#i will reply to previous threads

[wintersovereign]

Replies & Activity

Roleplay is a cherished hobby for me, and I want to keep it lighthearted and fun. I manage this blog with smaller threads and a lot of memes -- memes are the best way to interact with me and get things started -- and I aim to reply about once a week via a queue. I don’t expect everyone to match my pace; a bit of consistency helps keep our stories flowing more easily for me as someone with ADD-PI, but life gets busy, and we all have different paces, so please don't stress about replies to our interactions taking longer. Having some semi consistent ooc communication is extremely helpful for me as well, if you're comfortable with that. I enjoy chatting ooc about our muses and hearing that you’re enjoying the interactions as much as I am. We don’t need to become best friends or share personal details; I happen to thrive when there is a good ooc connection between us, and it helps form a strong bond between our characters, which is also important to me.

[in-need-of-another-name]

post-traitors ep7 thoughts

This is what I was worried about with Minah – that she'd come under suspicion purely because she hasn't come under suspicion before, of no fault of her own. We did see today that she could handle herself under pressure well today, but when everyone's piling onto you, almost everything can be taken as suspicious. A weak argument with panic is a sign you're guilty, a strong argument without panic is a sign you're guilty (because you're clearly good at keeping calm under pressure and are a good liar, and look, you've had a defence all figured out, so you must be guilty!)... I really hope she stays, the show's editing could definitely be making it out to be worse than it actually is (since they know we're invested in her as the only original traitor), but sometimes you're an unfortunate victim of circumstance and there's nothing you can do (think Nicky in S1). PLS DON'T GO MINAH I CAN'T LOSE BOTH MY FAVS TWO EPISODES APART

Sad to see Alexander come under suspicion too, I really like him and it's always nice to see someone with logical reasoning – it was wrong, but his argument about the odds of a recruitment being much higher than the odds of Leanne (or Minah, but everyone knew she was one of three with a shield) getting targeted was completely sound! Much stronger evidence than a diplomat, someone who's been in many actually high-stakes situations because of his job, not appearing panicked after the events of a gameshow...

Really happy to see Linda making some moves, even if she was banished – I didn't hate her and enjoyed the 'how is she still around' memes, but she really grew on me/redeemed herself as a player in my eyes in her final episode, which was great to see! Also the Linda Minah conversation at breakfast... aaa it was so sweet... it's the first time I've seen such open loyalty between Traitors (and yes, Minah did go with the tide