warm cheek and you sigh onto his lips.

“That’s…” he laughs again, “That’s amazing.” He looks up at you, pupils dilating. “You’re amazing.”

He grabs your face with both hands and kisses you again, this time harder. You’re being smushed from his grip and you giggle at his hyper, letting yourself melt into his warmth.

The more your belly grew, the more your actual relationship with Jake grew. It just happened. Naturally. The man’s protectiveness grew as well, even though you could never really get him to fully admit it.

Placing a hand on your belly, leaning his head to you as he tsks. “My girl, stay in rest.”

“Jake, just because I am with child does not mean I am helpless. I am still apart of this clan, and I am still able to serve it,” you fight against him, brushing his hand off of your body and reaching for your bow. He snatches the bow just as your fingers gaze the handle, and he hangs it above his head. You try swooping it out from him but he raises it higher, smirking as you huff in frustration.

“Pretty helpless right now.” He quips, unable to fight his shit-eating grin as he watches you try to reach your bow with your waving arm. You end up huffing and puffing, placing a hand on your stomach as you give up. You suddenly groan in pain, and Jake’s smug expression drops, immediately dropping his arm to place a concerned hand on your shoulder.

You snatch the bow from his now lowered arm, rushing it to hide behind you and press at your back as you laugh mischievously. Jake snaps his head to your face, frowning until he can’t help but let a small smirk break past his facade. “Not dumb, though.”

When you’re at the final trimester, you’re big, and heavy. Your feet are puffed up and your back twitches in pain every single time you move a muscle. It’s torture. And to add onto it, your self esteem is at your lowest.

Crying on Jake’s shoulder as he rubs your back with his big fingers, nose sniffly as you weep. “Ijustdon’tunderstandwhyyyy— huAp,” a loud hiccup slips from you. “IfeelsosoarallofthetiiiiiimemybreastshurtconstantlyweirdstuffcomesoutofmewhydoesEywahatemesooo…”

He gives reassuring kisses to your forehead, eyes closed with a faint, tired smile tugged on his lips as he coos, “It’s alright, my yuey.”

You certainly do not feel beautiful.

“Got that babymama glow.” Jake adds, mumbling as he gives another smooch to your forehead. He receives a defeated whimper in response, your body curling in his form as his arm wrapped around your form tightens around you.

When the baby comes, it fucking comes. You’re screaming at the top of your lungs as you clench at Jake’s hand with a bone-crushing grip. Healers swarm around you like bees, holding your legs, stomach, and every patch of your body except for your head, which Jake holds with his second hand.

Jake licks at his lips. “You’re doing great, sweetie—”

“Shut the fuck up, Jake!”

“Yep, ok.”

With one final push, the baby’s out. One of the healer’s holds the baby in her arms, a hint of a smile on her face as she hands your child into your arms. Warm tears rim around your eyes as you hold your new born baby, leaning against Jake’s body as he rubs at your back. You’re able to feel his chest tremble, and when you look up to him, there’s a tear striding down his cheek. With what energy you have, you scoop your arm around his neck, bringing his head down with your head as you give him a kiss to the cheek.

He returns it with a kiss to your forehead, yet unable to take his eyes off of his baby in your arms. “My Syaté,” you whisper lovingly. Syay meaning fate, a definition tied faintly in with blessing. Her nose sniffles and twitches, tiny eyebrows crinkling before she begins to cry. Jake can’t even seem to get care, as he holds the chubby cheek of his new babygirl and he can’t help but feel a new spring of fresh tears corrupt his face.

Jake barely leaves you and the baby. He says that he must protect his family, that it’s a bigger priority than doing anything else. But you’re not sure if that’s just a big fat excuse for him to hold her for hours. Laying in his lap, as he swipes a hand over her little head and feeling the thin, small fuzz of hair on it. With you at his side, singing to her as you stroke her cheek with a soft thumb.

The fire in front of you crackles, as the night’s cool air breezes on your backs. She coos out a gurgled giggle in reply.

Sometimes, Jake’ll just have Syaté in his arms as you fall in a much needed sleep, just staring at her face because he’s still stunned at the fact that in his arms, this is his child. It boggles him. He didn’t even think he’d ever find someone to love him, let alone carry his baby. But here you are, sleeping beside his leg peacefully and your face just looks so pretty and calm that it makes him want to cry.

Holding up his baby as the people surround him in circles, swaying side to side as you watch in awe. The new child of the people’s Olo’eyktan. Jake gently holds her up, the light from the sky shining on her small body and her legs squirming a little. “Syaté!”

“Syaté,” they repeat, echoing amongst the forest and you smile, teeth shining through your lips.

Connecting her tsaheylu to the many branches of the Tree Of Souls, connecting her to Eywa. Jake can see the way her eyes light up, can see the way her lips widen in a giggly manner.

The first time taking Syaté to have a bath in the river. Jake insists that he holds her on the way, and you grin, dashing through the forest because it’s the most freedom you’ve had in a long time.

Once getting there, you both gently get into the river, as Jake cradles Syaté in his arms. He holds her above the water until you give him the signal to lower her. The water swims at her feet, goes in between her little toes and she makes a noise at the feeling of it. He shifts his hand in a cup-like form, ripping it over his baby’s head gently. Slowly, he lowers her down into the river. You laugh gently at the way she screws up her face. “I know, babygirl. It’s a bit cold,” Jake chuckles.

She awkwardly blinks away the water that drops into her eyes, dripping at her black eyelashes and Jake wipes it away with his thumb before she could whine about it. Jake then shifts his eyes to you whisking through the stream, hair wet and following you as it flows weightless amongst the water. You end your swim in front of him, sneakily dipping your head over and blowing raspberries on Syaté’s chubby belly. She giggles immediately, the sound pure music to Jake’s ears.

Jake goes to give a million kisses to her cheek, nuzzling his nose in her skin as she ropes out rounds of uncontainable laughter. You start to laugh as well, and Jake can’t help but laugh, too.

Once back from the river, you sit in the open gap between Jake’s legs, Syaté a sleepy mess in warm your arms. She sucks at your breast with a new born baby hunger, even going as far to push a tiny hand on it to give her more. You rub at her tummy with the soft of your palm, mumbling your songcord. The fire in front of you is warm and orange, illuminating against the blue of your skin and creating a glowy atmosphere. Jake sighs through his nose, sliding a hand up and down your thigh as his legs fold under yours.

The heart beating in his chest is full, and he can’t name anywhere he would rather be. He rakes a few fingers through your hair, landing a gentle kiss to the back of your neck as contentment fills in his body, his mind brewing with the sense to protect. To protect his new-found family.

5K notes · View notes

cauliflowercounty · 1 month

Text

Knives Dance (Part II)

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

Summary: You and your father address your people to quell the seeds of unrest on Youra. Realizing the resolute dedication of your people, Baron Vladimir begins to conspire against you and your homeworld, something you and Feyd will not take lying down when you put a plan of your own in motion.

Warnings: visceral imagery, more death, reader goes a little mental

Word Count: 6.0k

Part I | Part II | Part III

Breaking your kiss reluctantly, Feyd looks around at the twenty some odd soldiers you’ve both just killed, exhilaration and admiration for you still coursing through his veins. “I’m sorry to do this, but I must ask something of you, Feyd,” you say, looking down at both of your garments saturated in blood.

“Anything,” he responds without a second thought. He knows he means it.

“You must not let anyone know what I showed you or that I was fighting alongside you tonight.” You walk over and pick up your second blade that Feyd tossed away, strapping it back to your thigh along with the other one. Next, you collect Ozran’s knife and hand it to Feyd. It’s light and flimsy in his grasp compared to your daggers, truly a laughable excuse for a murder weapon. An animal being killed for supper deserves to be killed by a better blade than this. You fasten your cloak back onto your person, and it consumes your body again, making it seem as if you hadn’t just butchered half the dead around you. “These are my best kept secrets. You must say that it was you who killed all of our attackers.”

“Of course,” he replies, and you press a soft kiss on his lips in thanks. As soon as he leans in to kiss you back, approaching footsteps become audible. It’s your father, the baron, and a fleet of Youran guards with their weapons drawn.

“Let’s give them a little show, shall we?” you whisper against his lips. As soon as they come into view, Feyd feels you fall into his arms, spotting delicate tears collecting on lower lashes. He brings his arms around you, cradling your figure as you sink to the ground and begin quaking in his embrace, which makes his heart twinge.

Your father calls out to you, aghast as he spots the dead bodies surrounding you and Feyd. The look on your father’s face is as if he’s worried you might turn to dust. He kneels beside you, taking you out of Feyd’s arms and into his own. “We heard commotion from the castle and came as quickly as we could. Are you injured, my darling child? What happened?”

“F-Father, I am alright, ” you quiver, breath shaky as you lean into him. “It was so scary, though! Na-Baron and I were on a nighttime stroll, and suddenly a poisoned dart flew out of nowhere and nearly hit me. When we looked over to see where it came from, Ozran was approaching us with a wild look in his eyes.” You’re sobbing into your Father’s chest at this point, tear stains soaking into your father’s clothes, and Feyd cannot help but be impressed by your theatrics. “Ozran said he was unhappy with our dealings with House Harkonnen. He meant to kill us to make a point, but Na-Baron courageously disarmed Ozran and struck him down. As soon as that happened, Ozran’s loyalists began to strike, but they were no match for Na-Baron.”

Hearing those words, Feyd sees his uncle lift his chin up in pride, delighting in the thought of Feyd emerging victorious over twenty, killing in cold blood. Your father lets out a sigh of relief, pulling you closer in his arms as he holds the back of your head. “It’s alright, y/n. You are still alive, and Ozran cannot hurt you any longer,” he whispers before looking up to Feyd. “Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha. I am most grateful. Thank you for saving my daughter from those criminals. I am in your debt.”

Feyd sees his Uncle’s eyes glimmer with excitement. Your father shouldn’t have said that. His uncle never passed up an opportunity to prey on those indebted to the Harkonnens. Before, Feyd also enjoyed the manipulation of other peoples, but now that his uncle has his sights set on you, a growing sense of unease begins to build, and he can’t bring himself to look at his uncle.

“It was my honor to fight for your daughter tonight,” Feyd replies. “I am glad I was here to protect her life, and I would do the same again.”

Your father brings you to your feet, your cloak still concealing your stained battle gear underneath. You bring the back of your hand up to wipe away your tears, letting out a meek sniffle. Feyd keeps trying to remind himself that what you’re doing is just and act, a way of protecting your secrets from his devious uncle, but Feyd’s chest continues to ache seeing you cry. If he had his way, nothing would make you shed a tear ever again.

“If there were this many attackers tonight, that means we have unrest on our hands. There are sure to be more of them.” your father says, turning to one of the soldiers. “Call the citizens to the castle, and prepare the thrones.”

“Yes, My Lord,” the guard says, turning on his heel and hurrying away, and Feyd watches as he disappears.

“I do hope this does not mean the marriage will be called off,” Baron Vladimir interjects with a leading stare at your father. Your father shakes his head straight away.

“Of course not, Baron. I value our alliance. We will handle our people. I assure you, the marriage will happen on Giedi Prime,” your father says as the sound of a horn reverberates across the island nation. “Would you be present for the address tonight?”

His uncle obliges, and the guards guide everyone through the winding hallways. After a few minutes, they exit the fortress through another set of doors, and the group emerges onto an enormous stone platform overlooking an open basin lined with towering columns. Two grand thrones stand in the middle of the platform: one for you and one for your father. Instead of stone like their surroundings, they’re made of thick, twisty branches of a rich, dark wood that have grown into the shape of chairs. It’s almost as if these chairs were borne out of the very nature on the island.

Feyd looks down to the land below the platform. People are quickly gathering below at a remarkable rate. He sees citizens emerging from all directions from the surrounding mountain range. Multiple cable cars whose lines stretch from inside the forest to the basin approach. Light shines outward from the compartments, and Feyd sees they’re positively filled with people. When the cars meet the ground, the stained glass doors open and people flow out and into the crowd while others run across the wooden bridges out from under the trees.

Your father beckons all of you forward once the crowd has amassed. When you and your father come into the people’s view, there is a roar of cheers. Feyd sees people start to raise their hands and clap for you as the crowd begins a melodic chanting of “House Ronen! House Ronen!” The way they rally for their leaders is earnest and true, a sight to behold.

You take a seat at your throne as your father does. You gesture to Feyd to come stand behind your chair and the baron floats beside your father’s throne. When the crowd spots the Harkonnens, some of the cheers turn to murmurs, which rumble through the group as more people begin to whisper to one another. Your father raises his palm to the people, and they fall silent.

“Thank you, my dear friends, for coming at this hour. I would not have called you if I didn’t think it was important,” your father’s voice booms. “We have something very important to tell you tonight."

He gestures over to you and you rise from your seat and step forward, once again holding your cape closed. The armed guards advance on the sidelines, holding their weapons at their sides to protect you. You pause and gaze out at your people before centering yourself, holding your head high with poise appropriate for a lady of your stature.

“I would like to echo my father’s thanks for your time and presence,” you begin, your voice collected and commanding. “Not an hour ago, there was an attempt at my life at the Pools of Ashora.” A wave of disbelief propagates through the crowd. Some cup their hand to their mouths and others begin to whisper to their neighbors. A few let out roars of anger, but Feyd swears he sees a few snigger at the news.

“Twenty men led by researcher Ozran Neyru ambushed me and Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen tonight. As you can see, the endeavor to end my life was unsuccessful. During the attack, Ozran told me he and the others were motivated because of my upcoming marriage to Na-Baron Harkonnen, that their belief is I am betraying our ideals by allowing the House of Harkonnen into our circle. I do not doubt there are others that feel the same as him, and I have come to offer you an explanation, which I feel you all deserve.”

There are nods through the crowd. Some seem undeniably compelled with your speech while others cross their arms with skepticism. You glance over to your father, gestures with his hand for you to proceed.

“I have lived on Youra all of my life. It is my homeland, and a place I care deeply for. When I was seven, I drank from the sacred pool on top of our great mountain, and when I was sixteen, I had my own Rite like each of you. I know what being Youran is because I have lived it from the moment I took my first breath. I’ve grown up knowing our stories and our traditions, and I love the society we’ve been able to build.

“Looking out upon you tonight under the glow of the lanterns, I think of the tale of Zeyred, who was the first to release lanterns at nighttime to guide the souls of our departed to their final destination amongst the stars after he mistook a shooting star for the soul of his dead mother. Zeyred used what he thought was the truth and created a wonderful tradition in order to help loved ones on their final journey. Since then, we have left behind the notion that souls go to the stars once life is over, but we still release lanterns every night to pay our respect for him and the Yourans of his time. It reminds ourselves of where we come from.”

Feyd sees an air of nostalgia wash over the crowd and a few clutch their hearts, admiration growing in their eyes as you recount the traditional Youran folktale.

“This practice of using truth for the betterment of others is ancient, but it still remains the lifeblood of Youra today. By seeking truth in our collective research, we’ve developed elixirs that have eliminated diseases that have historically killed many. We’ve found ways to protect our crops from failure. We’ve made advances in engineering to improve our ships and travel around our planet and beyond, broadening our quest for knowledge. By following truth, our quality of life on Youra has improved because of the choices our predecessors have made more than any of us alive today will ever know or appreciate. We’ve found countless ways of providing for and protecting others.” Mumbles of agreement echo from below. Some nod their heads to one another. The citizenry is certainly taking to your argument, and Feyd is in awe of your eloquence and composure.

“Tonight, I have witnessed an undeniable truth: the prowess of House Harkonnen. I have seen strength, valor, and loyalty in Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, without whom I would not be standing here in front of you. As a woman of Youra, I put my faith in what is real, which is why I am putting my faith in the House of Harkonnen.

“This union is not a departure from our ideals. If anything, it is a commitment to them. It is my way of protecting you. It will strengthen our society by putting us under the wing of the greatest major house and those we care for is simply getting a little larger. I have made this decision for the betterment of all of us. I ask you to join me in the celebration of this union when I depart for Giedi Prime.”

The crowd erupts in cheers as you let out gasp in amazement at the overwhelming support by your people. Even the soldiers around you raise their weapons to the sky in support. You bow to your nation, thanking them for their time. Some of the people in the crowd begin to chant Feyd’s name, thanking him for saving their beloved Lady, which catches him by surprise. Your father claps at your address, and Feyd joins him in applause, commending your efforts.

The people are dismissed and the Youran soldiers guide Feyd and the others back into the castle. As the group is safely indoors, you grasp one of Feyd’s hands on your own and press a kiss on his closest cheek and lean in to whisper “Thank you, Feyd.”

As you pull back, you and your father bow to the Harkonnens before you return to your quarters, still encircled by guards. Watching you disappear behind a corridor, Feyd notices his heart longing for your company. He thinks of the way you two moved in perfect sync during your fight. The fiery look in your eyes during the battle was thrilling to behold. His mind lingers on you as he reminisces about the feeling he had of bolts of lightning shooting through his veins when you kissed him. Just as soon as he's entranced, he’s ripped out of his fantasy by his uncle’s fingers clenched around his shoulder.

“Come,” his uncle orders, and Feyd follows as they return to the guest wing of the fortress. The walk to the guest wing is eerily silent. All that can be heard is footsteps and the gentle whirring and occasional clicks that come from his uncle’s medical contraptions. His uncle beckons him into his own quarters after the guards bid them goodnight. The baron floats into the room while instructing Feyd to close the door behind him.

This guest suite is an exact replica of the one Feyd is staying in. The walls are covered in painstakingly crafted tapestries and the furniture is made of a red-brown wood with a bold grain that looks like billows of smoke. An entire wall is a floor to ceiling window that leads to a balcony which overlooks the ocean. The soft reflection of the moonlight from the water’s surface streams through the window, illuminating half of the baron’s face in a stark white light while the other is cast in a sinister shadow. His uncle calls Feyd closer, and he obeys.

“Well done, Feyd,” is the first thing his uncle says to him in a low voice. “The Yourans may still be outside, so we must be quiet.” Feyd nods to his uncle in understanding as he notices his uncle’s unbridled grin, the one he only has when he’s plotted something truly heinous. “The Yourans are weaker than I ever imagined. I knew they were a society of wisdom, but I never expected them to leave themselves so… vulnerable.” The baron’s eyes are now ablaze with savagery. Saying the words out loud has lit the flames of cruelty that burns in his soul. “The fact that you killed twenty of them in the time between us hearing the attack and arriving in the courtyard single handedly is a true testament to their sheer mediocrity. I shall reward you when we are back on Giedi Prime. How about another mistress this time? I will ensure she’s properly broken for you.”

I don’t want your praise. I don’t want your gifts, Old Man, Feyd thinks, resisting the urge to grab ahold of his uncle’s neck, strangle him, and feel his trachea shatter under his thumbs.

“I was originally frustrated at you, Feyd. I wondered why you simply didn’t allow them to kill her, but you’ve done well, despite your lack of foresight. We will not have to take the planet by force. Now we have a way to win over the people of Youra, and they will soon be ours. Lady Ronen is foolish. She thinks their principles will keep them safe, but their dedication to their values will be their downfall.”

Feyd conceals his clenched fist from his uncle’s view as he collects himself. He must not be rash. Instead, he suppresses his emotions, and he asks his uncle “What are you proposing?”

“We take her to Giedi Prime, and once the marriage is sealed, I want you to kill her.” Those words make Feyd’s blood run cold. Kill you? After everything that’s happened? After the fear of losing you had already struck his heart once today? Feyd will not allow it. “We shall tell them it was natural.” The Baron continues with a venomous tone. “…and that it was her dying wish for her people to honor our alliance.” The baron grins, bearing his inky, black teeth. Frightening images of your dead body crumpled on the glossy black floors of Giedi Prime flash in Feyd’s mind with your beautiful eyes blank and unseeing, which makes his head begin to spin. “You saw how they rallied around her tonight. They are so dedicated to her that they will honor her wishes even in death. The planet Youra will be ours, Feyd. We will take the bounty of their work to Arrakis where we will kill Muad'dib, and the House of Harkonnen will emerge victorious.”

With that, the baron shoos his nephew out of the room. On the other side of the door, Feyd balls his fists and clenches his teeth so tightly it’s a wonder they haven’t cracked under the pressure. Instead of returning to his quarters, he walks through the corridors of the palace straight to yours, trying to hold his breath steady as the bile within him threatens to pour over. Outside of your room, there are armed guards keeping watch over the entrance. One knocks at the door when he requests to see you and slips inside once you permit the guard entrance.

Moments later, you emerge at the door. You’ve cleaned up since he last saw you and you’re no longer in your cloak and battle gear. Instead, you wear a light, flowy nightdress that hugs your waist and reflects the moonlight exquisitely. You reach out to Feyd and bring his hands together near your chest. Feyd’s heart skips and you raise yourself up on your toes to kiss him in earnest. He sighs into the softness of your lips. Having you so close and being graced by your touch is one of the greatest privileges he has ever received. As you break away, there’s a look of concern on your face.

“Would you like to come inside?” you ask him softly and he nods. As soon as he enters, you close the door and lock it behind you. He lets out a frustrated hiss, finally able to express his frustration as he sits down in an armchair chair and rests his elbows on his thighs. He his head in his hands in frustration. “What’s wrong, Feyd?”

“My uncle is plotting. He wishes for me to murder you after we wed. He thinks you weak and your people impressionable,” Feyd seethes, closing his eyes and running his hands along the back of his neck. “I couldn’t ever bring myself to do that to you, but I know my uncle. If I don’t do it, he will have someone who doesn't care for you like I do carry out the deed instead. He plans to take control of your planet and your people when you are gone.”

For the first time in years, Feyd feels like he’s on the verge of tears, something that the baron had him beaten for until his bones shattered when Feyd was a child. He has only just found you. You’ve begun to heal his heart and put the light back in his eyes. You’ve shown him unwarranted kindness and let him bask in your affections. You’ve given him someone to fight for, and just as soon as he’s found his salvation in you, it’s about to be taken from him. Bringing your thumb up to his cheek, you wipe the small droplet that threatens to spill over away.

“Do not worry, my love,” you whisper to him, taking the opportunity to gently nuzzle his neck, and he sinks into your embrace. “Please dry your eyes.”

“We have to get rid of him. We need a plan,” Feyd says with conviction, and you nod. As he looks up at you, his worries seem to fade when he senses your fortitude. You support his cheek with your delicate touch and stare into his eyes. Behind your irises he sees a glint of devilishness.

“I know of a way, Feyd. We’ll silence Baron Vladimir, and in the end, we will install you as the ruler of Giedi Prime. You will be Feyd-Rautha, Baron of the House of Harkonnen.”

–

The people of Youra come to see you off in droves as you depart for the wedding. Everyone is dressed in their very best as they watch you precess toward the Harkonnen vessel accompanied by your father, the baron, and your bodyguards. Some parents have brought their children to catch a glimpse of you as you depart, the young Yourans perched on their parents’ shoulders to get a better view of you. You wave to them, and the children smile excitedly when you acknowledge them. Feyd marvels at your people's continued love and affection for you as he offers his arm to you. The Baron glances over to Feyd as the citizens cheer for you, nearly drooling at the prospect of dominating this society. Feyd looks away from his uncle as you take his arm, his determination rising. He will not permit his uncle’s scheme to go to fruition.

Under Giedi Prime’s black sun, the wedding proceeds as planned by Baron Vladimir. The entirety of Giedi Prime’s populace gathers to watch the union of Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha and the Lady of House Ronen. You wed each other in front of the crowd for all to see, wearing Harkonnen garb next to the baron and your father. Feyd cannot look away from you. You are beautiful in every way. The dress seems to hang delightfully on every curve of your physique. The long sleeves that extend just beyond your wrists conform to the shape of your arms perfectly. The rectangular cutout filled with sheer mesh placed perfectly over your breastbone is something Feyd cannot help but stare at. The splendor is so befitting of your stature, and all he can think of is him and his Baroness ruling Giedi Prime together one day.

You and Feyd each receive a necklace of dark stone plates from his uncle, marking your marriage. Feyd grasps your body firmly as he kisses you, his mind consumed with you and you alone as he cups your waist. You are finally his to have and to hold, and how wonderful that is to him. The crowd chants for Feyd when he raises your intertwined fingers for the crowd to see. The people exalt him, and the baron smiles from the sidelines as the alliance is sealed.

During the celebratory banquet, you and Feyd make careful effort to keep you away from the baron, lest he has other plans for you. The night goes on, the fireworks inky in the air and Harkonnen music playing to the late hours. As the lights fade and the diplomats go home, you bid your father goodbye, promising you will return to Youra soon. As his ship disappears into the night, Feyd comes to stand next to you. It’s almost time. You’ve been summoned to the baron’s personal chambers. You and Feyd walk in silence to the baron’s room through the empty halls. Outside the door that separates the two of you and the baron, there are no guards.

“It’s a trap,” you mouth to Feyd, careful to not make any noise. He gives you the smallest nod in agreement. Luring his victims into a false sense of security is something the baron always loved to do. Once they thought they were safe, the baron would turn their relief into agony and despair, relishing the emotional differential, torturing them until they begged for death after which he would oblige. Luckily, you and Feyd both know better, and you’ve come prepared.

Together, you both press one of your palms on one of the double doors and push them open. The room is inky black inside, only lit by horizontal strips of lighting. In the center sits the baron in a tub of viscous black sludge. Proceeding slowly, Feyd sees you mark every object in the room, creating a mental log for yourself. Nobody else is in the room. It’s just the baron in his tub.

“Welcome Feyd and Na-Baroness,” the baron says, taking a puff from his pipe as he leans backward in his tub. You both approach him, but are careful to distance yourself from the tub. “I wanted to congratulate you both on your marriage. Our people seem quite enthralled with you, na-Baroness,” the baron comments before clicking his tongue and taking another huff. “I- We wanted to present you with a gift to welcome you to our House.”

The Baron gestures for Feyd to come closer, and he obeys as the baron extends his arm to gesture at a black box that sits near the edge of his tub. The Baron raps his fingers on the box once as his eyes maliciously dart between it and Feyd. Feyd knows what this box is. Inside are his poisoned knives. As Feyd looks at the box, he can hear his uncle’s voice from the night on Youra in his mind: “Kill her!”

Looking back toward the doorway, two Harkonnen soldiers, armed with the barbs they use to subdue slaves in gladiatorial fights, have silently entered the room with their weapons drawn. Their stances are wide. When they step, they shift side to side, using the outside edge of their feet to make their footsteps barely audible. They approach you from behind, but Feyd knows you’ve already sensed them when your eyes narrow and your spine straightens as you moderate your breathing.

“Now!” the baron bellows to the soldiers, who throw their hooks at you, aiming for your shoulders. With the greatest of ease, you duck downward, allowing the prongs to soar over your head and clatter on the floor at the base of the tub. You grasp the lines the soldiers are holding in your hands. Standing back up, you twirl and swing one of your legs up and around the lines attached to the barbs. Using your foot as a hook, you force the lines downward and towards yourself, and the men topple over in their place as the lines are tugged toward you. They yell out in shock.

Feyd sees his uncle’s face contort in horror as he is frozen and at a loss for words. Clearly none of the three were expecting any resistance from you to be successful. You yank the ends of the barbs toward you and wrap your hands around the long rods. Dashing toward the entrance of the room, you make contact with one of them, killing them with a single blow before they have a chance to react. The other one whimpers in fear, watching his comrade fall before attempting to scramble back to the entrance on his hands and knees.

“FEYD, DO SOMETHING!” the baron hisses as you strike down the other who only makes it a few feet before your weapon collides with the back of his neck. The second barbman falls to the ground, motionless. Feyd opens up the case and takes his knives out, holding them steady at his side. As he approaches you, Feyd’s eyes flicker to the side toward where the baron lays in his vat of ooze, directing you to bring the fight closer to his uncle. Your gaze intensifies, and you lower your stance, using the sharp edge of each barb to cut the lines away.

“Let’s dance, my dear husband,” you coo at him as you raise your weapons and rush at each other. The shrill sound of metal clashing fills the air. You both know each other’s moves now. As one attacks, the other easily parries, neither one of you coming close to inflicting real harm. Feyd feels the tingling of excitement in his soul. Fighting with you before was exhilarating on Youra, but this is something else. He can finally see your beauty in all its glory. The way your body contorts like an acrobat as you dodge and counter flawlessly. How your brow furrows when you take on one of his blows with impeccable form is a sight to behold. You are nothing short of a miracle.

From the tub, the baron bellows, “Kill her, NOW!” You and Feyd continue, circling around the tub so that you come closer to the baron. With a signal to Feyd and one swift move, you knock baron’s hand closest to his control panel away, preventing him from calling for help. The Baron gasps in surprise. You couldn’t have known that’s where the controls are unless you were told. The realization dawns on him too late; he feels the sting of Feyd’s blade on his neck. He looks up at his nephew in horror.

Feyd drops his other knife and uses his free hand to force his uncle’s mouth open. The Baron chokes and gasps as the nephew he has groomed into a ruthless monster turns on him. The Baron tries to tell Feyd to unhand him as a desperate last effort as he struggles in the tub, but Feyd’s grip on his uncle is unwavering and only gets rougher. Feyd’s mind is ablaze. This is his revenge for plotting to kill you and for a lifetime of abuse at his hand.

In the past, Feyd revered his uncle, admired his iron grip on Giedi Prime, and thought that the baron was what he should aspire to be, but Feyd sees the truth now, looking down at his uncle writing in his grasp to no avail. His uncle is and always has been pathetic. It takes all the strength Feyd has in himself not to crack his Uncle’s neck right there. Feyd quells his impulsiveness. The plan must proceed as you arranged.

You approach from behind and stick two fingers in the baron’s mouth, stretching his cheek out as far as it will go. The baron whimpers as he spies something stirring under your sleeves. It circles down your arms and out from under the black fabric. It’s a black centipede with thick, glossy armor. It must be half the length of your arm, and the baron’s eyes quiver as it crawls onto the back of your hand and into his gaping maw. He chokes as the legs scuttle and scratch at his tongue. The creature forces itself down his esophagus. The baron feels the creature thrash, and he can almost hear the chitin armor clicking against itself from within him as he chokes on it.

“Don’t move,” you tell the baron with a dark smile. The baron’s fear is thick and palatable in the air. “She won’t like it if her host moves too much.” You remove your fingers from his mouth and recoil at his saliva. “What shall I have her do first? Maybe I’ll have her paralyze your vocal chords so you don’t go blabbing to anyone?” Your victim looks at you in desperation, but you tisk at him before letting out a rhythmic series of clicks through your teeth. The Baron feels the head of the creature wriggle inside of him back up into his throat. The Baron coughs. Gasping out in pain, he feels a searing pinch. Then the inside of his throat begins to burn. The centipede has clenched its jagged pincers around the inside of his throat. “Isn’t she so well trained, Baron?”

You lean down to the baron and hold his head in your hands so that you’re looking directly into his eyes, which are bloodshot and tearful. “You pitiful man, you thought you could kill me?” you whisper to him as he tries to call for help, but no comprehensible sound comes out. “Let me tell you a secret: I am more than the damsel in distress you think I am. I fought alongside Feyd that night. I even killed half of them. You shouldn’t have underestimated me or my people. We may be caretakers, but once those we love are threatened, we will not rest until we have our revenge. Now, you shall die a slow, painful, unceremonious death alone in a hot vat of black slime for your arrogance.”

You and Feyd release the baron from your grip. Allowing his body to sink against the edge of the tub. The baron sputters, as he begins to convulse. The venom is beginning to take hold. Soon it will affect his whole nervous system and shut down his body entirely. You and Feyd leave him there to rot as you deal with the bodies of the barbmen. In the early morning before anyone is awake, you collect the centipede from the baron in his tub. His body is twitching ever so slightly, but there is no hope for him. You hide the creature in your dress again, whispering small praises for a job well done and leave the room.

By midday, the Harkonnen attendants are growing concerned that they have not heard from the baron, a servant opens up the doors to the baron’s chambers, finding him lifeless in his tub with empty eyes staring up at the ceiling with a single tear stain on his cheek. The top doctors on Giedi Prime are brought in to perform an autopsy. They say he died of natural causes, unable to identify any trace of the centipede's presence.

The news spreads quickly about the baron’s passing, and you and Feyd put on a brave face for House Harkonnen. The funeral procession is quickly organized. The people of Giedi Prime hang their heads, mourning the sudden loss of their dear leader as you and Feyd precess through the city alongside the coffin to put the baron in his final resting place. Feyd makes a speech, praising his uncle for his leadership, secretly relishing his death.

You put up large flags with the baron’s face on it throughout the land, shrouding the architecture in even more dark fabrics, hang a portrait of him next to the other past Harkonnen leaders in the hallway, and order a monument to be built in his honor. Nobody suspects a thing.

A month after the death of Vladimir Harkonnen, you and Feyd stand in front of the citizens of Giedi Prime in your best clothes again as one of the Harkonnen advisors announce your new titles: Baron and Baroness Harkonnen. The crowd chants for the both of you with zeal, grateful to have leaders again.

The next morning, Feyd smiles as he opens his eyes and sees you sleeping peacefully, your head resting on his chest as you unconsciously run your fingers over his muscles. He hopes you’re dreaming of him because you were most certainly the subject of all of his fantasies last night. He tilts his head down, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head. He knows his next job is dealing with the Fremen attacks on Arrakis now that he is Baron Harkonnen. Instead of concerning himself with that, he chooses to close his eyes again and pulls you in closer. That job can wait. For now, all his thoughts are consumed by you as they should be.

Thanks for reading!

Part III OUT NOW!

Taglist:

@austinbutlerslovers

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #dune part 2 #dune part two #dune movie #x reader #cauliflowercounty #feyd x reader #feyd x you

423 notes · View notes

daosies · 4 months

Text

counting!

4 things yuta loves about you.

okkotsu yuta ♡ gn!reader

warnings: pre-established relationship, smitten yuta, reader orders udon, injuries (blood, gore), reader has heavenly restriction

notes: YUTA NATION ... RISE ... !!!!

Okkotsu Yuta likes the way stars form in your eyes.

He likes the way your irises twinkle, the way you fumble over your words as you struggle to explain your thoughts when talking about something you like. Yuta likes the way you lean a little closer to him, the sound of your voice growing louder as you tell him about the greatest part of the show you’re watching.

Hm, is all Yuta thinks. Maybe I should watch that show too.

“Yuta,” you say, “are you even listening?”

He blinks once, then twice, before offering you a kind nod and a fond smile.

“Of course.”

He swears he’s listening, but his gaze can’t help but trail over the flutter of your lashes and the bridge of your nose. Yuta swears he’s listening, but he finds himself fixated on the glimmer of your pupils, captivated by how you stare directly into his.

His breath hitches.

“I was never into volleyball before,” you continue on with your rant about a particular sports anime. “But wow, it really is a great sport!”

Yuta hums in response. “Really?”

Only when you direct your attention elsewhere does Yuta regain his ability to breathe. He heaves out a sigh, watching you greet the rest of the second years before glancing down at his forearms.

A great sport? he wonders, tracing his finger over some of his faded scars. Would you find him great if he played volleyball? Would your eyes light up with constellations, with entire galaxies, when talking about him too?

Subconsciously, his gaze finds its way back on you. Yuta thinks he is trained to see you, to perceive you. He thinks that, no matter where he is, his eyes will find you, and they will cherish you in the center of his pupils, the windows to his soul.

Yuta thinks that you own these eyes of his, this soul of his.

Toge sits down next to Yuta, and even though the bottom half of his face is covered, Yuta can tell that the boy is looking at him with a knowing expression.

“Tsuna mayo?” he asks. Yuta slumps in his seat.

“Do you think I have a future in volleyball?”

“Okaka.” Toge deadpans.

“Right,” Yuta affirms. “Guess not.”

Once more—as he was made to do—Yuta’s gaze finds your form. He observes how the sun pierces past the windows of the classroom, bathing you in a golden light. He observes how words spill quickly from your lips as Maki and Panda laugh at your jumbled syllables. He observes the way you shift your weight from one leg to the other, giddy with excitement.

Then, you smile. It reaches your eyes, crinkling them slightly, and Yuta feels his heart pounding against his chest. His ribs threaten to break from the sheer force, and he feels himself grinning in return.

“Sujiko.” Of course, nothing slips past Toge’s eyes, and the cursed-speech user merely stares at Yuta with incredulousness.

“It’s nothing,” is all Yuta says. He hides his smile behind the palm of his hand, pretending to glance outside the window and observe the scenery.

As he was made to do, Yuta finds you in the reflection of the window. He always finds you, his eyes are naturally drawn to you, naturally made for you.

His smile grows wider, and his heart threatens to lurch from his chest completely.

Okkotsu Yuta likes the way your smiles reach your eyes.

He likes the way the corner of your eyes crinkle a little, the way you glow. No matter how many times he’s seen it, Yuta’s stomach begins to flutter a little, the beat of his heart suddenly becoming too much to bear as it pounds against his ribs. Every time you smile, Yuta finds himself mirroring you; it’s contagious, really.

“What did the ocean say to the other ocean?” Panda asks. Nobody responds. “Nothing, it just waved!”

Nobody laughs. But Yuta notices the way your lips curl into the slightest of smiles, the way you glance away in order to hide it from Panda, who’s eagerly searching his classmates’ expressions for an ounce of mirth. Yuta notices the way your hand comes up to your face, awkward coughs escaping your lips in an attempt to mask your amusement.

He sees your smile. He sees the way your eyes crinkle, the way your irises glimmer. Yuta sees all of you, and he thinks—knows—that he loves all of you.

“Hah, Yuta found it funny!” Panda exclaims. At some point, Yuta began to smile too. He doesn’t know when it happened, but while he was observing the twinkle of your irises and the curl of your lips, he began to mimic your countenance, your demeanor. At some point, Yuta’s eyes began to glimmer like yours, his smile meeting his eyes as his dark irises crinkle a little.

At some point, Yuta began to act like you. He began to pick up your mannerisms, the habits of yours that he loves most. He integrated them into his being, placing parts of you delicately into his bones, his blood, his very essence. Somewhere along the line, Yuta became a part of you, a mirror of you.

“Right,” he says, letting Panda relish in the glory. Yuta’s gaze—as always—finds you, noticing the way you heave a sigh of relief, grateful that Panda didn’t catch you laughing at his lame joke.

Again, he smiles. It’s the kind of smile that meets his eyes, the kind of smile that makes his eyes shimmer.

It’s the kind of smile that is vaguely, no, utterly reminiscent of yours. It’s the kind of smile that he loves, the kind of smile that he engraved onto both his memory and his face.

Okkotsu Yuta likes your smiles so much, he made it a part of himself.

Tap, tap.

Okkotsu Yuta likes your habit of tapping things whenever you’re nervous.

Tap, tap.

He thinks it’s endearing, the way you have subconscious ticks that nobody else seems to notice. But Yuta was made to perceive you, to observe you, so of course he notices. He notices how the pace speeds up whenever you’re especially anxious, how you sometimes tap your finger against your own leg when there’s no surface nearby.

Yuta wonders if you know how his heart matches that tempo you set, how he accompanies you like a violinist to a piano. He wonders if you know how he was made for you, how his heart beats to the flick of your hand.

Tap, tap. Thump-thump.

“Are you nervous, Yuta?” you ask. The two of you sit side-by-side in the back of Ijichi’s car, heading towards another one of the higher-ups’ missions. This time, the two of you have to exorcise a special grade curse.

“No,” he lies.

You grin. “Right.”

Yuta wonders why old men are forcing high schoolers to do their bidding. He wonders why it has to be you, because Yuta is willing to fight anything any day if it means you’ll be safe. He’s willing to fight a thousand special grade curses all at once if that’s what it takes for you to look at him the way he looks at you, the way he was made to do.

“If you get hurt,” Yuta says, staring directly into your eyes. “You’ll tell me, right?”

Tap, tap. This time, your index finger comes to rap against his arm.

“Yeah.” You look out the window. “And you’ll tell me, too.”

He smiles. “Of course.”

Tap, tap.

Because Yuta trusts you, he doesn’t force you to utter more reassurances. Because Yuta trusts you, he doesn’t egg you on when he sees your gaze becoming distant, looking past him even when you stare right into his eyes. Yuta doesn’t say anything, even though he knows that look in your eyes—the kind of self-sacrificing, heroic look that makes him want to fall in love with you and hate you all at the same time.

Love, because Yuta loves how justice-driven you are. Hate, because Yuta hates how you don’t prioritize yourself. He hates how you don’t see yourself the way he does.

The way he does, through those rose-colored, lovesick lenses of his.

Tap, tap. The next time you tap against a surface, it’s on the handle of his katana. He’s staring down at your battered form on the floor, his lips trembling as his mouth hangs slightly agape. Yuta doesn’t know what to make of himself, he doesn’t know where to put his hands and how to bring you to safety. He doesn’t know where to begin.

Should he call Ijichi? Or should he carry you out of the area? Yuta managed to eliminate the special grade curse, but not without any repercussions. While fighting, he was clumsy and accidentally got hit, causing you to use a lot of your cursed energy on healing him when you should have been healing yourself.

I’m so stupid! he berates himself, his fingers quivering as he attempts to patch up the gash on your side. His heart aches and aches, weeping within the confines of his ribs as he tries his best to ignore the warmth of your blood on his skin, the way it soaks his entire hand even though there shouldn’t be that much, there shouldn’t be any blood at all.

Yuta doesn’t know why you would waste your technique on him, knowing that he has the ability to heal himself. At the same time, however, Yuta knows; he knows you healed him because his own healing is messy and unrefined, because your healing gives an additional curse energy boost. He knows you healed him because it’s in your nature, because that’s the kind of person you are.

“[Name],” Yuta says, his voice wavering as he struggles to face you. His eyes are fixated on your wounds, his palms applying pressure to them as he attempts to heal you with whatever semblance of a reverse curse technique he has. “Please… please tell me how to heal you.”

You have a unique form of Heavenly Restriction that allows you to heal others and yourself. This form of restriction stops others from healing you at all, and any attempt to apply some sort of reverse curse technique will only result in a nullification of cursed energy.

Yuta knows his question is stupid—how can he heal you if that’s in your restriction? Still, he asks. He begs you, urges you, to tell him how to heal you, to tell him how to take care of you, to help you, to save you. Because the blood staining his fingertips is becoming overwhelming, because he hates the sight of you on the floor, bleeding out, waiting. Waiting for Ijichi, waiting for death to take you in its tender embrace.

Yuta doesn’t want death to take you in any embrace, tender or not. And maybe he’s being dramatic, maybe everything will be okay, but to Yuta, it’s not. You being hurt is not okay, you bleeding out is never okay.

Tap, tap.

“It’ll be okay, Yuta.” Even now, it’s you comforting him. It’s you reassuring him, with your gentle taps against his arm, your gaze tender yet determined as you cradle him in the center of your pupils. Yuta likes the way you look at him, the way you say his name, the way you exist with him.

Tap, tap. Again, your fingers lead his heart. Thump-thump. It’s yours. All yours.

He forces a smile. “Yeah.”

With you, Yuta thinks everything will be okay. He feigns ignorance to the way his hands feel warm—too warm—as his pale skin stains vibrant red. He feigns ignorance to the way your eyelids lower, the way your gaze becomes unfocused, the way your taps become softer.

Everything will be okay. You said so.

Tap, tap.

Okkotsu Yuta likes the way he can always predict what you’re going to say.

“Yuta,” you whisper, the end of your pencil coming to poke the boy’s shoulder. “What if we went to karaoke later?”

And a photobooth after, he thinks. “Today?”

“Yeah!” you exclaim, trying to keep your voice low. “And we could go to a photobooth after!”

He smiles. “That sounds good. What should we eat after?” he asks, yet he already knows the answer. Udon, he thinks, you like udon when it’s cold out.

“Udon,” you respond, leaning closer towards him. Yuta’s breath hitches, his hands becoming clammy as his eyes trace over your features. From the bridge of your nose to the curl of your lips, your countenance makes a lover of him, his thoughts, his being belonging wholly to you.

Again and again, Yuta falls in love with you. The flutter of your lashes and the excited tone of your voice (which slurs your syllables, which crinkles your eyes) makes him love you as if it were the first time. The taps of your fingers and the stars in your eyes reminds Yuta of everything that he’s ever hoped for, of everything that is worth the world, of everything that gives him purpose, reason.

When school is over, Yuta lets you drag him by the hand, relishing in the way your fingers fit perfectly around his. Yuta traces the pad of his thumb over your calluses, tenderly massaging them in an attempt to ease the stiffness. Yuta follows you, not caring to look behind him, not caring to ask where you’re taking him.

(It’s not like he needs to, anyway. Yuta knows your favorite places, your favorite streets. He knows your favorite paths and your favorite restaurants. He knows where you’re taking him, but even if he didn’t, he’d let you string him along anyway.)

Yuta likes the sound of your singing voice, even if you hit all the wrong notes. Yuta likes the look of your face in the silly, absurd filters offered by the photobooth. He likes the way you squeeze his hand whenever you tug him to cross the road, the way you swing his arm a little when you walk down the street.

“May I take your order?” a waiter asks.

Kishimen udon, Yuta thinks, his face resting against his palm as he stares at you from across the table. Kishimen udon with narutomaki.

“Kishimen udon with narutomaki,” you reply. You don’t notice the way Yuta’s gaze is fixated on you, the way he hasn’t spared a single glance at the menu since the moment you two arrived. You don’t notice how Yuta’s pupils have your silhouette imprinted on them, the way your figure is etched into his very bones.

(It’s a part of him now. Your image, your smile, your very being is tattooed into Yuta’s bones, carving him in order to become someone like you, to become someone for you.)

“And you, sir?”

Yuta smiles tenderly. It crinkles his eyes and creates stars in his irises. “I’ll have the same thing, thank you.”

From the glimmer in your eyes to the taps of your fingers, Okkotsu Yuta loves you. All of you.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #okkotsu yuuta x reader #okkotsu x reader #okkotsu yuta x reader #okkotsu yuuta #jjk x reader #jjk #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu #jjk okkotsu #yuuta okkotsu x you #yuta

732 notes · View notes

spacesquidlings · 7 months

Text

Hold Me, Carry Me Slowly; My Sunlight

Description: With the warmth of the afterglow fading, Tav manages to coax Astarion into a bath, to show him all the ways she loves him and to hold him close until the water grows cold.

Warnings: Suggestive content, implied sex, mentions of blood, mentions of other bodily fluids

Notes: Hello!!! This is my very first attempt at writing Astarion. Saw him once, fell in love, went insane, now i'm writing fic about him and I cannot stop. I want to just squish his cheeks and tell him how lovely he is. This is set post-everything that happens in game, and he's unascended

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

Heavy curtains drawn across the windows stifled any hope of light sneaking in between the threads. It did not even bleed through the leaden fabric, staining the room in a strange glow the way wispy, gossamer curtains often did. But she did not need the curtains drawn to know that night had descended. The hazy burn of dusk across the sky had long since faded, a chill hanging in the air that bit at her bare skin that could only belong to the fathomless night.

Pulling blankets tighter around herself did little to stave off the sting of the air, siphoning away the last of the heat from her skin. And nestling closer to the body beside her was not the improvement she’d been looking for, the press of her skin against his bringing discomfort from everything that had spilled onto her skin into stark awareness.

There was blood; her blood, dried and caked on the inside of her thighs and her throat from where she’d let his fangs sink into her flesh. There was sweat of course, still drying on her skin, making her feel itchy, like a second, ill-fitting skin had been plastered across her. And she could feel where his release leaked out of her, where it had been smeared on the inside of her thighs, where it was congealing on the sheets beneath her.

So not only was she cold, but she felt very gross. And very much in need of a bath.

But she was wrapped up in her lover’s arms, and he seemed intent on holding her close, his soft breaths ghosting across her collarbone.

“Astarion,” she whispered, running a hand through his hair. It was softer than silk, and still cool to the touch despite how she had run her fingers through it, twisted them into his curls at every chance she got. He sighed against her, his lashes fluttering as he shifted.

“Astarion.” She slid her hand down to the nape of his neck, playing with the wispy baby hairs that curled there. “I know you’re awake.”

“So what if I am?” His response was muffled, rumbling through her bones from where he pressed his face against her bare chest.

She traced her finger over the curve of his ear, biting the inside of her cheek as he shivered. “I want to take a bath.”

His only response was a groan, clutching her tighter.

“I feel sticky.”

“I’m far too comfortable to move, love.”

She huffed, resting her cheek on the top of his head. “I’m covered in dried blood! And other things.”

Now he did lift his head, his crimson eyes bright in the shadows of the room. She caught the glimmer of his teeth as he smiled, his canines looking especially deadly in the dark. “You could know I could help if there’s something you’d like inside of you.”

A few hours ago his words might have made her blush, might have made her flustered enough to try and look away before he inevitably caught her to tease her some more. But his voice was heavy with sleep, his words more of a quiet murmur than anything seductive. It just sounded a little silly, and she snorted, a smile spreading across her lips.

“You could help by letting me go and letting me bathe.”

Now he was the one huffing, shifting until they were eye-to-eye, his arms never leaving her sides. “And why would I want to do that when I’m so comfortable right here?”

“Because you love me?” She cupped his face in her hands, squishing his cheeks just the tiniest bit. He was always giving her odd looks when she did it, squishing his face or showering his head in kisses or hugging him as tight as she dared. But even if one brow was arched in question, he always smiled softly, his eyes warm with contentment. As if perhaps he liked the sudden onslaught of affection, even if it seemed a little strange.

He chuckled, idly stroking her side. “I do love you. More than anything.”

She leaned closer, until their noses practically bumped together. “So you’ll come bathe with me?”

His brows rose, one arm releasing her as he trailed his hand up her arm. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you’d rather be doing?”

She didn’t bother to respond with words this time, simply whining, putting on her best pout and hoping it would be enough to sway him.

A snort. “Nice try, darling. But I like having you here in my arms.”

Not nice enough, clearly. She whined again, louder this time, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Please, my love?” She went so far as to whimper, peeking up at him through her lashes, fingers still toying with his hair. “Please? You could come with me and then it would be so much nicer.”

He hummed, smirking as she wiggled closer, ignoring the stickiness between her thighs and the dull ache radiating through her nerves.

“Please?”

His eyes closed, and she knew she had won before he even started to sigh. But he did sigh, long and dramatic and very drawn out.

“Fine,” he finally conceded, fixing a glare on her that was entirely undercut by the smile still playing at his lips. “If you must. But you had better make sure to use those new oils I bought us. I don’t want to be smelling like cheap bar soap you found at a farmer’s market.”

“That’s not fair! It had smelled so pretty when I’d bought it.” She frowned, ducking her head. “I don’t know what happened that made it so plain.”

He tucked her hair back behind her ear, slowly dragging his knuckles down the side of her neck, his eyes softening. “It was probably enchanted to smell that way until it had been purchased. Or perhaps they simply tricked you and only the display one was perfumed.” He smirked. “Which is why you need me to help select the best perfumes and soaps.”

Rolling her eyes, she nuzzled her nose against his neck. “What would I do without you, my love?”

“You would be lost.”

“And I’d smell bad.” She smiled as he laughed, warmth blooming like a new flower in the spring.

“Thank goodness you do have me,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “And you’ll have me forever.”

If not for the chill in the air and the discomfort clinging to her skin, she probably could have stayed there for an eternity. He’d teased her mercilessly for how much she’d loved to curl up in his arms, but he’d always seemed just as keen to cuddle with her, his arms fitting perfectly around her, his breath tangling in her hair or tickling her neck, his hands stroking her sides or her back.

But she was cold, and she was uncomfortable, and as perfect as his arms and his body were, she felt desperate enough to peel her skin off if she did not bathe soon.

It was with a pathetic whine that she coaxed him from the bed, hands clasping his as she dragged him from the bedroom. He grumbled wordlessly, even as he let himself get tugged into the bathroom, eyes narrowed as they adjusted to the darkness.

She could hardly see in the dark, and it was only with Astarion’s help that she was able to light the candles that lined the counter in the bathroom, illuminating everything in a soft glow.

It was an effort to keep her eyes averted, to pretend like she didn’t think he looked beautiful, the edges of his body blurred by the candlelight, his face softened by the golden glow. He looked a little like his namesake, like a star given form, blessing her with his light.

Although if she told him that she would certainly never hear the end of it. Even now she could feel his eyes burning into her back as she filled the tub, tracking the steam as it curled towards the ceiling and melted out of sight.

“My love.” She felt his hand at her hip, soft as a whisper. She knew this game, knew he wanted her to turn around, to focus her attention on him. She could hear it in the lilt of his voice, the laughter she could hear in it though neither of them had made a joke. “Why won’t you look at me?”

“What do you mean?” She was careful to avoid meeting his gaze, gently brushing her hand over his. “I’m getting the bath ready. Alone, might I add.”

“Well, I’m here for moral support. And you’re doing such a good job I’d hate to get in your way.”

Against her better judgement she turned to glare at him over her shoulder. It earned her a bout of warm laughter that seeped into her veins like sun-warmed honey, heat blossoming in her belly. It was immediately followed by his hands taking her face, his lips stretching into a wide smile, the knife-sharp points of his canines glinting in the candlelight.

“That’s better.” He tipped his head to the side, his eyes softening. “I was worried you had grown tired of looking at me.”

She covered his hands with hers. “I’ll never grow tired of you for as long as I live.”

Lines appeared on his forehead as his brows drew together. So she stood on her toes, gently pressing her lips to each line until they were smoothed away and she could feel his smile against her skin. His hands slid away from her face, but she kept her fingers tangled with his, not wanting to let go just yet.

“My love…” He trailed off, humming as he lowered his head, the coolness of his teeth scraping over her skin making her shiver. “Wasn’t there something else you were doing?”

“You distracted me.” His answering laughter tickled her neck as he hovered above the marks leftover from where he had bitten her.

“You were preparing a bath, I believe?”

She took hold of his face this time as she rocked back on her heels, pulling his head back just enough to meet his eyes, to see the mischief shining in them. “You know, I think this is the exact opposite of getting in my way.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” He was awfully good at feigning innocence; his eyes were wide and sorrowful, a small pout pulling at his lips. Had she not known him she would have fallen for it entirely, believing him utterly innocent of any wrong-doing.

But she did know him, and she knew exactly how not innocent he could be.

She clicked her tongue. “Nice try. Maybe I’ll just bathe on my own.”

She spun around quickly, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing as he began to whine, trying to get her attention all over again.”

“My love.”

She went searching for his precious oils, finding them lined up in the corner of the small cabinet above the counter. They seemed to shimmer as she held them up to the light, as she uncorked them to smell them each and make sure she was grabbing the right ones. He was so particular about such things and she wanted to make sure she got it right.

“My darling.” His voice pitched up, cracking a bit as she began adding the oils to the bath. “I thought you wanted me to come with you!”

Much as she wanted to pretend she had a strong resolve, it crumbled to dust with just the slightest of provocation from him. How she was supposed to ignore his desperate whining, even when she knew it was a trap, was beyond her. So when he reached for her hand, drawing her closer, she didn’t resist, instead letting herself be gathered against his chest, his smug smirk illuminated in the glow of the candles.

“Well? Do you truly still plan to leave me and bathe all on your own?” One of his hands slipped down her side, leaving gooseflesh in the wake of his featherlight touch. “I could be of help, you know. I’ve become quite intimate with your body, I’m sure I could help in some way.”

She frowned. “Don’t get any funny ideas.”

His answering laughter was bright, like summertime sunshine was bathing them in its golden light. It made her smile, giggles bubbling up in her throat as he laughed, pale cheeks flushing with just a hint of colour, the same pink that promised the coming dawn and the warmth that would follow.

His expression was soft again as his laughter passed, as he waited for her own bout of giggles to melt away, that soft colour still clinging to his skin. It took her a moment to identify the look in his eyes, the gentleness with which he held her gaze, with how he rested his hands at her sides. And when the realization hit her, she felt like her breath was stolen away, yanked from her lungs with a gasp.

He looked happy. He looked so genuinely happy that her eyes began to burn, her heart aching from how it pressed against the cage of her ribs.

Lines appeared on his brow once more, the corners of his lips turning down. “What’s wrong? My darling, why are you crying?”

She shook her head, wiping her eyes quickly. “I’m not.”

“Just because I can’t go out into the sun doesn’t mean I’m blind, you know.” He huffed, mouth curling into a half-smile, something like sadness hanging at the edges. “Have I done something wrong?”

She sniffed, shaking her head furiously. “No! No, not at all. I just have something caught in my eye, that’s all.”

Nothing in his expression said he believed her, but he didn’t push the issue. “Well then, should we get in before the water gets cold?” He leaned close, his voice dipping to a sultry tenor. “Or is there something else you would rather do?”

She didn’t even have to respond before he was laughing again, grinning broadly as he drew back. “My darling, you make this far too easy. Your face is all flushed and I’ve hardly done a thing.”

He’d actually done quite a lot of things today, but her tongue was suddenly too heavy to properly articulate anything sharp and witty she could say in response. And she didn’t have anything sharp and witty to say in response either, a pleasant fog settling over her mind as fatigue tugged at her.

Instead she just climbed into the tub, sinking as far beneath the water as she could, only her nose and eyes still above water as he followed behind, still looking far too pleased with himself.

He reached for the little shelf of bottles that lined the wall next to the tub, the soft light of the flickering candles casting a golden glow around the room. If she hadn’t known him she would have thought he was an angel with how the light gilded his features, twined with the strands of his hair and made it glow. Even that infuriating, devilish smile looked soft in the light, still clinging to his lips as he tilted one of the bottles up to the light.

Her eyes were burning again, her chest aching, too small for her heart, for all of the emotion tearing it apart at the seams. Had there ever been such a beautiful smile? Had there ever been such a precious person ever before?

No, she was certain that there had not been.

He was watching her, and she realized it with a start, her breath catching as she met his eyes.

“What’s the matter, pet? You look like you’ve had a spell cast over you.”

She bit down on her tongue hard enough to taste blood, although the fuzzy feeling around her mind and the warmth in her chest did not dissipate against the sharp pain. She had drunk no wine and yet she felt a little drunk all the same, a little like she was hovering just beyond her body, her edges blurry, everything warm.

He moved closer, taking her hand. “What’s on your mind?”

She opened her mouth, closed it again, like a fish gasping for breath on dry land. She really could not say, not unless she wanted to be teased mercilessly, caught gawking at him like a child with a crush.

“Well?” He tipped his head to the side, reminding her of a predator.

Her voice would not come to her, and so she decided that she would express how she felt in a different way, her heart wishing terribly to be able to keep his heart warm, to keep that smile bright on his lips, to keep his eyes soft but never sorrowful again.

“What are you doing?” He blinked at her as she plucked the small bottle of shampoo from his hand, the sensual countenance falling away.

“Let me help you clean up,” she said, rolling the bottle between her palms. “I can wash your hair for you.”

He continued to blink, his brow creasing. Her heart constricted, fear sluicing through her veins, making her fear she had overstepped, that this was something unwanted. She’d already coaxed him from sleep, perhaps she was pushing against his boundaries.

“Only if you want to,” she amended. “If you’re comfortable with it. I don’t want to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

When he tipped his head to the side it was less predatory this time, reminding her more of the curious head tilt small animals often did when you were speaking to them with a cadence they liked. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “You just can’t keep your hands off me, can you, darling?”

She muttered under her breath about how much of a menace he was, even as she squeezed out the shampoo into her palm. He was smirking, watching her intently.

“You have to turn around,” she instructed, earning nothing but a rebellious smirk.

“Now why would I do that when it means I can’t see your adorable face?” He twirled a hand in the air, gesturing to her face. “I wouldn’t want to miss out on the pretty flush on your cheeks.”

She tried spinning him around, water sloshing over the lip of the tub. “Turn around! How else am I supposed to wash your hair?!”

“Just like this, darling.” He cupped her face, water sluicing down his arms, falling back into the tub with a quiet plinking.

“I feel like you’re trying to embarrass me.”

He clicked his tongue. “I would never dare.”

“I think you would dare.” She couldn’t bring herself to push his arms away, deciding she would have to yield. “I think you would just to see me squirm.”

“Well…” Unable to come up with an appropriate excuse, he merely shrugged. “I like that colour on your cheeks.”

“I didn’t realize you were an artist,” she deadpanned, lathering the shampoo between her palms. “And that you had such a nuanced appreciation of colours.”

“Only when it comes to you, love.”

She sighed, no clever rejoinder coming to mind. She liked getting the last word in, but Astarion so rarely gave her such an opportunity. He always had something else to say, something sharp and clever if not something that would make her blush so fiercely she thought she would burst into flame.

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “But you have to lower your head for me.”

He had no smart comment for that, instead quietly acquiescing, ducking his head enough so that she could run her fingers through his hair, dragging the shampoo through the silken strands.

She hummed, smiling as the gentle, moonlit ivory waves were smushed beneath the shampoo. She might have gathered it all up into a point, making him look a little silly while he trusted her to wash his hair. But he was always trying to make himself look perfect, and she didn’t mind when he looked less than perfect, when he looked silly or disheveled. He didn’t have to pretend with her, and she didn’t want him to.

“You’re doing something ridiculous to my hair, aren’t you?” He seemed to read her thoughts, peeking up at her from beneath his ivory lashes.

“Nooo.” She shook her head, massaging his scalp. “I would never dare.”

“So you are.”

She huffed, pouting as she ran her fingers down the back of his scalp, pressing gently against the back of his neck, making sure to catch the soft baby hairs that curled there.

“I trust it won’t look like that forever?” The corners of his lips quirked up, his voice dipping to a dangerous octave. “Right?”

She didn’t respond, fixing her gaze elsewhere, trying to ignore the way his eyes bored into her skin.

Another click of his tongue. She nearly leapt out of her skin when she felt his hand on her face, the pad of his thumb running across her bottom lip. “Why are you pouting? I thought this is what you wanted.”

“And I thought you were too tired to tease me like this.”

He tapped his thumb against her lip in time with her heartbeat. “I never said that.”

“I kind of assumed.”

“My love, I’m never too tired to tease you.” His hand fell back into the water with a quiet splash. “But please continue.”

“I’m just about done with your hair,” she admitted, dunking her hands into the water. “You’ll have to lean forward more or tilt your head back so I can rinse it.”

He straightened, shifting awkwardly so he could tip his head back, the sharp points of his ears grazing the surface of the water, sending out little ripples.

She scooted to the side, careful to keep the water from spilling into his eyes as she began scooping it up and pouring handfuls of water into his hair. “You know this would have been easier if you’d just turned around.”

He splashed her, rolling his eyes. “I have my reasons.”

“Would you care to divulge them?” She splashed him right back, not bothering to show the same care this time as water and suds sluiced over his face.

He sputtered, wiping his eyes. “Well not anymore, you wicked thing.”

“I think I’m quite nice.”

He flicked water at her as he sat up. “You’re not being particularly nice right now.”

She splashed him again, harder this time. Water rolled over the lip of the tub like ocean waves, puddling across the floor. “I am SO nice! I’m the nicest! I let you pick out the shampoos and soaps we use! I let you pick out the curtains! I let you be the little spoon!”

The more reasons she was, theoretically, “nice,” the more she laughed. Small giggles at first, bubbling into a laughter that gripped her lungs, shook her body until she was snorting with every breath. Her hands trembled as she tried to cover her face in a vain effort to staunch the flow, but it was of no avail. She felt like a fool, she felt dizzy, almost drunk although she’d had no alcohol.

Astarion snorted alongside her, eyes crinkling in bemusement. “I can let you be the little spoon if you want, my love. I had no idea you were sacrificing so much for my comfort.” Another snort, another flick of the water, sending her into another fit of hysterics. His lips stretched wide, a crescent moon smile that made her heart glow. “I didn’t realize falling asleep in my arms was something of such importance. Although I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Backing up until her back hit the edge of the tub, she covered her face, shoulder shuddering with laughter. “It’s not even that funny, I don’t know why I’m laughing.”

“I’m not sure either.” He moved closer, just enough to find her hand and run his thumb across her knuckles. “But I like the sound.”

“I was snorting!”

“But they were such cute snorts.” He was tracing the lines of her palm now, watching her with such warmth in his eyes she thought she would melt into the water and turn to suds and foam.

“You can’t possibly mean that.”

His bottom lip popped out; an adorable, impossible to resist pout that could make her to cave to almost anything he asked. To stay in bed for a little while longer, to buy him that pretty shirt they’d seen at a night market, to wear the glittering circlet he had mysteriously procured because it matched one that he owned.

“Don’t you trust me?” His eyes were wide as a doe’s, his voice soft as feather down. She was lost to him already, to that sorrowful, beseeching look. Lost to that quiet, almost whiny tone.

She knew she was being played, but there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

It was with gritted teeth that she managed a quiet. “I trust you.”

His expression morphed almost immediately, his eyes bright once more, his teeth bared from the brightness of his smile. “Marvelous! I’m glad we’re in agreement that you’re adorable.”

“You’re awful.”

He kissed the back of her hand, his laughter rumbling into her bones. “And I’m all yours, my darling.”

Gentle warmth spread from her heart, beating steadily, spurred on by the sudden sweetness of his words. Her arms grew warm next, her belly, her fingertips, everything tingling as if she were caught in a warm haze. He was all hers, he was hers to love and care for and cherish. To hold close when they slept, to share the quiet moments with, to share the loud moments with too. Of course. There would always be loud moments with him, the unexpected always rearing its head as they searched for a cure for him, a way for him to stand free in the sunlight.

“You are,” she agreed. He was hers, and he had given his heart to her willingly. It had been his choice, and she would make sure to treasure it, to treasure him, for as long as she drew breath. And as long as her heart beat, it beat for him. “And I’m yours.”

A strange look came upon his face then, something between sadness and elation, something she could not name. It was gone far too quickly for her to dissect it, his lips brushing against her hand once more before he drew away, a smile plastered on his face once more.

“You most certainly are, my darling.” He gave her hand one final squeeze before letting it go, twirling a hand through the air as he gestured to his hair. “Now about whatever you’ve done here.”

“Will you turn around now?” Whatever had snagged her attention briefly flitted away. Suds were streaking down the sides of his face, his hair half matted, pure ivory with the shampoo still caked into his scalp.

It was only with a long, petulant sigh that he turned around, laying back so his head was nearly in her lap so she could finish rinsing his hair.

“Now was that so hard?” She teased, supporting his head with one hand while she used the other to pour palmfuls of water onto his hair.

“It was torturous. I couldn’t see you for a whole minute.”

“Oh please.” She ran her fingers through his hair, trying to comb out the rest of the shampoo. “You’re such a baby.”

His brow furrowed. “I am not! I’ll have you know I’m over two hundred years old-”

She sighed, rolling her eyes as she cut him off. “Yes yes, you’re an over two hundred year old vampire, you’re terrifying and powerful and someone to be feared. But you’re still a baby.”

His eyes narrowed, his mouth opening as if to retort.

“And you’re my baby,” she finished, cutting him off once again.

She swore colour flared in his cheeks, at the tips of his ears. He looked away quickly, whatever sharp comment he’d been about to make dying before it made it to his lips. “I suppose it’s acceptable when you say it like that.”

Curling forward she brushed her lips to his brow, listening as he sighed.

He started to lift his head as she drew away, chasing after her in search of another kiss, but she gently coaxed him back down, cradling the back of his head once more. “Just relax, love.”

At first he did not relax, his eyes flickering to her face and along the shadowed ceiling of the room. But after a while she felt as he settled himself more comfortably against her. His upper back was cushioned atop her legs, his head cradled in her palm, just above her thighs, his legs drawn up so his knees cut through the water like mountains on the other side of an ocean.

“Let me know if anything is uncomfortable, okay?” She ran her hand around the sides of his ears, making sure she caught the last of the suds, making sure to rinse his hair fully so that when it dried it would be fluffy and soft just as it always was. She combed her fingers across his scalp, massaging gently, smiling as he gave a quiet hum of assent. The lines in his brow were smoothed away, his face softened in the light. He looked peaceful, serene as she rinsed the last of the shampoo away.

She could have told him to move then, that she was done and he had to sit up, but she found she did not want to, could not bring herself to be pried from this position. His weight against her was a comfort, the tranquil look on his face a balm to her heart, his even breaths lulling her into her own state of peace.

He looked calm, he looked happy, and she was loath to end the moment, for that gentle stillness to melt into the suds and bathwater.

So instead she reached for his preferred soaps, lathering it between her palms and running her hands over his shoulders, massaging the soap into his skin.

He shifted, a brow arching. “What are you doing now, my love?”

“Cleaning you up,” she said, pausing as worry flitted through her mind. “I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

His eyes opened, and where she had expected accusation she saw only the softness that accompanied a flower just beginning to bloom, petals not yet the brilliant crimson of blood. “You don’t need to apologize. It’s nice.” He sighed, eyes falling closed once more. “And I trust you.”

She was thankful to be sitting, because she was certain her legs would have given out on her from hearing such words from his lips.

She carried on, moving her hands over his arms and hands, sliding them back up to wash his chest, his torso. Eventually she did have to ask him to sit up, water sluicing down his back as she fetched a cloth to wash his back, careful to ensure her touch was light as she ran it over the lines of his scar. Her stomach still roiled when she saw it, remembering the sharp pain in his voice when he’d told her of its history, and when she remembered the scarlet light that he had been bathed in, that had set the scar aglow.

She bit down on her tongue until she tasted blood, forcing herself back into the present. That was behind them, it was behind him, and he would never have to fear his old vampire master agait. There was no more ritual, no more control, no more sacrifice. The scars would never glow again, they would never be anything more than scars. Fading reminders of a shadowed life and misery she would do everything she could to make sure he never felt ever again.

Suds spilled down his back, and she brought cupped hands of water to the nape of his neck, letting the water spill down his back as she began wiping up the suds. “Let me know if you feel uncomfortable at all, okay?” She scooped up more water and watched as it spilled down his back, washing away the last of the suds.

He gave a quiet hum of assent, seeming content to let her do as she wished for the moment. He was turned away from her, but she imagined the peaceful expression that must have been on his face. The dreamy smile, the pale pink of his cheeks, the same expression he often had when he first awoke, serene and blissful like he were caught in a beautiful dream.”

“I love you.” She murmured the words as she brought her lips to the back of his neck. “I love you so much.”

The quietness of the moment should have concerned her, but she’d written it off as him still being sleepy as she continued. She alternated between washing him up and scattering stray kisses along his skin. His shoulders, his sides, his arms. She made sure to catch all the little crooks of his body, fingers tangling together with his for half a heartbeat as she trailed soap and suds over his arms again before she rinsed him off.

“Alright.” She’d only just dunked the cloth back into the sudsy water, eying the lineup of pretty, colourful bottles along the shelf next to the tub, trying to figure out which ones were his favourites. They were unlabelled, but she knew what scents he liked best. “Don’t tell me which one is your favourite, okay? I think I know.”

She rested her cheek against his shoulder as she reached for the closest one, the one she was pretty sure smelled of bergamot. It was only then, as her fingers closed around the little bottle, did she notice the slight tremble of his shoulders, the soft sniffling sound that was quickly drowned out by the splash of water.

She drew back at once, the bottle slipping from her fingers and plunging into the water. For such a dramatic moment, as her breath caught in her lungs, she would have thought it would have made a louder sound as it crashed from her hand. But no, the bottle made little more than a quiet plink as it slipped beneath the surface of the water, the silence hanging in the air heavy, deafening in comparison.

“Astarion?” Her heart constricted, her lungs shuddering as they tried and failed to draw in breath. She hesitated before settling her hands on his shoulders, not knowing what else to do. “My love? Is something the matter?”

A beat. It was little more than half a moment but it could have been a century for how the time stretched between her question and his response.

“Nothing, darling.” His voice was much softer than usual, so soft she would have missed the tremor in it had she not been so close, had she not felt as it vibrated through him, resonating between them in the place where she had laid her palms.

“It’s not nothing.” She wanted to see his face, wanted to see what he was hiding. But when she leaned forward he turned his head away, nothing but his damp curls filling her sight.

“Astarion.” She settled one hand on his arm, the other brushing his hair back from his ear. “My love, why won’t you look at me?”

He cleared his throat, one hand coming up to rub at the side of his face. “It’s nothing. I think there’s some soap in my eye.”

“Let me see,” she insisted, reaching for his face. She cupped the cheek furthest from her, gently drawing his face towards her. “If there’s soap in your eye let me help get it out.”

He did not put up any resistance, although when he finally faced her fully he did not meet her eyes. Instead he just stared down into the water, his hands awkwardly clenched together in his lap. Red rimmed his eyes, his cheeks a splotchy red that spoke of tears, not the gentle flush of contentment or love. His face was wet, although that was most certainly from the bath as much as it was from his quiet tears.

Her hand slipped from his cheek along the curve of his neck, pausing only to rest on his chest, feeling its steady rise and fall as he took slow, measured breaths. “Oh my love, why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

His hand covered hers, an empty smile shuddering at the edges of his lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, darling. I just got something stuck in my eye, probably from being distracted by your hands.” His voice dropped an octave, was sweet as syrup, warm as the buzz of alcohol when she’d drank too much wine. “I was thinking about all of the other things they could do.”

The smile at his lips grew wider, the sharp points of his canines peaking out. He flicked his eyes up to meet hers, but they fell just as quickly, no smile in them.

“Is it me?” Her voice trembled as she spoke, drawing her hand from him and pressing it against her own chest. She slid backwards, worry an oily creature squeezing her belly until she thought she might retch. “Have I done something wrong? Something to hurt you?”

Ruby eyes flared wide, the water moving like ocean waves, spilling over the lip of the tub as he closed the small amount of distance between them. He cupped her face with such tenderness she thought she would be the one to cry now.

His voice was a dry rasp, his brow lined. “You have done nothing wrong, I swear. I promise, you are…” His eyes softened. “You are perfect.”

Some of the tightness in her belly eased. She wanted to reach out to him, but she held back, still fearing that perhaps her touch had been too much. Perhaps she had pushed him beyond the bounds of his comfort. She sounded small, like a child, when she finally asked “then what’s wrong? Why will you not tell me what’s wrong?”

A long sigh fell from his lips, his hands finding hers in the water, fingers threading together. He seemed to hesitate, his eyes scanning her face for a long moment, his brow drawn.

“It’s not that something is wrong…” He tipped his head to the side, a humourless laugh ringing hollowly in the air.

She chewed on the corner of her lip, unsure whether to press him for details or to give him space to speak. Maybe he just needed to think through what he was going to say.

The corner of his lip twitched. “Don’t bite your lip like that, my sweet. I can smell the blood from here.”

She froze, frowning. “I haven’t even bit it that hard-” The coppery taste of blood spread across her tongue and she frowned even more, watching as his smile grew wider. “Hey! Don’t change the subject.”

“I can’t help it when all I can think about is sinking my teeth into your lips.”

He seemed quite proud of that line, and she wasted no time in splashing his face, washing it away. He sputtered, wiping his face, his smug little grin replaced by a pout.

“My eyes are up here,” she motioned to her face, earning the return of a small smirk. “Astarion, please. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but if there’s something I did wrong, or something I could do to help.”

It was another beat before he responded, his eyes creasing at the corners. “You haven’t done anything wrong, my love. And I’m not upset, I promise.”

She elected to remain quiet this time, fluttering her fingers along the surface of the water as opposed to worrying her bottom lip with her teeth lest she distract him yet again.

The tenor of his voice softened, warm and low, reaching into her mind and easing away the last of her anxieties. “It’s quite the opposite, actually. It’s just…” He trailed off, holding her gaze steady as he searched for the right words. When finally they came to him, the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled, soft as feather down, as morning sunshine in the air. “You were being so gentle. You weren’t trying to seduce me, or manipulate me. You just…”

Again he trailed off. He reached for the hand still skimming across the top of the water, holding it tight. “I didn’t want to say anything because it felt absurd to be crying over such a thing. I know you love me. And yet.” He shrugged. “I was overwhelmed. I felt so loved.”

His words hung, suspended in the air between them like spider’s silk. Delicate and gauzy, shimmering with the silver of moonlight as it was spun. She wasn’t thinking as she reached out to him, as she crawled into his lap with her hands on either side of his face. Her fingers slid into his hair, tangling in the wet curls.

“My love,” she breathed. She could not find her voice, her words little more than a flutter of gossamer wings, butterflies caught in a storm, a lone songbird taking flight in morning mists. Her heart was aching, her ribs cracking, splintering beneath it, the power of her voice stolen as the feeling drowned her veins.

His brows lifted, confusion and yearning twined together in his eyes. “Yes?”

“I love you.” It was all she could think of to say, the only words that would form in her mind for the longest of times. She ought to be better with her words, but in this moment, her fingers wrinkled and the water tepid, there was nothing else. “I love you entirely.”

“And I love you, darling,” he chuckled, his hands falling to her hips.

She shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. I love you.” She pressed her lips to his cheek, saying the words over and over again like a prayer. “I love you. I adore you. My chest aches from how much I love you.”

A breathy laugh escaped him as she passed her lips over his, as she scattered kisses across his cheeks and brow and the sharp tips of his ears. “I don’t want you to be in pain.”

“I want you to feel loved everyday, always.” A kiss to the side of his neck, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “I love you, I’ll always love you.”

His arms came around her sides, hands resting on her back. “My love…”

She couldn’t stop now, smiling as his eyes flicked skyward in an eye-roll. “I love you!”

He held her tighter, drawing her in closer. “I love you too.”

“I love you with all my heart.” A brush of her lips against the bridge of his nose, the space between his brows, the hollow of his throat. His hands tightened, fingers pressing into her skin. “I’ll find a way to live forever so I can love you forever.”

A garbled sound escaped from his lips and she froze, her grip loosening in his hair. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been gripping it until she loosed her hold, her hands aching.

“No,” he said, his voice rough as sandpaper. “No, don’t stop.”

Silver pooled in the corners of his eyes when she pulled away, lines tracking down his cheeks and gathering at the edges of his jaw. Little droplets tumbled silently down, little ripples spreading across the surface of the water.

“Are you sure?”

A small nod, one hand sliding up her back, resting at the nape of her neck. “I am sure. Don’t stop.” He offered her a small smile, even as tears streaked down his face. “Please?”

She brushed the tears away with the pads of her thumbs, cupping his face as she brought her lips to his again. She grinned as he sighed, his lips parting against hers. It was so incredibly gentle, so tender and soft that she almost burst into tears too, feeling like she might melt into a puddle and be washed away with the soap and the suds.

“I love you,” she murmured as she broke away, breathless even as she drew breath. Shadows clung to the walls, stretched out from the corners and puddled along the floor, the flickering candlelight never quite reaching fully into the cracks and corners of the room. Yet for all that shadow everything seemed to burn bright, everything awash in technicolour. It was like an artist had come in and painted over a sketch done in grey, bringing it to life with colours she could not even name, made of crushed gemstones and sunlight and sugar.

Another sob bubbled to the surface, but it was chased by a soft laugh. The hand at her neck twisted into her hair, his free hand stroking her side gently, reverently. He looked away from her, lips pressed into a thin line as if he were embarrassed from the sound.

“You’re safe, you know,” she promised, stroking his cheek. “It’s okay to cry.”

He snorted, chuckling softly as he slowly looked back at her. “For being told I’m loved?”

She brushed away another tear. “Yes, exactly.”

He looked incredulous. “Really.” It wasn’t a question so much as a comment, one brow quirking up. “You don’t mind?”

“I’m just glad you trust me.” She traced the line of his jaw. “That you feel safe with me.”

He looked on the verge of saying something smart, so she kissed him quickly, fighting against her smile as he let out a choked sound, all that remained of whatever his snarky little comment would have been.

“That was unfair,” he whined, trying and failing to glower at her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She kissed the corner of one eye, then the other, the shudder that wracked through him echoing in the hollows of her bones. “I just love you, I couldn’t help it.”

He chuckled again, running his fingers through her hair now. “Well if you’re that determined to shower me with affection, I suppose I shouldn’t stop you.”

She frowned. “Unless you want me to stop.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t want you to stop.”

“Even if it makes you cry?”

His pale brows rose higher, the corner of his lip twitching. “Only if you promise to kiss them away.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, nestling as close as she could to the coolness of his body. Tepid water sloshed around her hips, but she did not care, did not even notice as the bath grew colder. It could have been made of ice and snow and still she would have felt nothing but the warmth of her heart, burning as hot as a star set to explode and spread fire and stardust through her veins. She could feel his heartbeat against her chest, feel it beat in time with her own, a harmony only they could create.

“I promise,” she murmured, lips against the curve of his jaw, trailing kisses up his face, tasting salt on her tongue.

“Then I definitely don’t want you to stop.”

She could have said something smart then. About how he was ridiculous, how he was being awfully needy and demanding. But in truth she didn’t have it in her to say something sharp, to come up with some witty rejoinder. Any smart comments she made were like training swords to the sharp-edged daggers he could create with only his tongue anyways. But more than that, she just didn’t want to. Why would she cut through the delicate gossamer of this moment? Why would she tear apart the diaphanous veil that clung to them?

All she wanted to do most days was hold him to her chest and press her face into his hair as she breathed in the rosemary and bergamot that he was so fond of. She wanted to cup his cheeks and kiss his face until he blushed, until he laughed, until he was so full of love he would never doubt his worth again. To run her hands down his back, to tangle her fingers in his hair and comb them through his curls, to soothe him so he felt safe as he slept.

She was not about to pass up an opportunity to do exactly that, and she was not about to tease him when she was nearly fracturing from the effort it took to keep everything she felt contained in her veins and her bones.

She had been struck dumb with love, but she had never been happier, never been so glad to sit in a cold bath with wrinkled fingers. There were not even any words to describe it, so she repeated the same words over and over. That she loved him, oh how she loved him, her precious Astarion.

Eventually his tears began to slow, his quiet sobs no longer echoing through the room. She didn’t pull away, at least not right away, wanting to stay tangled with him for just a little while longer. She murmured one more “I love you,” pressed one more kiss to the corner of his lips, before she pulled away.

Astarion’s eyes were filled with stars when she found them, the smile on his lips adoring. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere.” She brushed a damp curl behind his ear. “But you’re not crying any longer.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to stop, darling.” He sighed, mischief in his eyes once more. “And just when I was enjoying it, too.”

She splashed water at him, snickering as he shouted. “Come on! The water is getting cold!”

He wrapped his arms around her waist, their chests pressing together, holding her fast. “I’m not the one who started kissing me, darling.”

“I was trying to make you feel loved,” she whined, wiggling in his grasp but finding she was unable to escape.

“And you very much succeeded.” He spoke languidly, drawing out each word slowly, the sharp points of his teeth catching the buttery light. “I’ve never felt so loved before, in all my long, depraved existence.”

She looped her arms around his neck once more, running her fingers through his hair. “Well I’m very glad for that.”

He inclined his head, an approving smile on his lips. “But that doesn’t mean I want to let go of you just yet.”

“Astarion,” she hissed. “I wanted to take a bath.”

He was all wickedness now, tilting his head back, holding her fast with his eyes as much as with his arms. “And I wanted to stay curled up in my lover’s arms.”

A shiver ran down her spine, her body momentarily out of her control as she shook. She pressed closer against her better judgement, searching for the scraps of warmth his body offered.

He dropped a kiss to the top of her head, reminding her of a lazy cat from the way he watched her with half-lidded eyes. “So doesn’t this seem like an answer to what we both want?”

“We’re not exactly doing any bathing.” She shivered again, gooseflesh rushing across her arms.

The way he smirked made it seem like he had won a prize, all satisfaction and smug delight. “It looks to me like you’d be better off staying in my arms, darling. If you don’t, you might catch a chill.”

Frowning, she planned to push away from him and crawl out of the bath, but she was shivering again, harder this time, her teeth clacking together. For all the warmth stored within the cage of her ribs, beating endlessly in time with his heart, clearly it was not enough to keep the chills away when she was waist-deep in a cold bath.

Astarion grimaced, taking note of the gooseflesh prickling her skin, the way her teeth clattered together, the unending shivers she could not seem to control. He pried one hand from his hair, inspecting her palm, before sighing dramatically. “Why didn’t you tell me you were this cold?”

She pressed her lips into a thin line, looking away at the line of candles, watching as wax pooled at their bases.

A click of his tongue drew her attention back, although she wished she had not looked back as she was met with a look of reproach, his mouth a thin line, the corners of his eyes creased as they narrowed.

It was so bizarre, so utterly absurd to see such an expression on his face, when usually there was mirth or mischief or plain wickedness, that she couldn’t help but giggle.

He cocked his head to the side, the gesture of a predator having cornered its prey. “I’m not really sure what you find so funny,” he said leaning close. “But please, do enlighten me.”

“Nothing!” She shook her head quickly as she squeaked out her response. “There’s nothing that’s funny.”

“Hmm,” was his only response, although he looked like he didn’t believe her for even a second.

She tried to draw her hand away, to press it safely to her chest, but he held it tightly, his eyes boring into hers for a long, long while.

“I’m only a little cold,” she said, finally conceding. “I hardly noticed it.”

He sighed, loosening his hold. “Well I think it probably is a good idea to get out of the bath.”

She was not afforded a moment to consider his words as he stood, capturing her in his arms as he stepped from the tub.

“Hey! I haven’t washed up yet.” She wriggled in his arms, trying to get free.

“Relax.” He smirked, setting her down. “You’re not bathing in freezing water.”

“It wasn’t freezing.” She pretended she didn’t see the way his eyes flicked to the goosebumps still crawling across her arms and her legs now, too. Or the way she shivered again.

He sighed. “It’s a good thing I don’t love you for your intelligence.”

“Excuse me?!”

His hands hovered on either side of her face, his nose bumping against hers as he kissed her lightly. “I adore you, my dear.”

She glared at him as he drew back. “That is not what you said.”

“Isn’t it?” He shrugged, moving away to begin draining the bath. “I adore you, and I will always love you, no matter what silly things you say.”

“I’m going to pretend you’re not implying I’m dumb.”

He held a hand to his chest, looking stricken. “On my honour! I would never say such a thing.”

She considered turning around and stomping back to bed. But there had been a reason she had wanted to bathe, beyond lavishing Astarion in love, and she still itched to wash her body of the sweat and blood and other things that still clung to her.

“Don’t look at me like that, darling.” He looked on the verge of pouting again, reaching for her hands. “You’ll have some cuddles again in just a few minutes.”

“What are you plotting?”

“Don’t look so suspicious, I’m only drawing you a new bath.” He huffed, making a grand show of refilling the tub with steaming water.

Warmth like a newly kindled fire bloomed in her chest, velvet softness wrapping itself around her heart. It was a small gesture, and yet it set her alight, made her feel as though she were glowing a little from gratefulness, from the love that had her in its thrall.

Still, she had to argue, curious why he would do such a thing when he’d only wanted to stay snug in bed in the first place. “I can do it, it’s okay. I know you’d only wanted to remain in bed.”

Another click of his tongue as he reached for some of his oils, sniffing them delicately before sprinkling them across the water. “I never said that.”

She groaned. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Oh yes, I know.” He set the bottles to the side, offering her his hand, a teasing smile on his lips. “It’s allowed me to get away with much in the past. I’m hoping it will let me get away with much more in our future.”

She took his hand, letting him draw her back into the now steaming water. The heat of the bath seeped into her bones, relaxing her muscles as she sank into the fragrant water, tipping her head back so her hair streamed out behind her.

“How’s that?” Astarion asked, settling into the tub once more. He drew her legs into his lap, running his hands over them beneath the surface of the water. “Better, right?”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Yes, you’re right, it is much better.”

He flicked water her way, smug. “Now where were we?”

“Well I think I was almost done washing you,” she said, her memory hazy. Most of what she remembered was kissing his face, the desire to do so once more like a creature curling in the spaces between her cells, coiled tight, willing to wrap herself in his arms once more if he bid her to.

“That’s right,” he breathed. Something softened in his gaze, his countenance turning gentle, almost reverent. “But you’ve made me feel so loved. I’d like to do the same for you.”

A flush creeped across her face, reaching down her neck and across her chest as he took her hand. “You don’t have, I didn’t do it because I wanted you to reciprocate. I just-”

He kissed her hand, cutting her off, and for a moment he could have been an angel, the soft light gilding his features, his ivory hair glowing like moonlight.

“I know,” he murmured against her skin, eyes opening to find hers. “But I’d like to do it all the same. If you’ll allow me.”

There was nothing hidden in his voice, no double meaning to his words. Nor was his smile sly, or his eyes sharp as daggers. Nothing but earnestness lay in his countenance, a determined sincerity that had her caving at once.

How could ever say no to such a display? Even now that his enslavement was behind him and his sire long dead, he was still guarded. Less so with her, but guarded all the same. It would take many years to coax him fully from his habits, from his attempts to shield himself and his true emotions. But he was not shielding himself now, he was not hiding anything. So how could she ever say no when his heart had unfurled like a flower in bloom, unveiling how he truly felt?

She leaned forward to cup his cheek with her free hand, unable to pry herself away from touching him gently, from stroking his face with light fingers. “Nothing would make me happier, love.”

He leaned into her touch, a sigh feathering across her skin as his eyes closed. “Are you sure there is nothing that has ever made you happier?”

“Astarion.”

He lifted both hands, palms out in surrender. His eyes fluttered open, his lashes tickling the tips of her fingers. “I was only teasing, love. Although.” His voice turned smooth as warmed butter. “I hope that everything I do makes you happy.”

“You make me happiest,” she breathed.

He sighed again, one hand circling around her wrist, his shoulders sagging. He looked like he was on the verge of melting, of falling apart and slumping into her arms. But he straightened, pressing a kiss to her palm before pulling away. “Then let me show you how much I love you.”

True to his word he did his best to wash her in kind, and the feeling of the warm water and the soap and his scattered kisses were so heavenly she nearly cried, too. They stayed together until the water grew cold once more, and then they wrapped themselves in soft towels, water puddling beneath their feet as they returned to their bedroom, as they perched on the bed while she carefully toweled off his hair, biting back a grin at how it stood up at funny angles.

And when water no longer beaded on their skin they curled up in bed once more, tangled together beneath the layers of blankets. Astarion’s head was pillowed against her chest, and she idly ran her fingers through his still-damp curls, listening to the even tempo of his breaths, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beating in his chest.

“I love you,” she murmured into his hair, stifling a yawn as she rested her cheek against the top of his head.

He mumbled something she couldn’t quite hear, a sleepy response that she felt in her bones more than heard quivering in the air. It made her smile, her arms tightening around him as she tried to hold him closer. She was happy, happier than she’d ever thought was possible, and she would do her best to make sure he was happy every day too, until the end of her days.

#astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x oc #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #honey the sweeter the sun

929 notes · View notes

bloodlust-1 · 6 months

Text

୨⎯ May I Have This Dance? ⎯୧

Astarion x fem Tav — Fluff

Summary: A celebration! A royal party is thrown for the hero’s of Baldurs Gate, and everyone is dressed for perfection. Astarion eyes Tav as she is offered many dances, waiting to get his turn.

Note: I had this thought of Astarion eyeing Tav down at a ballroom setting, jealous of the guys asking for a dance. And well, here’s this straight from my noggin’

The latest 18+ fic (Halsin)

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

In the grand ballroom, adorned with opulent chandeliers and intricately designed carvings on the ceiling, a lavish gathering was taking place for a special group. The room was filled with an air of excitement and anticipation as guests dressed in extravagant attire mingle and socialize. The men tailored in beautifully made jackets of all kinds of styles. The women wore elegant gowns that cascaded to the floor, embellished with sequins, lace, and intricate embroidery.

As the music begins to play, all eyes are drawn to one particular girl, Tav. She was definitely nervous for this event. Not because of how many people were there, but how fancy the event was. Tav was a noble before the tadpole situation, her bloodline magic descended from dragons long ago. Tav was familiar with a setting like this, but she did feel a glint of shyness because no one in her group had seen her this way. This felt a bit vulnerable for her especially in front of Astarion who was also familiar with ballroom adequate. She didn’t want to get judge for not knowing her waltz properly for sure. However, Tav exuded an aura of grace and confidence as her dress moves gracefully across the polished marble floor. Her gown was masterpiece of fashion, it huged her figure perfectly, accentuating her every curve. The dress was adorned with shimmering crystals that caught the light and created a mesmerizing sight in the eyes of the guests.

Her hair was meticulously styled into an elaborate updo, adorned with delicate jewels that glimmered in the soft glow of the ballroom lights. Of course, Tav had a great taste for style and knew what exactly fit her body. Her makeup was flawless, it enhanced her natural beauty and highlighting her striking features. Particularly her mismatched eyes, thanks to Volo.

“You look beautiful as ever, Tav.” A hand reached out to Tav, It was Gale.

Her smiled emulated warmth and she took his hand, “And as for you, good wizard.” She joked while doing a small curtsy.

“I knew you were a noble, but this is a side I’ve never seen of you before. It’s interesting to think about when I’m so used to seeing you snugged in a bedroll on the dirt floor. But of course, this is also a great view as well...” Gale cleared his throat for that last sentence, his face had gone red for a moment. He then smiled and led Tav onto the dance floor.

Tav nodded and followed Gale. But she looked around for familiar faces. She had caught glimpse of Wyll, shadowheart, and even Karlach that for surely was not wearing a dress. It was a beautifully tailored feminine jacket, and she looked fantastic. It was definitely more her style. Though, she was hoping to see someone else, Astarion. They had an intense romance while traveling together, and she was disappointed to have not spotted him out in the crowd. He was the only one who could really stir up her heart, with the history they made together. Astarion promised Tav he would be at the event, it was a matter of time of when he would pop up.

“My lady.” Gale kindly placed his hand on Tav’s waist as she placed hers on his shoulder. Hand in hand Gale began to waltz Tav on the polished floor. They danced and Gale was captivated by Tav’s beauty and grace. He thought she was like an actual princess even. He was steady and lead her around the dance floor. Tav even caught glimpses of Wyll who was smirking at the sight of the two dancing. It made her a little shy.

Across the room stood Astarion. He came fashionably late with his laced red top, it was very fitting for the dress code. He instantly smelled Tav’s sweet blood in the air. It led him to her with the sight of Gale. They danced swiftly, but Astarion instantly thought he could do better. He was too sloppy with his feet.

Astarion crossed his arms and leaned his back against a pillar. He watched Tav enjoy herself in the crowd. She was gracefully passed from partner to partner of many men Astarion was familiar with. Ones that he saw staring at her with loving eyes during camp. He knew that state all too well. But he also enjoyed seeing Tav so fluid. Engaging and captivating the crowd with her confidence and beauty. Astarion was equally mesmerized by her presence.

The atmosphere in the ballroom was electric and lively, filled with whispers of admiration and awe. The guests cannot help but be drawn to this captivating woman who stolen the spotlight. They are captivated by her elegance, poise, and undeniable charm. Tav effortlessly commanding the room's focus. Her presence was magnetic, and she effortlessly captivated the hearts and minds of all who have the privilege of witnessing her grace.

Astarion felt a mix of emotions— admiration, desire, possessiveness, and jealousy. He is unable to tear his eyes away from her as she twirled and spun with other men. Specifically Gale, who was a little more touchy than normal. He looked like a puppy following her around, tail wagging between his legs.

Tav took a break between the music and excused herself from Gale. She smiled and walked off from the dance floor. Astarion’s gazed followed her as she walked into a vacant part of the palace. He followed her moments later.

Tav’s heels clicked against the marble floor, it stretched out before her in its great emptiness. The room was lined with many mirrors of tall stature. She took small steps, heels clicking as her reflection stares back at her. Each mirror capturing every different angle of her, showing all sides of her beauty. Tav almost couldn’t recognize herself. Not after getting used to seeing bruises, blood, and war gear. This was a much more wealthy side of her. She wasn’t sure if it even represented herself anymore. She got used to living a simple life traveling.

She stared into the reflection of herself before hearing a voice, “You look absolutely beautiful, darling.”

Tav was startled at the compliment and saw no other reflection behind her, she immediately turned her head and saw Astarion in his best suit. She felt her cheeks go warm, “Astarion, You made it!”

He smiled gently, “of course, we are the guests of honor after all, hm.” He started to walk closer to Tav. The mirrors were empty with his existence. But she knew she wasn’t dreaming, this was real. Astarion was very much real and alive even if the mirror couldn’t show him how handsome he looked.

Astarion reached out for Tav’s hand, her skin was met with a warm kiss, “I admire your dancing skills, you could be holding a candle while dancing and it wouldn’t go out. I’m impressed with you. However…”Astarion held her hand and placed it over his shoulder, “I couldn’t say the same for your dance partner. Perhaps I can show you a real dance?”

Tav’s cheeks flushed, she nodded her head in a moment of shock. Sometimes she just didn’t know how to react to Astarion’s advancements. He was so charming. She looked into his ruby eyes, “A pleasure…” a soft whisper left her lips. Her heart was racing and she felt her legs go shaky. Why was dancing with him such a hard task, she just did it moments ago!

What Tav didn’t know is that Astarion felt the nervousness off her body. The little quivers from her hands and shoulders tense. He tried to ease her with a gentle squeeze from his hand around her waist, “Relax, love. I want you to enjoy this.”

She took a deep breath in and they took their first step together. What was a brief moment of tension melted away. Their bodies were perfectly aligned, as they gracefully swifted across the empty room. It amplified their foot steps and the mirrors showcased a movie of Tav’s reflection dancing as if no one was there. It was so magical. The attraction between them illuminated the atmosphere. The tension was so thick between the two. The pair became a timeless motion of synchronized passion.

Astarion’s gaze never left Tav’s face and it was nothing short of love and admiration. Every step they took was a showcase of passion in one beautiful dance. Tav let herself go in the moment and let out giggles and smiles as they waltz. Astarion brought Tav closer against his body and the show came to a sudden halt. Both their chests rose up and down from heavy breathing against each other’s bodies.

Astarion placed his hand under Tav’s chin, bringing her face up to his gaze. She clutched his shirt as he leaned in and placed a heated kiss on her lips. Tav has never seen Astarion’s face so red. And this wasn’t blood, it was his cheeks lit up like a fire.

“I’ve never seen someone so beautiful. And to see you at every angle..” Astarion looked at the mirrors around the ballroom floor. Each mirror represented a different side of Tav’s features. Her skin was unblemished aside from small scars, her lips like rose petals, but most of all those eyes. He couldn’t get enough of them. How filled of life they were. They shined like stars. Astarion was absolutely star stuck by her presence more than ever.

Tav’s heart melted under his grasp. But there was something also lingering in her head. Tav was still unsure where her and Astarion stood with each other. The thought of maybe just a fling hurt her heart. She knew her heart was trying to tell her more. The way her chest tightens with him, the heat of her cheeks flushing up, but the most of all…how the thought of him kept her up long nights. How unfair it was to not have him alongside her bed. It did hurt.

“I need to know…” Tav cleared her throat but it still cracked anyway. “If we are just to find each other in times of loneliness o-or, are we something that could blossom into something more meaningful?” Tav passionately stared at Astarion. She went completely shakey, yet there was a tone of authority in her voice. She knew she wanted more with Astarion, but he was too unpredictable. She feared she was just company when he wanted affection.

Astarion gave her sad eyes, his expression instantly went somber. There was a long pause. A once lively ballroom moment turned into an intense one. “Tav…”

She started to pull away from him. This wasn’t the way she expected him to respond. In a way she hoped for more. Maybe it was her own expectations of him that’ll be the cause of her heart break. “Every night I laid in my bed, thinking of how I would finally tell you how I truly feel. B-but I can’t feel like this a-anymo—“

Astarion cut her off and grabbed her body into his in an embrace. He held her tight. He did not say anything nor did he lose his grip. Just a long gap of hugging her body, smelling her scent. As he finally pulled away he saw streams of tears flow down her cheeks. How long has she been hiding her feelings for him? He couldn’t tell for sure, but it was driving him crazy that she didn’t tell him this earlier.

he swiped his knuckles against the tears to dry her cheeks, “please don’t cry. Tell me how you feel then. I need to know the truth.”

She bit her inner lip. Her nerves started to take over again. Her eyes started to feel hot, Tav was never a public cryer by any means. She almost felt embarrassed for Astarion to see her like this, “I’ve loved you for a long time now..I thought maybe you only saw me to pass time. I thought maybe it was just your trauma instincts kicking in, to charm me. In a way, I was delusional enough to hope so badly that your affection wasn’t that. But in reality..” she took a deep breath before shutting her eyes tightly, tears flowed down harder. She sobbed quietly, “…B-Be someone who was special to you. It hurts too much. Not seeing you for long periods of time. I thought I could be special to you. I just don’t know. B-but— I beg you please just be honest with me so I can heal.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you often after everything ended. I didnt want to overstep my welcome…I did not know how much that would hurt you. I had suspicion that maybe you saw me differently after Cazador’s death. The way you found out how I’d lure victims to him. I never meant to be the reason you’re tossing and turning at night. I’m truly, utterly sorry…” he reached out to clasp her hands in his own, “But if there was one thing I was certain about, it was that you were going to be mine. I haven’t felt differently since.”

Astarion clutched her hands tighter, “You don’t even know how much I love you. You’re the first person I truly cared for in over 200 years.”

It was an instant relief. The mental load was excruciatingly heavy on her heart. Finally could she enjoy her moment with Astarion that didn’t have the uncertainty of their relationship poking her head.

“You know, I could prove it to you how serious I am.” Astarion cupped her cheeks and swipe away any tears. “Let’s get you cleaned up, I want to show everyone something.”

He cleaned up her wet face and grabbed her hand. Astarion led her back into the party. The music was still playing but everyone seemingly turned their heads back on Tav, who was the star of the party. People of all races saw the vampire and hero hand-in-hand. The rumors of Tav’s romanced did circle around the city, but those were just rumors?! Right? The community had no real evidence of their rumored romance until now. Small gasps, whipsers, and even wide eyed stares pierced the couple.

Astarion walked to the center of the room, making sure to grab a glass of wine on a servers tray. The room fell silent, as all eyes were fixed on him as he lifted his cup. He still held Tav’s hand in the other, “Our city stands tall, it embodies strength as we continue to defeat any threat that comes to us, Buldarians! We were prayed on, stripped of our hope. But still, we persevered. We couldn’t have done it without each other, my friends…and, of course our heads held up high with Tav’s bravery.” He held her hand up high and the crowd began to cheer and clap. She was hero after all.

“She is all of our hero’s. I am lucky to call her my lover. My reason why I can stand here and give this speech to you all. Tonight, we dance, drink, and celebrate our freedom! As I will enjoy mine…Cheers!”Everyone cheered, and clank their wine glasses with each other. Both Tav and Astarion could see familiar faces. Wyll cheered, Shadowheart smirked and clapped her hands, Gale looked bittersweet, and Karlach yelled and pointed her finger, “I KNEW IT! Ahaha!”

Astarion kissed Tav’s forehead. So this is what he meant by proving it. He wanted everyone to know what she meant to him. An equal and a lover.

“Everyone saw how special you are to me…and tonight..” he glared red eyes at her, “they’ll hear how special you are to me.” He smirked and laughed devilishly.

“But for now— May I have this dance, my sweet?”

#bg3 fluff #bg3 tav #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #bg3 smut #bg3 #buldars gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 fanfic idea #bg3 astarion #astarion acunin #astarion x tav #astarion x reader

614 notes · View notes

itaipava · 6 months

Text

— carlos sainz falling in love with you.

carlos always thought you were beautiful, but he truly fell in love with the beauty inside you; he slowly starts to fall in love with more than just your looks, like the way your eyes fill with so much passion and life when you talk about something you love, or the way you spend so much time clumsily baking a cake just to brighten your friend’s day, or even the way you smile at him… god, he’s so lost.

he looks at you a lot; sometimes knowing and sometimes without knowledge, because he just can’t help it, it’s like you attract him in an inexplicable way; and there’s a certain kind of warmth and purity in his eyes, like he says “i’m so lost in you, and i honestly don’t want to find myself anymore.’ but sometimes there is also a feeling of sadness in his eyes as if he senses that he is picking up on feelings for someone who may not feel the same; that you could break his heart into pieces and he would allow it. and when you playfully ask him why he’s looking at you like that, he smiles, his eyes softening before saying, “you know why”,

he protects and cares for you in little ways; he puts his arm in front of you or protects you with his body in crowded places. when it rains suddenly, he covers your head with his jacket or borrows his umbrella. he offers to accompany you to your home every nigh and, when he takes you home, he waits until you are safely inside your house before he leaves. his hand hovers over your face to shield your eyes from the sun when it gets too sunny. and to be honest, he’s too eager to let you wear his sweatshirt or jacket when you show the slightest sign of cold. he also always takes some extra snacks in case you need.

he loves touching you: putting his hand on your back while you go somewhere, putting his arm around you, gently pulling you close, holding your hand, holding your waist while you talk to him — and course he will only do these things if you feel comfortable and okay, because he respects you a lot and just wants to see you well. he loves having this moment with you; this touch and this intimacy. sometimes for you it may be something normal that any friend would do, but for him it is something he will never forget and he feels butterflies in his stomach every single time.

he subtly makes it clear that he only has his eyes for you; when others are talking about people they think are beautiful and their ideal types, he never joins the conversation, and if you’re there, he looks at you very often. if someone asks him to describe his ideal type, his mind immediately goes to you as he describes your qualities and characteristics. in a room full of people, he always wonders where you are as his eyes look around, the passionate smile on his face when you look at him from across the room, in a matter of seconds he’s coming to you to hug you.

he invites you everywhere and just wants excuses to be around you; “so it’s at a <specific time and place>, you know, just in case you change your mind and want to join us.” or “my birthday party this saturday; you will be there, right?” he says with a beam of light and a glimmer of hope in his eyes as he stands in front of you. wherever he is, he always chooses the seat next to yours, even though there are so many empty seats.

he asks you to do small favours for him. he doesn’t even think much of it; he’s just naturally drawn to you. you’re the first person he thinks of and wants to go to if he needs or wants something. and they’re usually very little favours like asking you to choose a colour for a new shirt that he’s buying or borrowing your pen when he forgets to bring one — even if others offer him, he politely refuses because it’s yours that he wants.

he loves talking to you more than anything, and even though he’s far away he still has a way to chat with you; whether through messages or calls or facetime, whenever anything happens, good or bad, you’re always the first person he thinks to tell. no matter how far away you are, you’re always completely up to date on everything that is going on in his life. you’ve never woken up without a good morning text or went to sleep without him calling you and asking about your day.

he becomes softer and more indulgent; he willingly puts up with your teasings and sass without retaliating much. if you pay just a bit of attention, you’ll see the little lingering smile on his face at your witty remarks. others find it equally frustrating and nauseatingly cute how unabashedly biased he is towards you; they’re all trying to convince him to follow them to a new restaurant and carlos puts up a good fight, saying no but the moment they mention you’ll be there, he immediately says “okay, what time?”

#f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x reader #carlos sainz headcanon #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz fic #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz #cs55 x reader #cs55 imagine

569 notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 7 months

Text

Floorplan

Steve Rogers/female reader 2.1k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Explicit sex. Nomad era Steve. Reader and Steve have a baby together, mention of pregnancy. Possessive Steve Rogers. Praise kink. Breeding kink. Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Orgasm delay/denial. Could be considered toxic. Steve has issues with boundaries. Angst. Steve Rogers is keeping a secret.

Steve Rogers is keeping a secret.

It’s heavy, heavier than most, this you know without a doubt, because you carry it as well, it’s existence a variable in your life that you never expected, never even imagined, if you’re being honest.

A variable that ties him to you, indefinitely. For eternity. For better or for worse, without the papers or proof, the only exception being the small infant that sleeps in the room down the hall, while her father has you pinned against the bed, fingers digging into your thighs, splaying your body wide for him to do as he wishes, because you’re so fucking weak.

“Steve.” You hiss, word drawn loud from your mouth when the tip of his tongue works in tandem with his fingers, playing your clit easily, hips eagerly rocking against his face.

“Pillow, honey. Don’t want to be too loud.” He murmurs a reminder into your cunt, crooking a finger up against that spot, the sweet spot that waits for him inside your body, working you into a mindless haze, building you up closer and closer to an orgasm until you’re panting, curve of your spine shining with a glimmer of sweat. “That’s it, that’s it. Almost there.” He hums, pulling away at the last second to peek up at your face, beard wet with you, absolutely soaked with your arousal. It glistens in the low light of your bedroom, and he smirks before going back to his meal, dotting gentle and slow kisses down the inside of your thigh that make you whisper desperate pleas.

“Steve, please, don’t-“ Don’t stop. Keep going. Please, please, please.

“Shhh. I know.” He coos. “Just need to get you ready for me sweetheart, that’s all.” And, if you weren’t so lost in the haze of your pleasure right now, you’d probably have something sharp to say in response. He always does this. Brings you to the edge over, and over, makes you wild for him, ache for him, just so he can pluck your strings perfectly, harmonize your need with his since your mind won’t budge, his possession of your body always tipping you over the cliff and into his arms, every time, without fail.

Even a sailor lost at sea needs an anchor.

And he is lost, has been, for some time. Since Bucky. Since Tony. Since he broke everyone out of the raft and went on the run, dipping in and out of towns and cities across the globe.

That’s how you met him. That’s how you brought him home one night, that turned into two, that turned into more, and more. Your greed, your desire overriding your good sense because he was leaving soon, and he wouldn’t be around, and it’s all just some fun- I can keep a secret, Steve, you don’t have to hide from me. You’re safe with me. We’re not even together, just enjoying each other’s company, yeah?

You never thought you would survive it, loving him. Loving a man who’s not a man at all, who’s lost in the wilderness, who’s relearning everything about himself and the world all at once. Cast out by his country, his own namesake. Living on the run. Living with his band of misfit toys.

So, you kept it to yourself, even though he didn’t. Even though you heard him whisper it to you in the middle of the night, when he thought you must be asleep. Even though it felt like obsession, possession, both ends burning the midnight oil. You kept it to yourself, kept the smile on your face, kept the swell of your emotions at bay.

If you don’t love him, it won’t be as bad, when he goes. When they move on.

Then, Steve Rogers did something he didn’t even know he could do. Something he didn’t intend, he claims, something he was told should be impossible.

He gave you a baby.

He gave you a baby, and everything changed.

You’re just about to spit out something insistent, something needy, as he calls it, when you’re being moved, flipped over to your belly with no warning, the warmth of his chest bleeding across your back. His beard tickles against your ear, mouth pressing sweet kisses to your temple, and you can smell yourself on him, the proof of your weakness for him all over his face.

“Here we go, good girl. I’ve got you.” The solid weight of his cock lays between you, the spill of his pre come smearing against the inside of your thighs and then inside of you, the heavy, thick head pushing in little by little, your mouth drooping wide on the pillow.

“Ahh-“ you groan. It bites, the stretch, the sting of it all, and he knows, he loves it, and you do too (even though now you never tell him, because it’s not like before, not like when you weren’t the mother of his child, not like when things were simpler, when you could have walked away, when you weren’t falling down the rabbit hole with a man who has lost his entire identity, his country, his life-)

“God, honey. What a sweet little pussy you have for me, huh?” His teeth find the skin of your neck, below your jaw, and they graze with a nip, light pressure to punctuate his ownership. For me. For me, for me, for me. “Just perfect. My perfect, good girl.” You try to bite back the moan that rises in your throat but it’s impossible, and he’s no fool, the curl of his smile imprints across your skin, cock sawing in and out of your body like you were made for it.

He says you were, of course. That you were made for him, and for no one else, and he doesn’t care what happens in the next year, or two, or ten. You’ll always be his. He’ll always come back. He’ll always be here.

“What will you do if… when you go home, to America?”

“I’ll bring you both. Put you up in a place. Or maybe I’ll buy you a house, honey. With a white picket fence and everything. Give you another baby. Give you two more babies.”

“Steve-“

“No, no. Don’t.”

“Steve.” You whine, still mouthing the pillow, fingers tight in the sheets. You clench down around him, unable to keep yourself from barreling towards your orgasm any longer, and he whispers encouragement in your ear, soft praise of how good you feel and how wet and are you going to come for me, honey? You going to give a me a good one? Let me feel you squeezing my cock with it?

Your first orgasm comes with ease. So does your second.

Your third comes with tears that he laps up across your cheek, as too many words get stuck in your throat. I love you. I hate you. I don’t want you here. I don’t want you to leave.

It builds, each time he slips inside the house at night, each time you come home from work or errands and he’s sitting on the couch reading a book, or sketching, just waiting for you and Emmaline. It builds and builds, when he’s got you bent over the kitchen table, cheek pressed to the wood, sinking his cock into your body with an unmatched fury, breathing claims of ownership against your skin. Mine, for me. My girls. My baby.

“Maybe I’ll give you another. Fill you up until you’re overflowing, get you pregnant.” It’s an overload, a killshot straight to your heart, your nervous system, and it engulfs you in fire, your body clenching around his cock involuntarily, like all it wants is to be bred by him, fucked deep with his come until you’re round with his baby, again. And he knows it, knows it too well. Sees the way your eyes shutter, can feel the way your body begs for it. You want to come, and he’ll torture you with it, dragging it out until you��re breaking apart. “Go ahead, tell me honey. Say it, do you want it?”

“Y-yes, please. Please, daddy.”

Everything you carry, all the tangles, the snarled mess that exists in your heart for him surges, and his hand sneaks between the mattress and your body to cup your belly, palm warm like a brand. Like it’s always been, now, and before-

He holds you from behind, hands flush overtop your navel, stroking the roundness of your stomach with longing affection.

“How’re my girls today?”

“Tired.” You shift, and he hums in response. You’re about to snap at him about being here in the first place, remind him he can’t just use his key whenever, let himself inside whenever, but his hands drift to the bottom of your belly and lift, robbing you of all the lectures and rebuttals as the pressure on your spine is instantly relieved.

“That better sweetheart?”

He’s deep, so deep that it burns, head of his cock punching against your cervix, hitting that spot repeatedly. You gasp, burying your face in the pillow, smothering the shriek of your moans. He’s close, you can tell, you can feel it, the way his muscles start to become rock, the strike of his hips against your ass moving you further up the bed until your neck is craning to the side to avoid the headboard.

“Here it comes honey, lie still, just- just let me- let me give it to you.” It’s a stammered slur being pushed out through a too tense jaw, restraint burning in his muscles, arms cradling you like a precious, rare gem to be coveted, something more important than duty and a shield.

Later, he’s still in your bed, even though he said he wouldn’t be.

He’s heavy, and hot, so hot that you don’t need a blanket when he holds you. You find it fascinating, even more curious that your own child runs hotter than normal too, more evidence of the clear truth that both you and Steve are working vigilantly to hide and disguise.

“You should sleep.” He’s insistent, and your lashes flutter closed with a big breath.

“You don’t have to stay.” He wants to. He’s stubborn about it. It’s the reason he gave for appearing on your doorstep earlier.

“Why didn’t you call? I would’ve come sooner.”

“It’s not like I know where you are these days.”

“Don’t. Don’t… start this.”

“She has colic, Steve. There’s not much you’re going to be able to do, we just have to ride it out.”

“I don’t care. I’m here.”

He was the one who had managed getting Emmaline to sleep earlier, rocking her in his arms until she settled, sweet little baby finally succumbing to lullaby of sweet dreams in her dad’s arms.

He’s so good at it, taking care of her, understanding what she needs and when, that you hardly sputtered a protest when he clicked her door shut and pulled you in for a kiss, pushing you into your own bedroom and laying you out on your back, a hand pinning your stomach to the sheets, another gripping your thigh wide for him, his strength forcing your body into a trap, where you were powerless. Stuck.

“I guess I gotta put both my girls to bed, right? Isn’t that what you needed? Just needed daddy here, honey?”

“Close your eyes, sweetheart. I’ll get her, when she gets up.” The fire of his skin makes everything in the room feel heavy, feel heady, and it’s so easy to slip into your imagination to pretend, dream about a world where your relationship wasn’t shattered, where Emmaline’s dad wasn’t just a shadow in the dark half the time he’s in the house, in her life, in yours.

“You can’t just keep coming here, acting like everything is normal.” You whisper to the ceiling, but he doesn’t respond, just hums into your skin, deaf to your sense, your logic.

You’re right. You know you are. Why can’t he just see that?

“Steve.” You pick at him. Pushing and pushing, careening closer to a breaking point, an inevitable end when he will sigh with the weight of exasperation, and then ease himself out of bed and disappear into the night.

“This is the normal, for now.” He says instead, a rebuttal that takes you by surprise, a change in his usual course. Fingers stretch over yours with a yank, pulling you closer into the bend of his body. “But it won’t always be like this. We’ll go home soon.” Home. It sounds nice, but feels like a threat, considering this has been your home for years now, and this was where you were raising Emmaline, and this is where you had settled into life, started a career, put down roots.

“Steve, I’m already home.” You remind him and he chuckles softly against your brow.

“Are you?”

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america #captain america x reader #avengers fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #steve rogers smut #peaches writes #steve rogers x female reader #mcu #nomad!steve #nomad!steve rogers #chris evans fanfiction

495 notes · View notes

youvebeenlivingfictional · 7 months

Note

how much of a flirt is harvey specter with his s/o and what does that look like? 👀

Harvey Specter/AFAB!Reader

Warnings: Nothing, just fluff. Fluff and banter.

Rating: T

"Is this seat taken?"

The question makes you lips curl with a smile, though you keep your eyes set stalwartly on your phone as you write out in email.

"The air's occupying it pretty heavily," You offer.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

"If you must."

You don't have to look to know that the remainder of the bar is unoccupied, and there's no doubt as to why the man's bothered to sit beside you. You don't even bother to get a look at your new companion.

"Do you come here often?" He asks, and you can't help but scoff a laugh.

"Really? That's your opening line?"

"Technically, my opening line was 'is this seat taken'. This is just my second ice breaker."

"The fact that you need a second ice breaker is concerning."

"You haven't answered it."

"It wouldn't help you. I never answer that honestly."

"Why not?"

"In case you're some weirdo stalker."

"At least I'd be a weirdo stalker with money."

"You'd have to be. A damn gimlet costs $40 here. It's horrifying."

"It's Manhattan."

"I know bars where you can get a gimlet for a reasonable price."

"Why aren't you there now?"

"Because I'm meeting someone. He'll need that seat, by the way."

"He won't."

"No? And why's that?"

"You'll be too in love with me by the time he gets here."

"Well. He is late already," You eye the time before you finally lower your phone, turning to get a look at the man. He's smiling warmly at you, his dark eyes glimmering with mirth. Sweeping your gaze over his suit, and you find his tie just a touch askew.

"...I guess you'll do for now," You sigh forlornly.

"I'm flattered."

"You should be. I'm throwing a good man over for you."

"A late good man?"

"Not the first time, certainly won't be the last."

"Any man that leaves you on your own ought to be drawn and quartered."

"I don't mind some time to myself."

"Secure. I like that."

"Is that all you like?"

"Hardly, but we'll start there."

"Erm...Ma'am?"

The two of you turn your heads at the sound of the tentative interruption by the bartender. You arch a brow, urging them on, and they add, "This man isn't bothering you, is he?"

You grin, unable to help it, and knowing that Harvey's doing the same.

"Yes, but it's alright. He's my husband, so he bothers me all the time."

"Oh," They chuckle, nodding, "Is there anything that I could get you, sir?"

"Macallan, neat."

"And another for you, ma'am?"

"Please."

"Coming right up."

You reach out, straightening Harvey's tie. His gaze lingers on you, and he catches hold of your hand before you can pull it away.

"You're late," You admonish.

"I know, I'm sorry. A deposition ran over," He leans in, lips brushing yours, "And traffic was awful."

"Why don't you just take the train?"

"Mm."

"I know it has some issues, but Manhattan traffic, my god—"

"Would you shut up and let me kiss you?" He murmurs, the feeling of it buzzing your lips. You grin, raising your free hand to cup his jaw and press your lips warmly to his. He sighs softly, lowering his hand to your leg and sweeping his thumb gently over the exposed skin of your knee.

"Let's bag dinner," He mumbles, "I want to take you home now."

"Dinner first, Specter," You pat his cheek and turn back toward your phone. "I'm willing to bet you haven't eaten since this morning."

Harvey just grunts in annoyance, leaning in and brushing his lips against your neck, only drawing away as the bartender sets his Macallan down.

"Your table is nearly ready, Mrs. Specter," They add, smiling at you and setting down your fresh drink.

"Thank you."

You hear Harvey huff softly, and you turn, brow furrowing.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," He shakes his head, a fond smile on his lips as he lowers his drink. "I just never get tired of hearing that."

TLDR: He flirts with them a lot

#Harvey Specter x Reader #Harvey Specter x You #Harvey Specter/Reader #Harvey Specter/You #Harvey Specter fic #Harvey Specter imagine #asks #replies #requests #anon

705 notes · View notes

baeshijima · 7 months

Text

its nearly 3 am and i should sleep but vampire neuvillette…. ourgh…….

vampire neuvillette who is not affected by the sunlight, yet still chooses to avoid contact with it, instead gazing at the light with a faraway look from his office window.

vampire neuvillette who basks in the moonlight when in his lonesome, a sombre yet hauntingly beautiful image painted for no one to bear witness to.

vampire neuvillette who is surrounded by many, humans and melusines and other beings alike, yet appears the loneliest in spite of that, his figure stark against the bustling crowds and empty rooms.

vampire neuvillette who somehow finds himself identifying you immediately when within the same vicinity, having blocked out every face, every disturbing scent which invaded his senses, just to see you and quietly watch from afar. (because that is what he does best. he maintains his distance and keeps to himself, avoiding any further implication than what is necessary.)

vampire neuvillette who, in spite of his long-held values, finds himself drifting towards you like a moth would to a flame. it’s inexplicable how drawn he is to you — how magnetising your mere presence is to him — and yet he cannot find it within himself to hate this feeling. rather, he finds himself chasing after it, hands grasping at what little you seem to give in a desperate attempt to close the gap he worked hard to create.

vampire neuvillette who finds he doesn’t need to bask in the overbearing sun, for your smile and eyes which glimmer like starlight are all he needs in this gloomy world he’s supposed to reside in. you are kind, a feat he sees in the way you treat the melusines, how you talk with the locals and can deal with their… less than favourable actions at times, in the way you help tourists in a patient manner, and by the way you laugh in a way which implies you enjoy his presence. (the notion has him more giddy than he would like to admit.)

vampire neuvillette who jolts the first time your skins touch, hands brushing as you hand him a pile of finished paperwork, as he stares at you aghast while cradling his burning hand close to his chest. it was an odd phenomena, one he had never experienced before (he seemed to be having a lot of those in recent times), yet the vivid tingles are etched into his skin and seep into his veins in a way that has him wanting to reach out and experience such sensations with you once more.

vampire neuvillette who discovers what it means to lose control for the first time in his extensive life when you’re suddenly beneath him, neck bare amidst a messily open collared shirt and a tantalising scent permeating from your skin. it wasn’t supposed to go like this, he thinks to himself through bleary eyes and a hazy mind. had he known his stock had run out, he wouldn’t have accepted your offer for dinner, battling through his long-forgotten starvation until you found him in such an embarrassing predicament. but your words of consent repeat in his conscience like a broken record, your voice clear against his jumbled thoughts as he zeroes in on your blood. it is a scent he has grown indifferent to over the years; well, until you stumbled into his life with a warm demeanor and sweet smile, effectively thawing his once frozen heart, that is.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #neuvillette x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #neuvillette x you #sophie talks concepts <3 #throws up what is this man doing to me i dont hate it i love it but i have too many wips but not enough time ohno why me why him whyy yyy y #anyway gn i hope u all will be as insane abt this as i am 🫶🫶

603 notes · View notes

parkerslatte · 4 months

Text

Deals With Our Devils || Chapter Two

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: none.

Part Summary: Y/N arrives in the Night Court and her former family have a lot to say.

previous chapter / next chapter

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Taglist

•••

Y/N looked down at the coffee sitting on the table before her, she hadn’t touched it since it had been placed there. It was cold now. No one had said a single word since Rhys insisted on sitting at the dining room table for more comfort than his cramped office. Y/N didn’t attempt to explain herself, she knew that her efforts would be futile as everyone was silently processing everything.

The gaze fixated on her cup lifted the smallest amount to scan the faces of the people she used to call family– with three new faces thrown in. Two-hundred years had seemed to be all it had taken for Y/N to forget specific details about her family. There was a small scar slicing through Cassian’s eyebrow that Y/N wasn’t sure whether he had it when she was still around or not. That glimmer in Rhys’s eyes that seemed to suggest a certain love that Y/N did not recognise. The specific features of Mor’s face that she loved to put makeup on when they were younger. Y/N even forgot how much she towered over Amren– somehow she remembered her to be a similar height. Seeing her now made Y/N realise how much she had really forgotten over the past two centuries.

Then there was the matter of Azriel. Despite the rest of her former family and the small details she had forgotten about them– Y/N hadn’t forgotten anything about Azriel. From the colour of his dark hair that seemed brown in direct sunlight to the unique blend of colours in his eyes that made up his hazel. He hadn’t spoken yet but Y/N could still hear his voice clearly in her mind, soft spoken yet still had a small edge to it. Y/N hadn’t forgotten anything about him.

“So,” Rhys spoke up after a long and painful silence. “This is certainly a surprise.”

Y/N nodded. “I am here on official business.”

“I gathered that,” Rhys replied. “Your Queen had been corresponding with me for several months.”

“She is aiming to build alliances,” Y/N replied. “Vassuryn is a very small kingdom and not very well known. It is vulnerable to attack so Queen Selvina has been gathering allies from all over the continent. This is the first time she has reached out beyond.”

Cassian finally raised his gaze to meet Y/N’s, his eyebrows drawn down in a frown. “I don’t give a shit about alliances. What I want to know is why you left two-hundred years ago.”

“Cass–” Rhys tried to intervene.

“No,” Cassian shook his head. “It’s been two hundred years, Rhys! Surely now it is time for an explanation as to why she has been gone.” Cassian’s burning gaze fixated on Y/N. “You left in the middle of the night with no word, no note, nothing. We searched for you for years. Azriel searched even longer.”

Y/N glanced Azriel’s way but he was staring at the table in front of him, as if he were fascinated by the woodwork.

The female next to Cassian reached out and touched his arm and he instantly began to calm. The furious expression that had gradually melted onto his features disappeared within an instant– only to be replaced by sadness.

“Y/N, we didn’t know if you were alive or dead,” Cassian admitted. “You were our family. Losing you was hard for all of us.”

The broken look on Cassian’s face made Y/N’s heart drop. She never knew her disappearance had affected her family that much. Mor hastily wiped away a tear and Amren’s silver eyes bore into hers, though deep down through all of the guards she had up, she could tell that Amren cared.

“I am sorry,” Y/N whispered. “I hadn’t realised my disappearance had affected you all so greatly–”

“Please stop being so formal,” Cassian pleaded. “We are your family.”

“We haven’t been her family for a long time,” Azriel’s soft voice cut through the air.

Y/N’s head snapped in his direction. His gaze had finally lifted and the only emotion Y/N noticed within them was betrayal. Her eyes stung with tears.

The female next to Rhys, her arms tattooed with swirls up to her elbows, cleared her throat. “Any arguments that might happen will end here.” She turned to Y/N with a small gentle smile. “Y/N is a guest here and I won’t tolerate arguments from someone trying to do their job, no matter your history.”

Y/N gave the female a grateful nod as she took a deep breath. All pairs of eyes felt like daggers in her heart. “I understand that all of you must despise me for what I did, but you must understand that I haven’t come here for myself, I am here under my Queen’s orders. All I am trying to do is a job for her, don’t let any hostile attitude towards me affect what she is aiming to do.”

The room was silent, the only exception was Mor placing her wine glass down on the table. Y/N’s heartbeat increased and her body felt hot. If Floris had been with her, everything would have been okay, she would have had someone to lean on. But now she was alone in a house where everyone hated her.

“Will you answer one personal question for us, Y/N?” Rhys asked.

Y/N met his gaze. “Only one.”

“Why did you leave?”

That was the one question Y/N had prepared for on her journey to the Night Court. As she answered, her voice was almost robotic from how she had rehearsed it over and over again.

“I was a danger to all of you and the whole of Velaris,” said Y/N. “I needed to get away before I hurt any of you.”

“A danger?” Rhys asked. “How were you a danger?”

“She has powers,” A quiet voice spoke from the end of the table.

Y/N tore her gaze away from Rhys’s and landed on the third female she hadn’t recognised. She looked startled like she hadn’t meant to let anything slip.

“What do you mean, Elain?” Rhys questioned.

The female– Elain, gazed at Y/N, an apologetic expression on her face. Elain opened her mouth to respond but Y/N beat her to it.

“She is correct,” Y/N replied, once again looking down at the table. “I have powers.”

Cassian chuckled humorously. “We would have known if you had powers.”

Y/N shook her head. “You wouldn’t have. Because I didn’t even know until days before I left.”

Y/N stood up from her seat and stood at the head of the table. As she brought her left hand up in front of her, the surges of power wrapped around her arm and around her body in thin blue thread. The former family watched in astonishment– all except Azriel, whole face remained neutral.

“When I left, I couldn’t control it,” Y/N began. “I could feel it bubbling inside of me and it was only a matter of time before it burst. I didn’t want any of you to get hurt in the process so the safest thing I could do was leave.”

“We could have helped you, Y/N,” Rhys said, with an attempt to keep his voice calm but the sadness in his eyes betrayed him. “Why didn’t you come to us?”

“It was all too much,” Y/N said. “I could feel a surge of power threatening to release and I knew that it would be fatal to anyone within my vicinity. When I left, I never expected to survive it until it happened– that burst of power. It didn’t kill me but I felt weak, I could barely move, but I knew that power surge would happen again. It happened three more times until I reached Vassuryn and Queen Selvina took me in. She helped me control my power and master it. I owe my life to her.”

The room was silent once more as Y/N let her power fade away. “I never came back because I expected to die.”

“Why didn’t you come back after?” Mor asked, speaking up for the first time. “We would have all understood.”

“I owed Queen Selvina my life for helping me control my powers,” Y/N replied. “I began working as Prince Floris’s guard at the palace. I made a home for myself there.”

“And abandon the one you had here,” Azriel said, his words cutting Y/N like a knife.

Y/N tried not to let his words affect her, but as she toyed with the hem of her sleeve, it was evident to everyone that his words had cut her deep. Rhys was the first to speak up. “Y/N, for the next few weeks, we will be happy to host you while you tell us about Vassuryn.”

Azriel’s gaze shot to Rhys, his eyes narrowed at his brother. Rhys simply ignored him. “We can meet tomorrow to go through anything Queen Selvina needs to discuss.” Y/N nodded as everyone began to stand from the table. “Elain will show you to your room.”

Y/N’s gaze met Elain’s and she offered her a small smile, Y/N tried to return it but failed once she noticed that Azriel hadn’t even risen from his chair.

“I will meet you in the hall, Y/N,” Elain said before swiftly exiting the room.

For the first time in two centuries, Y/N was left alone with Azriel. And for the first time ever, she had no idea what to say to him. As Y/N opened her mouth, Azriel looked up at her.

“If you are going to apologise, don’t,” Azriel snapped. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“I am not going to apologise for leaving,” Y/N said. “I did the right thing.”

Azriel scoffed. “You did the right thing by leaving your family? By leaving me?” By the time the second question left his mouth, Azriel’s voice was barely a whisper. “I searched for you for fifty years, long after everyone else gave up. I still held onto hope that you were out there.”

Y/N closed her eyes as Azriel rose from his seat, stepping closer to her. His familiar scent, the scent that used to relax her, now made her tense.

“But you were out there, weren’t you?” Azriel’s voice was low and void of any emotion. “You were happy in a palace while all of us were driven mad thinking you died. Tell me, did you ever think about us in those two hundred years? Did you ever want to come back?”

“Of course I thought of you all,” Y/N said, her eyes meeting Azriel’s. “I missed you all so much.”

“But not enough for you to come back or even send word that you were okay,” Azriel hissed.

Y/N swallowed, her words dying on her tongue. Of course she had wanted to come back. Her found family were the only people in her life she truly cared about– the ones she truly loved. But she couldn’t. Not when she was such a danger to all of them and to the city of Velaris.

“I did think of you, Y/N,” Azriel continued. “I thought about you every single night after Rhys told me you left. You left me while I was in the middle of recovering from a mission, you promised you would help me train the next day to build my strength back and you were gone. Do you have any idea how I felt when Rhys told me you were gone?”

“I am sorry, Az,” Y/N said, a tear finally falling down her cheek.

“Don’t apologise to me,” he snapped. He took one step forward, before bending slightly so his mouth was next to her ear. “Don’t even try to talk to me when you are here. I don’t care what you have to say to me. I don’t care about you– not anymore.”

Azriel stepped back and turned his back on her without another word, leaving Y/N watching him leave. Y/N felt her heart shatter as the door slammed. She anticipated this reaction but as she lived it, she never could have imagined that Azriel’s voice could be so cold to her. Ever since she had met Azriel, the two had always been close. He had been her best friend for as long as she could remember. His voice was always full of warmth when he spoke with her now she was afraid it would never return– and it probably wouldn’t.

Y/N’s feet moved on their own accord until she exited the room to find Elain waiting in the hall. “Are you okay?” she asked.

Azriel’s scent lingered in the hall and she sighed. “I am. I am ready for this task to be over so I can return to Vassuryn.”

“Everything won’t stay this hostile forever,” Elain said as she led Y/N to her room.

“I doubt that,” Y/N replied. “Azriel hates me. I’m sure Cassian does too. Mor and Amren are harder to read but they will most likely not want anything to do with me. Rhys is only playing nice because I am here on official business. If I were here for any other reason, he would banish me as soon as he got the chance.”

They paused outside the room Y/N would be staying in. Elain turned to her. “They don’t hate you, everyone is simply emotional.”

“How would you know?” Y/N questioned. “You don’t know anything about the situation between us.”

Elain offered her a small smile. “I know more than you think. And from what I know, not everything will remain like this. Things will get better.”

Y/N studied her for a moment. “I’m not sure I completely believe you, but I hope so. The less hostility, the easier my job and the sooner I can return home.”

“If you chose to remain,” Elain said, her voice distant. “You will find that you will soon have a very difficult choice to make.”

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. “What?”

Elain seemed to snap out of a daze before smiling at Y/N. “Don’t worry, just something I read earlier.”

Y/N wasn’t too convinced but placed her hand on the door handle. “Thank you for walking me to my room, Elain.”

Elain nodded and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “It was no problem. I hope you get some rest, Y/N.”

“Thank you,” said Y/N, thankful that at least one person was not hostile towards her in the house.

Elain bid Y/N goodbye before leaving down the corridor. Y/N pushed open the door and stepped inside. The bags she had packed were sitting by the bed but that was not the first thing Y/N noticed. The first thing she noticed was the familiarity of the bedroom. The sage green walls and the ornate furniture. The bedside cabinet held a mirror gifted to her for her three-hundredth birthday. The wardrobe in the corner was still missing one leg and was held up with a pile of books.

It was her room.

Nothing had been moved since the day she left, the only thing that had changed was the bed covers. Everything else remained the same. After two-hundred years, Y/N thought that her former family would have forgotten about her, but from the looks of her former bedroom, it was clear they hadn’t.

DWOD TAGLIST:

@lostinpages13 @thelov3lybookworm @mell-bell @daisydark @captainsbaby @mischiefmanagers @scooobies @a-frog-with-a-laptop @venussdovess @radishsworld @fussel9913 @luvmoo @marscardigan @lizziesfirstwife @starlumiere @melygarcias @esposadomd @azrielswhore @sleepylunarwolf @going-through-shit @kalulakunundrum @drAgOngirl

•strike through unable to be tagged •

#azriel angst #azriel fluff #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #acotar x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

276 notes · View notes

joannasteez · 2 months

Text

sing, just for me

pairing | roman reigns x black reader warning | explicit content, including descriptions of sex. minors please do not interact. if you count flirting as fluff then sure i guess, theres some of that. supernatural element, so yes, its an AU!!! word count | 5.8k ... quiet nights of quiet stars, quiet chords from my guitar, floating on the silence that surrounds us... lyrics in red (corcovado by stan getz and astrud gilberto)

the strum of a spanish guitar and a sweeping staccato, these quaint bristling eruptions that pulse the room to life with a softened awakening. long aged spirits and slow to sip lips. abstract mosaic tilings glimmering with the paling yellow of lowlights. and through lush rouge lips comes a haunting melody. a song of lovelessness, to stain his spirit with a sorrowed tenderness. easing his bones till he lulls into a deep surrendering. and his fingers prick with warmth, alive with a daring sort of desire to touch and embrace. to console. the gentle silk dressing your skin parting and draping over in reverence of the high slit at your thigh, seemingly for him. to have, to hold, to care for.

but isn't that what every man thinks? that your crooning is for them alone. that when the passion of the melody becomes too great and your fingers begin to roam, nails sharp but feathery and caressing about the air and your own skin, that it is them you're thinking of. and when you shudder, when you hiss, breathy and overcome, isn't it them you imagine? touching and pleasing till that wordless teeming desire is fulfilled? because the allure beyond the burning in their eyes scorches your skin, forcing a craving in your bones. such lustful men, bound by the sin of their own dreams, and the ego that makes them believe all this grace and flare is made pure for them alone. but how can they not think those things? how can he not think these things? when you go on about so sweetly, eyes flitting to theirs, to his. and here he's caught. rapturous and silently pleading that you never look away.

roman knows you, but not in the common way that a man knows a woman. not by name or by touch, or the familiarity that comes with soft spoken passions and loud terrible expressions. he knows your voice and your sultry little songs. and in some small, hidden, back alley lounge just on the pensacola panhandle, he comes nightly to hear you sing. just as the burn of the sun falls behind the horizon, till the early morning hours, where the sky pulls out from darkness into a paled blue.

he sips at his dark liquors, tucked partly in the shadows of ill lit corners, bathing in the light of your songs.

but even in his silence, he shares the depths of his appreciation. flowers to match the rouge of your lips, the petals tender to the touch and blooming prettily. and every other night, they appear, at the foot of your dressing room door, waiting to be swept up in the caress of your fingers. and just before every show, as the audience waits with bated breath for you to take the stage, he sends a shot of liquor your way.

"courtesy of your admirer. for your nerves", the young bartender gives after pouring. the short glass filled with whiskey.

and though your nerves cry from the bitterness of it, you take the taste in stride. feeling the warmth of it in your belly, just as high heels click toward center stage.

stringy flicks of guitar, short clicks of percussion and the gentleness of your vocals smoothen the air once again. an intimate warmth he won't get used to. days, after weeks of a far away admiration and here he is still, drawn in quickly by the mystic of a woman he'd never known.

but you thought of him too. of the whiskey he drank as his eyes lingered, and whether not the bitterness was as terrible in the glass as it was on his tongue. or maybe it didn't linger so heavily there, undone by warmth and the teasing slips it took over his teeth as your palms caressed over your hips. lips parted, singing wispy, slicing faint into the heavy silence of the room. and how could you sing about such a lovelessness, when his hands— fingers locked in with one another, long and heavy— trouble your imaginations as you go on raspy and impassioned. thinking of where they could roam and what they could do.

surely his ego would take to a bursting if he knew.

but it didn't.

the bristling staccato of the drumming brush rustles the air but your voice fades with the spanish guitar to make way for the brassy float of a saxophone.

and there he is, sipping his whiskey, lulled into the atmosphere.

your heels clicking over the floor, a surety laid in your bones. slipping easy onto the leather seating beside him. one leg crossed over the other, the high slit in your dress draping to reveal soft tempting skin. and his eyes take to you there leisurely, not overly greedy, but enough to indulge an obvious show of your own play of desire.

his eyes flit to your lips, the rouge color similar to blood. he wondered often, since his first time here, what they might taste like. the pull of them.

"enjoy the show?"

your voice, this slow slip of honey.

"it was nice", roman says simply. as if that pitch and tone hadn't stained his every roaming thought and daydream.

"for all my hard work i figured i'd get higher marks. with how enthralled you are, nice is just a little to plain for my taste", something like a pout forming your lips, not too deep less you have him believe you actually care.

"you have a beautiful voice".

his own. deep. rich. binding to your bones.

your fingers play with his pour of whiskey. the liquor swirling as your wrist twist the glass. the strength of it hitting your nose. "as beautiful as your taste in liquor, so i guess you hated it".

he grins, clutching the glass to finish his drink. body closer. the brown of his eyes clearer as he comes just under the dim casting down of the yellow lowlight. an arm stretching behind to lay against the top of the leather seat. becoming comfortable. 'thats good', you think. comfortable is good.

"you should know by how often i'm here that i enjoy you very much".

and there is a quiet here, among the soft sing of music. his eyes looking into yours and yours into his. a moment to allow the settling of words, once before a mere silent admiration, now formed whole with letters and persistence to bring about a more complete desire. it is, maybe an invitation. an open palm, waiting for assent, the soft embrace of the other.

"enjoy me more". you stand. reaching out to pull him with you. "no more flowers and hiding in the shadows. dance with me".

his touch is colder than your imaginings but kind all the same. scent warm and autumn inspired despite the swelter of the summer season. a sweet spice that lulls you closer. a soft slow swaying together, intimate in it's own silence. and beneath stylish expensive feeling fabrics, you can sense the strength of him. lips lined soft and kissable, tempting. and his eyes from here, where you press into and sway with his embrace, are familiar. intense and consuming. a thorough take to your own eyes, as if to remember the little things. the shape of your lips, and the brown apples of your cheeks. the coy look up from under fanning lashes. an easy trailing over him, to note and remember in your own way.

"your songs", he starts.

you hum. "what about them?"

"they have a... somberness to them".

he leads your body gently behind a floor to ceiling oak pillar, done up with abstract relief carvings. a corner all to yourselves. you feel his hand maneuver, trailing to a less innocent placement. fingers long as they spread and sweep along the spine, pulling in till you flush softly to him.

you make no struggle to stop him, to pull away. you lean in even.

"i sing what i know".

the intensity of him breaks with a softening. "have you never been in love? has no one ever made you feel love in that way?"

"if they have, i don't remember".

pain corrals in him. spills over into his chest and his words. makes the utterance thereof small and aching. "thats a shame".

"is it?", thinking over what possible shame could come from something never had. "seems burdening to me. i have bills, i have enough things to cry over".

"things? you mean love?"

the way you speak so flimsily about it. is there really nothing of your memory? nothing of before?

"better to have never loved, than to love and have lost".

he smiles. "i don't think that's how the poem goes".

"ooohhhh", you tease. "he's well read".

he spins you. slips his embrace under your arm so that his hand meets the other at your lower back, at that less than innocent placement.

you take the time to breathe him in again, to smoothen your touch over the ways of his arms till they join lazy about his shoulders. nails roaming his nape in such a teasing fashion that it shivers his already cold skin. he's closer here, just enough to share his breaths. to see the freckles in his cheeks.

"he, is roman".

spine throbbing as his thumbs caress. his name slipping over your skin till its beneath and staining. and the spill of the saxophone is melodic. pleasant and soothing as he watches the rouge of your lips part. you tell him your name.

"we're on a first name basis now".

"we are".

the rumblings under the softness of his voice is divine. disrupts your skin till the hairs stand and nerves rush. memory washed with a familiarity you can't place.

his tongue peaks to slip over his lips. "can i ask you to do something for me?"

"what?"

his cheek presses to yours. and you feel the beginnings of a trembling. something ancient and belonging set into your bones.

"sing quietly. just for me".

mirth slips into your lips. the skin of your cheek rubbing against the hairs of his. lips breathy and teasing at his ear. "personal performances are expensive".

"i'm worth my weight in whatever way that pays you".

and even the angels, in all their majesty, can not delight nor arrest him so sweetly. with such a devastating gentleness of spirit. for the heaven in them, could not possibly do well to understand the haunting of this solemn summer song. a wispy falsetto, and the plucking of that spanish guitar once more. a soft sweeping melody into his ear. here, the sing of your voice is the tenderness of roses, having died once and remembering the pain of such a silent wilting, rising in spite from the earth again to bloom beautiful but with a familiar weariness. roman lulls, eerily surrendering, with the ease of a taken sailor by the song of the sea.

his touch is an endearing press into your body. no more of that idleness as they curl. dull and gripping into silk covered skin.

his eyes shine. taken. raptured.

your foreheads touch fondly. your nails still doing well to caress his nape. something like nostalgia corrals in your belly. in the rushing of your blood. his touch new but old.

his breath on your lips. close and sweeping against your face. his nose plays into the soft of yours. this finding of intimacy easy, as if it has existed before.

he hums. hearing the echoing of your singing still.

"so much like a siren".

"they're killers". your nails sharp with a slow sinking into his skin. enough the prick. to have him feel the possibility of pain. "of men specifically".

his own fingers curl inward again. endeared to your warmth. "i guess i'd be susceptible then".

you smile. thumbs running from his neck to the work of his jaw, where the hair is thick and bristling, till you find your self soothing over his freckles. his own touch soothing just the same into the line of your spine. his lips planting into your palm. into your wrist, lingering to feel the pulse of your blood against his mouth.

"you're too warm", kissing your wrist once more. "too welcoming to be so cruel", he says. as if he knows you well enough to know such things.

"and what if that's the act before the inevitable?" you gaze flickering up through your lashes. touch slipping again, along his neck, thumb over the apple of his throat. palms coming down to hold at his arms. feeling the thickness of them beneath his clothes. you smile. "i sink my teeth into you before ripping you apart".

the music is light. eases your bodies into a swaying still. alone together in this little corner of the lounge. of the world.

"you make it sound like a good time".

"depends on what you're into i guess".

"you seem to like to play with your food".

your lips grow closer. the seam of them faint and teasing against his. sharing breaths and the thinning control to not act so suddenly on long built desires.

"a bit of patience makes for a better savoring".

he grins. wide and daring. "i just like to go for what's mine".

"whats yours?", you laugh. so typical. you play an eye roll. "who knew men could be so possessive".

he lips take their own gentle trailing. from near your mouth to the supple skin of your cheeks, steady and light, soft at your jaw till they go about your neck. the tip of his nose pressing into your pulse. fingers deepening into your back, urging an arch into your spine as you cling to him gladly.

your blood thrums harshly. thrilled. he hums, licking his lips, and the slight of his tongue wets your skin. and there he is warm, that much you can feel.

"as possessive as the day is long. you're not wrong about that".

"but it's night time now".

he kisses your pulse. the touch of his mouth sweet. stirring. the mantle in your belly burns.

"that's when the pursuit is sweetest".

he spins you again and you take the time to breathe. to gather the restlessness in your body that longs for him to do something undoubtedly amorous. and that same hope dances in him, plays about his nerves and the set of his eyes.

"where do i know you from?", too troubled by the possibility to ignore it.

"nowhere".

"then why is your face so familiar?"

he grins. "you wouldn't believe how many women have stopped me to tell me the same thing. maybe i just have that face".

'bullshit', you think. the idea laughable. "you're too handsome to be familiar. maybe it's just them easing their way into trying to fuck you. compliments and a sense of familiarity go a long way".

his forehead rests to yours, his throat humming. mulling over your words. guiding your hips through the melody still.

and when he speaks, the lewd make of his words stick to your lips.

"do you want to fuck me, angel?"

your breath hitches. lightly trembling again in his arms. in the tightening bind of his fingers. your blood sweetening in his nose, like the first drips of honey.

"is it not obvious enough? do you have to ask?"

and no he does not make you suffer. does not force the words off your lips, to soothe the width of his ego. it would only sour the warmth in his hands, for a woman such as yourself should not beg. should not reel with an exposing desperation, even amidst the shadows of such ill lit corners. she should be taken as she so coyly wishes, with firm sweeping tongue and the powered grip of an impassioned lover. and roman had no qualms of doing such, of kissing you greedily and forming your body to his. of curling his hands to bruise the silk of your dress, fabric crushing in his fingers till the high slit ran into his palm, leaving your skin bare. whiskey on his tongue, slipping lewd, with much method, to leave you drunk off the wet roaming of it as he buried into your skin else where.

your back roughs into the oak pillar, carvings kneading into you. the brush drum steady, louder, accompanied by the bright trill of a piano.

roman moans into your mouth. light and deep. breathing tensely through his nose. your hands take his, searching over skin to guide him. the heat nestled between your thighs coaxing his tongue to lick into your mouth.

he smiles. your breaths rushed and ragged. a lone finger taking a simple glide till he slips through your slit. and the silk of your heat is something memorable. a soft warmth he's known once before. groaning, mouth open to breathe into you till he's ruffling into your neck.

your hands cling to him and your hips chase him. whimpers singing from your throat.

"you'll have to forgive me, but i need you quiet", he gives. feeding the long tease of his touch pass the tight ring of resistance, till he's seated deeply. steeping his finger till satisfaction bruises his nerves. he wonders, after having you tremble again under him, if he'd ever be satisfied. "charge it to my own possessiveness, but i can't have them hear you. hear how pretty you sound".

he retracts, to join in another finger. a thicker stretching that leaves you to struggle against the breaking of a moan. your face hot and damp. the air thick and his mouth at your pulse urging your blood to rush, as if it knew it was him nestled against it.

"okay?"

he strokes wet, firm feeling and slow. a patient working in that reverences the wild throbbing you take to it. an uncontrolled, mindless pulsing about his fingers.

"need you to answer me when i speak to you".

and his voice grows dark. controlled but undefiled still in the depth it holds to. it sinks into your flesh, commands your lungs to breathe, for words to form. shy and pliant. "okay".

he moans again, licks into your skin, savoring the salted taste of sweat. and his touch feeds into you, roams into a roughness, the staccato of the brush drum blending seamless with the arousal coating his fingers. a sticky, pitchy mess singing lewd from your pussy as you struggle not to curse brightly into the thick air. but he makes it nearly impossible to breathe, to collect even the smallest sense of control. and his pleasure works over your body in familiar ways, remembrance sullying your bones till they surrender from some odd far away sense of knowing. as if all the skin and bones and nerves that make you have found something long lost, teeming with joy at such a faithful reunion.

his lips pull into yours once more. your fingers holding over his face, keeping him there, to suffocate under his tongue. a sweet sweeping in, lapping lazy over yours in his own delirium. you suckle over the whiskey taste, thumbing into his cheeks.

your core tightens. a salacious warning. burdening and hot as his thumb joins in to push against your clit.

your forehead knocks gently into his cheek. nails sinking into his thick neck. unable to speak by his request but so desperately needing to express the weight nailing over your nerves.

the tension, unreleased, builds over. pricks your eyes with a glassiness. you tremble still. "roman please", wispy and small.

his skin delighting with the brush of your breath. desperations of pleasure bleeding into his skin. the ache and the burden of your arousal seeping hot over his fingers. clutching onto the thick of them. needy and mindless.

his eyes meet yours. breaths stuttered and words ill formed as the heat of his staring pierces. flecks of red revealing before their disappearance. your mind too muddled by pleasure to care.

"have at it", he whispers. thumb rolling over your clit as he deepens the ways of his fingers. "it's yours".

your mouth presses into his shoulder, to muffle the cry that comes with that wild bursting heat. the pulsing in your skin and the heaviness in your chest. fighting for air as his mouth sweeps to kiss over your lips. fingers reveling in the messiness of your release. playing through your slit, soothing over your clit till he pinches the pearled nub, wringing out the remains of arousal. your hips rutting to chase the sensation, insatiable and wanting still.

you whisper to him, rushing and grinding your hips still. "i'm renting upstairs. s'not too big, but it's not bad, if you-if you wanted to come up-"

"lead the way".

and not much goes into the song and dance, of feigning interest about egg shell white apartment walls, and the color of your furniture. or how your place is just a greater carrier of the way your skin smells. comfortingly sweet and all consuming. his eyes not minding the antique lamps and neither does he care too much for the stacks of books and large hung up paintings. because he remembers these things quite clearly —your knack for artistry and your mind for words in books— of the woman he knew before you, the one with a different name but, her, your face all the same. the innocence of your forgetfulness twinging where his heart used to be. because how could he be angry, at the things you fail to remember, when now the peace upon you rests so dearly. years of waring with himself about ancient decisions long forgotten, as he spreads his tongue through the swollen slick parting of your folds. enraptured still, after all this time, by how your taste coats his tongue. arresting even the sharpest parts of him.

the lay of your body picturesque along the kitchen island counter. and the marble top is not nearly as cold as his skin, but it shivers you all the same. late night, early morning, summer breeze willowing over you.

the drawling alto of your moaning much different from earlier. something rawer and less refined but angelic all the same. a blend of feathering whimpers and ill controlled swearing, ravishing his ears. coaxing them to burn red as they rest between the heat of your thighs. and when he dips over the swollen nub of your clit, lips kissing messily, his eyes take to the curves of your skin. supple plans of warmth that leave him aching.

your mouth opens lax, devastated by pleasure. fingers twisting against the hard peaks of your nipples. rutting up against his wet mouth for more of his good torture. his tongue invasive and exacting. thick and stroking against the lush opening of your body. and your moving is mindless, driven by blood lacing lust. the ball of your foot hooking into the broad muscles of his naked back as the other aches idle under the weight of his fingers. pushing into him, holding him hostage.

the soft sweat dampened slope of your back arching. fingers curling into the edges of the kitchen island. "you're so damn greedy for it", toughing out of your mouth. words cutting through short breaths.

he moans. dipping his fingers where his tongue had been. eyes casting over the swell of your breast, where your breaths shudder outward. delirium overtaking, slowly, steadily, dulling your eyes and the manner of your nerves. his thumb finding your clit with ease. pressing firm. "can't be a bad thing, not when you're shakin and tightenin up for me like this".

your head rolls straight, to find his eyes dilated. near black even. "you like it".

"no, angel", that delicate term returning to wreck havoc over your skin. "i love it". his lips pursing as he gathers a sticky line of spit, letting it drip to your clit. a man possessed, watching you pulse about his fingers. "real sensitive to my touch". and the kiss he leaves along the mess of your folds is terribly gentle. something like a gift. lips pursing, sweeping with tongue, as if he were taking in your mouth. and there he stayed for sometime, tonguing over the swollen bundle of nerves, nailing into your thighs, and breathing in the essence of your warmth. "y'sound so sweet when i have my tongue on you", going on like a man long starved of touch, passion unsullied by time. and when he parts, mouth and the bristling hair of his beard soaked over, the groaning that draws up from his chest proves to be uninhibited, a bout of impatience slipping in his blood to poison his resolve.

his vision fights for sharpness, for control over more primal urges. "wanna hear you when i make you come".

you smile. overdone with pleasure. "so many request".

"request can be denied". his tongue laps lazily, in a means to savor, and he moans till it shakes into laughter. amusement coursing him as your thighs flex in attempt to close against him. "you have yet to deny me".

and his truths are proven. the spasm seizing your nerves and the drool pooling from your pussy enough to satisfy the surety of his words. the lithe forming together of a speechless pleasure breaking from your throat like feathered little songs. an ensemble of gasping and whimpering brighter than the day sky. and when you fight for air, to reel in the overtaking frenzy, the coarseness there in your throat rumbles beneath your skin, till its a deep resonance slipping into his ears, daring to drip into his blood. an everlasting poison.

a siren indeed.

roman plants kisses into your skin, a slow trailing up towards your navel. face planted into the heat of your belly. the scent of your arousal, a sweetened ambrosia. his chilling hands roaming over the aching in your thighs till their kneading reaches your hips. your numbed fingers run into the roots of his hair, circling over his scalp tenderly.

"c'mere".

you sigh. blissed and pliant. legs and arms shakily wrapping over him till they cling for fear of letting go. your nose tucked into the thick of his neck as he carries you to the soft leather couch.

and he just barely overtakes the quaint little furniture, nestling into its corner to spread his leg out as the other bends to hang over comfortably.

you waste no time. lips molding over his dewy ones, your taste steeping into your tongue as you suckle over his. nimble fingers undoing his pants till his cock is heavy and hard in your palm. his dull nails threatening to bruise your hips as he flushes your pussy over him. breathes undone and stuttering, mindlessly working your still swollen clit over the thick of him. tip pink and aching for something more than the tease of your folds. and a nostalgia takes to his bones, a similarity of passion paining him, memory this boundless flooding. the sinking in of your nails as you kiss his mouth and the heat of your skin, clinging to him for fear of losing him, all too agonizingly familiar. he can feel it beneath his toes, amongst the sensations of bliss, the sand of summer beaches and with the burning at the tips of his ears a bright bursting laughter. far away memory comes to him here, flowing along a breeze.

a fist takes to his stiffness, the other hand holding up your hips. your lips trembling, one against the other. sharing thick intimate breaths. and amongst the late night silence, he stretches you delicately. a leisure, deft upstroke that waits with patience to feel your warmth. a steady handling of your hips as you attempt to settle him in.

your jaw opens lax, gasping as the knocking out of wind leaves your words broken.

"shhhhh", mouth pursing into yours. kissing into your cheek. once and then twice. his hips winding up into you. and the racing of your heart echoes in his ears, forces his tongue into a craving. your blood sweet in his nose still. "take me slowly", palms working your hips to grind into him again. spine throbbing, dazed even as your throat sings with little pleasures, heavy breathed and delirious. "relax into me", a soft command that overtakes the stiffness in your body, coaxing you to settle, molding into the thick mass of him. nearly impossible to tell the beginnings and endings of your bodies. "breathe". and your lungs open, the headiness of him delighting your nose.

and the tenderness here is similar to gentle rain. the light kissing of lips and the working in of pliant fingers, caressing soft blissed skin. your heart beating with vigor against his chest, strong enough that it feels as though one exist within himself, pulsing about and filling him with life.

his sharp teeth pull at your bottom lip, edging there just enough for a shiver and a moan. for the quick thoughtless rutting of your hips, squeezing against his cock, steeping him in a wet heat that left a terrible aching in his balls. he wanted to fuck you madly, suffer you to take him in his fullness till neither word nor thought could ever exist long enough to leave you. he wanted to consume you, enough that you would not forget him again. but this intimate savoring was too rich for him to just abandon on the account of wanting to run your pussy ragged. he could possibly do that another time, if you would have him. if you would cradle his head like you do now, letting his tongue lead over your skin till it prodded and sucked over your nipples. growing greedy, palming your breast to adore the sensitive skin. if you would have him, he would treat you with his urges, charm your body with anything you wanted.

your clit pulses, urges a grinding to knock softly against his hard body. and the insatiable need teeming in your blood is nearly unbelievable. never having felt so wanton and filled with desire.

his lips gentle still and unchallenging as they meet yours again. unhurried but sure. like he'd kissed you a thousand times.

your eyes flutter open. forehead resting against his. and when the earthy brown of his stare burns into you, the familiarity of him burdens your spirit so. a deep, undefiled pressure that flutters your heart.

the grainy sand of a summer beach and bright bursting laughter.

your thumb caresses the freckles at his cheeks. "i know your face". thumbing over his mouth. "your tongue. your hands. your eyes".

he sinks further into the couch, lets his head rest against the arm of it. pulls you into him. "where from?"

his inky hair, long undone in the midst of passion, falling about him. his gentle kissing mouth and his hands. his penchant for whiskey drinking and the unforgettable way he feels, filled to the hilt.

"from dreams".

he hums, indulging the thought. collects your hips with a covetous touch. torturing the dulling ache in your clit to flare with a renewed sense of life, fingers curling in to work your pussy over him, stroking up to meet you with a tenderness that reddens his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

his words a gruff escaping.

"how can you dream about a man you don't know?"

the drool of your heat coats him with its own spirit of endearment. dribbles out till its slicking over the tuft of hair just where you meet him. your teeth taking to your lips, a feverish excitement lacing your pleasure still, beautifully undone, and becoming undone still at the splitting stretch of his dick. you slur even in your delirium, assailing the leather of your couch's arm as you bounce against him. knees bent and thighs aching, but still, he opens you fully, feeds into you like he belongs there.

you stitch words together drunkenly.

"how can you... how can you kiss a woman, fuckk!..kiss her so lovingly, when you've never met her". your teeth clench. touch playing over the dampness of your skin. a taut nipple caught over your thumb, encouraging the pulsing warmth that greedily clings to him. "why would you want to do that?"

and if he had a heartbeat, it would burst with a raging. leave a vicious pounding into the ways of his pulse at the utterance of such a question. if only you knew.

"your dreams are just desires. they'll pass".

"and when they don't?"

you fight. for answers that don't leave a bitterness on your tongue. for his touch to become this great staining. a deep enough stitching beneath flesh and bone.

"they will".

you voice small. near fearful. "i don't believe you".

roman corrals you. faster than the air can refill your lungs from such an abrupt shifting. laying under him, heavy breathed and trembling, your shoulder blades resting over the arm of the couch. his eyes splitting into your skin, roaming, as always, as if to remember for the sake of forgetting, this soft surgical tearing through till you can feel the influence of him. a stuttering in your heart. fear and excitement one and the same. and when his cock ruts, slipping in wet and nearly unforgiving, you gasp into still thick air. his body hard and fluid, hips working deft, tongue running over the ways of his teeth.

his palms form over your thighs, pressing in to curl at the pliant flesh.

his heavy breaths take in the scent of you. sticky arousal and the tempting sweetness of your blood. he groans, fucks into your pussy with a toppling desperation.

his hair falls over him. raven colored and silky. his stitching together of words slurring. pleasure mounting his bones. taken by the dripping clutch you've suffered him to endure. but he's taken freely. gladly even.

"what do you want?".

his eyes glazing over. and you reach to nail your fingers over him. over taut tough muscle. a harsh prickling that feels delicious in his skin.

roman feels alive. like he could do anything. could give you anything.

thrill in your eyes and the heat in your skin, moaning beautiful, and if not for his deadness, it would surely be fatal. your lips now rouge-less, but addictive all the same. he wants to consume you.

"you". nothing more sure could ever be said. "i want you".

he grows faint in his control. words near a whisper.

"you don't know what you're asking for".

a breeze indulges the room. cuts into the thick air.

"please".

your body seizes. bursts hot and wild. and here he growls, dark and unbound from control.

red flecks spot his eyes, his breath oddly warm as he lowers his lips to kiss yours. tongue sweeping in, rough and rolling over.

your body preens, hitching and pulsing still. his nose nestling into where he can feel the beating of blood along your neck.

you sigh. content. arching your body into the weight of him.

a paining tear into your skin. sharp teeth into delicate supple flesh. blood slips over onto already tainted leather and the wide flat licking of his tongue. he moans, drunk, weighted against the abrupt shock of your body. drinking in the fast drip of red as he comes undone.

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fic #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns imagine #roman reigns smut #very very very slight supernatural elements #joannasteez

167 notes · View notes

zoropookie · 8 days

Text

HOW HATERS ARE BORN (HHAB)

♡ chapter twenty-one — oh no, he’s hot! (💋)

You can’t believe you agreed to this.

Oh wait, actually you can. Your mind keeps deciding what’s good for you, but was your mind even in the right place anyway? It’s really hard to come to terms with this right now while you’re sitting in Scaramouche’s passenger seat.

Was the Inazuma party that great for him to offer on his own to pick you up? If it weren’t for your absolute mastermind of a plan, you’d definitely say no. Hopefully?

But the both of you nestling in the straw bed of silence wasn’t on your bucket list for said plan. “How much longer?” You asked, breaking the awkward silence that had settled between you two like a thick fog.

“Thirty minutes.” Scaramouche’s dull tone was a true testament to the silence that encompassed them moments ago. It was kind of sad.

“And…how long was it when you started..?” You hesitantly drawled.

“Thirty-two minutes.”

“Oh my god,” You muttered, sinking into your seat. You should have never agreed for him to give you a ride, it’s like his brooding broodiness was plaguing your lungs.

But for some reason! You kept trying. “So! Uh…what made you want to pick me up anyway? We’ve got…some interesting history for you to be making this kind of effort right now!”

“I don’t do small talk.”

“Look, you gotta give me something. I’m dying here.” You pleaded with your eyes, probably the only sort of manipulation tactic you could try and use on him.

He let out a long, drawn out sigh. His violet eyes briefly flickering to meet yours before returning to the road. “It was either that, or bartend.”

“Wait, seriously? That’s it?” You raised an eyebrow, cheeks puffed from your fight to keep a laugh in. “You didn’t just want to be a good Samaritan, or what?”

“Do I look like I’d do something out of the goodness of my heart?” Scaramouche’s expression turned sour.

“I don’t know! You’re alright, I guess.” You caught yourself staring for a lot longer than expected, “Uhh, in the way that a clown at kids birthday parties has an extensive knife paraphernalia…kind of…alright?”

You cringed. This is a horrible conversation, even more so now that Scaramouche was willing to ignore what you said.

But the quieter it got, the better it was to hear a small laugh come out of his mouth. Even if you could barely hear the humor he got out of it. You looked at him, catching a glimpse of his mouth turned upwards.

There it was. The butterflies roaming in your stomach, vicariously reminding you of your own carefree mind. A faint glimmer of his amusement was enough to make you nervous, even when he barely made an effort to keep the small smile.

The crack in his demeanor returned to normal, once again unreadable. "Is that all you got?"

You felt a pang of disappointment at his lack of response, shoulder slumping. The awkward feeling was pretty much gone, but at what cost to your dignity? "Yeah, I guess so."

“You’re alright too, (Y/N).”

“Huh? I am..?" Oh no, he’s hot!

“Yeah. It’s unfortunate.”

previous ♡ masterlist ♡ next

YOU ARE on your way to being one of the hottest streamer in your nation at the moment, racking a monthly average of 10 million viewers, but something specific bothers you about it. you know that a lot of people hate you, but there's this one account. one account that's been following you since the early days of your career. they leave a flood of rude comments in your stream, your moderators banned each account they made, but they keep making more. you are at the end of your tether. but you are yet to find out that this persistent cockroach is none other than your friend's friend (and the only other streamer that's bigger than you), scaramouche.

taglist ♡ @thystarsshine @veekoko @gumickajolli @simonisferal @kamiboo

@justpeachyteastea @feiherp @pinkismyfavcolor @aether-darling @melpomenelurks

@keiiqq @mine-lu @featuredtofu @danhenglovebot @k4zushi

@kyon-cherri @b4tm4nn @iiinaurate @quacking-simp @auroratumbles

@kookiibun @ulquiorraswife @amvpk01 @simplysm1le @h3xi2g0n3

@alatusorrow @scaranthropy @mellowberrie @magica-ren @vernith

@kabukipookie @bananasquash @suqarlaced @dellalyra @lightyagamifan

@yourfavoritefreakyhan @heartsforseo @yomishen @pwushizz @swivy123

@strxwberryfetish @ibyobi @ashfrommars4 @chemiru @ainnofinway

@agaygothicmushroom @levianamor @dragontammerz @wth121 @lylovw

@morgyyyyyyy @lovemari (bold users means i'm having trouble tagging you)

#zoropookie #hhab #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche #genshin #genshin impact #genshin smau #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin x you #genshin x yn #scaramouche x yn #scaramouche x you

113 notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

Note

Hoping I haven’t missed the requests closing 🙏if so pls ignore!

I’m humbly asking for a fluffy Gaz x reader and reader meeting price bc I’ll die on the hill of Price and Gaz having a father/son relationship. And Gaz being so nervous on what price thinks? Brownie points if Price teases him! I love Gaz sm and I wanna smooch him on the forehead!!

Shaky Fingers

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: The perfect date night begins with a stolen wallet and a goose chase.

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

WARNINGS: None, just fluff

A/N: Switched some stuff around so it's more of the 141 as a whole, but it's still pretty much the same, enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You think Gaz was about ready to call the whole night off.

Laughing, you shake your head and walk over to Kyle after flattening out your dress with fast hands. The apartment bedroom was ripe with the scent of cologne and perfume; the floor lamp was on and you had just finished placing a luxurious necklace over your neck. The twinkling stone blinks like a white eye in the low light.

“Dear,” you chuckle deeply to your boyfriend of three years as his head is in his hands. Gaz sits on the bed, dejected. “It’s alright, I can pay for supper—it’s really not that big of a deal.”

“Bloody thing,” He groans, his tux wrinkled from the frantic patting he’d done to his pockets a few minutes prior. “I swear, Love, it was right in my pocket near noon!”

“Kyle,” stopping in front of him, you grab at his wrists, peeling his hands away from his handsome face. Grumpy eyes lock on yours but soften as you send an easy, reassuring, smile his way; the lines on his forehead fall from a harsh line to a squiggly suggestion on the page that is his face. He sighs. “It’s okay.”

Chuffing at the absurdity, your tone is a bit teasing.

“You’re acting like I don’t have a job, too,” Kyle grumbles at this, and his oval face shifts in a play of exaggerated exasperation.

“I’m not making you pay for our anniversary dinner, I’d never be able to sleep at night.” He says, and he captures your hands in his own, holding them together and bringing them to his lips for a delicate kiss. You tilt your head and watch, face heating.

“So you can run into active warzones and get covered in all sorts of fluids but you can’t handle letting your girlfriend pay for food? Kyle, you sound ridiculous.” Leaning forward, you lay a smooch on his forehead and feel his body jerk out chuckles.

“Never said I didn’t like the idea,” Brown eyes lower in a small jab. A joke making his lips pull up in a smirk. “It’s called being a gentleman, Love.”

“A gentleman that loses his wallet, apparently. Not very soldier-like, Sergeant Garrick.” Your eyelids crinkle as you grin, firing back just as fast as Gaz blinks, brought back to the dilemma that was pushing back your departure for the restaurant down in the city. A pointedly expensive restaurant.

“It was right on me! I swear, this has never happened before.”

You shrug, straightening up to full height and tugging at Kyle’s dress shirt; prompting him to stand up so you can straighten his tie. He does so without complaint, and your fingers spread over fine silk.

“I’m gutted. We can’t go until I find it. I’m not even that worried about my money—it’s my damn ID that’s draggin’ me by the arse.” You glance up at him, humming, before pulling at the neck of his shirt and setting the tie comfortably under. Kyle’s grip goes to rest on your waist and you slightly melt into his chest more.

“Base ID?” Your voice mutters out in question.

“Yeah, that’s the bloody one. Price’ll kill me if he finds I’ve lost it. Fuckin’ hell.” Sighing deeply, you sag into him, your chin going to rest on his collarbone so you can look up at him with a tiny glimmer of understanding.

Gaz’s jaw was tight with worry, brows drawn in and those two tiny scars on his left cheek pulled stiff. His stubble brushed your nose as he angled his head down to stare into your eyes when your grip traveled to wrap around his waist loosely. He huffs and kisses your nose bridge.

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart, I’m ruining the night with all this talk. We should be out already, shouldn’t we?” You’re already frowning at him, pinching his side as he grunts in surprise and stifles a boyish laugh.

“Quit that,” you say, “this is just as important. Do you remember where you last put it?”

You’d never been to Kyle’s work before—that is, the military base where he’s stationed at. He doesn’t really have a workplace per se, just a temporary office and barracks room if he needed it. The Sergeant is off across the world more often than not.

“I haven’t got a clue,” Kyle’s voice goes low but his chest rises with gratification at the genuine care you show to him over something as silly as this. Heat rises to his cheeks when your fingers run back and forth over his back—his own hands tighten around you, keeping you close. “I knew I had it at lunch. I went out and got you those flowers from that floral shop that you like—I had to use my ID to get back on Base.”

Those very flowers were sitting in a vase on your vanity, bright and vibrant. You’d swooned when Kyle had gotten back to the apartment with them.

“Alright,” your eyes stare off into your boyfriend’s brown orbs, focussing deeply. Gaz sees your nose scrunch in thought and he smiles widely, chuckling and lightly beginning to sway the two of you back and forth to unseen music. “Lunch,” you mutter, barely noticing.

“Don’t strain yourself, now,” Kyle teases.

“Hush,” Scolding, you fake a scowl and feel him rest his forehead on yours. His hair tickles your flesh and you giggle. Heart pounding, Gaz listens to you speak as if caught in a trap of his own making, gaze exceptionally soft and breathing secondary to the way your mouth curls into a smile; how your beauty ensnares him in your otherworldly glow. “Anything else, Dear?”

“Hm,” Blinking out of his love-struck gaze, Kyle thinks deeply—straining his mind. A memory sparks and a flame burns in his gut. His expression flips as the air sparks. “MacTavish…oh, that fucker’s dead.”

You make a noise of confusion as Gaz starts rambling, pulling back from you and beelining for the keys on the nightside table. Face open and soft with shock, you stutter a small laugh when the man darts back and grabs you by the shoulders; angling you to the bedroom door and to the foyer.

“Gaz?” You chuckle endearingly at his annoyed face, his lips pulled tight, and his eyes narrow on nothing as he releases you. He bends down and snatches your heels, turning and bending a knee with a groan.

“Bastard. I knew he would get to me eventually, Love, it was only a matter of time.”

“‘Get to you?’” Amusement makes you place a hand over your lips before a loud snort can escape your lungs. “Kyle, what are you on about?”

His nimble fingers loop the buckle of the heels over your ankle, pulling to a comfortable tightness as he cradles your calf. Brown eyes glance up at you with deep seriousness.

“Soap…I told you about him, yeah?” you nod and carefully place your foot back down; letting Gaz pick up the other and slip your foot into the expensive material. The smile never leaves your face as the calloused hands scrape your flesh. Kyle huffs out a scoff. “He’s been pulling all of our legs for weeks—got to some of the recruits first but it bled over to One-Four-One. Didn’t think he’d fuck with me so soon; would have prepared otherwise.”

“The Scottish one?” You stand fully on your two feet and grab your coat from the hook and slip it over your shoulders, glancing at Gaz as he puts on his own shoes. You go over and kiss the top of his head in thanks for the assistance with your own. “So you were pranked?”

“When he bumped into me,” your boyfriend explains, and you’re being carefully corralled out the door with your arm resting in the crook of his elbow; you grip the nice fabric of his suit and listen with rapt attention and a toothy smile. “I thought he’d just wanted to hurry on to the pub—I didn’t think much of his grab at my waist as anything more than to keep him steady. Mate stole my fucking wallet.”

He says it so aghast that you giggle and see him blink, expression turning cheeky.

“What?” Gaz looks over at you with a raised brow and a smirk. “Look at that beautiful smile—you think this is funny, Love? You are just wicked, you are.”

“I think it’s hilarious,” your body leans into his heavily; pulling his body heat into yours and making you all toasty as you gaze at him with love. “Are we going on a mission, Sergeant?”

Gaz stares with a vast haze of affection and pleasure, “Damn right we are.” An arm wraps around your waist and squeezes your flesh—your face goes warm. “We’re trackin’ down a shit-faced Scot on our anniversary. Bloody brilliant if you ask me. You have my six?��

“Well,” you sigh with enjoyment, not at all angry or annoyed at the strained dinner reservation. Brown eyes crinkle at you. “It’ll be good to finally meet who you work with.” Your lips widen, “I’d be honored.”

“Christ, let’s just hope he has it on him.”

—

Gaz huffs as he pushes open the front door to the pub, and you take in the scent of tobacco and alcohol. With a muttered thanks to your boyfriend as he holds open the barrier for you, you slip inside and the smell only increases to a violent level. You blink around the old-style wood and decor, surprised with how much you enjoy the drunken cheeks and dim light atmosphere. Like a wave that goes in and out, your ears ring from music playing out a jukebox in the far corner.

“This way, then,” Kyle sighs loudly, and you see his eyes have already locked into three men at the bar top. A loud roar of laughter accompanies the both of you as you head over to who you assumed were his coworkers.

You glance down at your expensive attire and then at Gaz’s and stifle a loud laugh at the stares you’re getting. The two of you are comically overdressed.

“MacTavish!” Your boyfriend calls eyes exasperated if not a bit annoyed. When all of the individuals at the bar turn to look at the two of you. “Want to explain why my wallet’s not in my fucking pant pocket right now?”

You figure out who he’s talking to when the man with a strong face and a mohawk bursts out into chest-jerking laughter after a second of pure silence. His pale hands slap the table where his multiple empty shot glasses rattle against one another.

“Oh, hell,” yep, Scottish. Gaz glowers next to you with a stiff frown until you elbow his side. He glances down and rolls his eyes as you chuckle—his arm going over your shoulders.

“Fuckin’ not again—What’s he done?” The gravel in the bearded man’s tone took you aback for a moment, such a low and grating voice laced with a firm authority. A black beanie was on top of his brown hair, and tiny orbs colored like the sea turned to stare.

They blink in slight surprise when they find you, curiously shifting the lines present.

“Johnny, what the fuck?” A shrouded man grumbles, a face mask sitting comfortably over most of his expression and a hood up over his head. Blueish-gray eyes blink in your direction before their numbness shifts back to the wheezing Scot.

“Ah, Christ, I’m sorry,” Johnny gasps, clearly drunk by the flush to his skin. You spare a look with Gaz and can’t help the amused twitch of your brow. “Didn’t realize I’d forgotten to give it back to ya!”

“Stole my bloody wallet is what he’s done,” Kyle mutters to the man with a beard, who you assumed to be his Captain only by the atmosphere surrounding him. “We’re late for dinner.”

“Kyle, I told you it’s alright,” your hand goes to pinch his cheek before his face heats up so much you feel it from your fingers. Eyes shifting, you address the three with a smile. “Such a worrier this one,” you huff and introduce yourself by name, “...it’s a pleasure.”

“Pleasure’s all ours, Sweetheart,” the Captain grunts, raising his nearly empty glass into the air in greeting. “Good to finally put a face to a name. John Price. John’s all well and good.” He motions to the masked man. “Ghost.”

You send a nod and a grin the large and intimidating Brit’s way. All he does is stare before blinking slowly.

“Soap,” Kyle levels, shifting away from you and walking closer to the Scot with a loosely motioning hand, “C’mon, Mate, you’re piss-faced—hand it over.”

“Does he always do this?” You ask easily to Price and Ghost as the other two go at it like teens.

John shares an amused glance with you and grunts out a low chuckle. “Not always, told him to tone it down ‘fore he gets Disciplinary.”

Ghost huffs in agreement, scratching at his arm.

“Like tellin’ a fuckin’ dog not to go after a bone.” You snort, looking back at your boyfriend as he begins patting down a limp and slurring Soap like airport security.

“Seems you two have got your hands full. I know Kyle isn’t above poking fun, either.”

“Waitin’ for them to burn each other out, Love,” John utters, and you share a cheeky smile with him.

You enjoyed how easy it was to converse with the man—especially the one that was in charge of your boyfriend while he was away. It puts you at ease to finally meet all of them... no matter how shit-faced.

“Aha!” Gaz’s form rips out the body of his leather wallet with a shout of victory. Soap grumbles, rubbing at his face with the heel of his palm.

“If I’d known you were takin’ your bonnie girl out I’d have taken your tags instead.”

“Well look at that, so considerate,” Kyle chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re demented, Mate.”

“Ah, that’s just the top of it, eh?” You chuckle at the Scot’s comment, pulling out your phone from your jacket pocket and checking the time.

“Can we still make it?” Kyle asks, jogging back up to you as you click your tongue; turning the screen and showing him with a smirk.

“Think they’ll forgive a fifteen-minute absence?” Your boyfriend slowly deflates and your face softens at the sight of his sagging shoulders. John sighs long at his seat and stands; slapping a hand on Kyle’s shoulder and lightly placing one on yours.

Gaz looks up at him in surprise.

“Well, that’s proper bad luck,” the Captain starts, face serious and tiny eyes narrowed, “say what, then, the two of you pick what you want and Soap’ll cover the cost for the night.” Ghost huffs a dull bark of a laugh from his seat. You’re not even sure Johnny heard it above him tipping back another shot.

You and Kyle share a glance before twin smirks form on both of your faces.

“Can…you do that, Sir?” Kyle asks, accusatory.

“What kind of a bloody question is that?” John grunts before staring at you. “Now, don’t think too hard about it, eh? MacTavish has been getting too bold—maybe losin’ a few bills’ll screw his head back straight.”

“I have no problem with it,” your eyes slide to your boyfriend, raising an eyebrow. “You?”

John chuckles and pats your shoulders, squeezing. “Knew she’d jump on it.”

Kyle laughs, making the most of the situation as he nods a few times—watching you with his eyes drowned with warmth and affection.

“I’m down.” You giggle excitedly and slip into one of the dirty bar seats next to Ghost, eagerly trying to get him into a conversation about drinks and good food available in your expensive dress and jacket.

Gaz stares after with a tiny smile, slipping his wallet into his pocket where it belongs.

“Proper Bird,” John mutters, glancing at his Sergeant, grunting as Kyle chuffs. “It’s good to have something like that to go back to. Make it last, then.”

“I don’t plan on messing this up, Boss,” Gaz’s cheeks go hot with embarrassment, but it’s telltale how his eyes never leave your frame for a single second. “Not on my life.”

“Good.” John nods his head, “Go on.”

Kyle sends him a thankful look and shuffles over to the empty seat next to yours; feeling you immensely snuggle up into his side and continue your mostly one-sided conversation with Ghost. Soap was still drinking down his beverages with loud comments every once and a while.

Gaz kisses the top of your head and waves over the bartender.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

1K notes · View notes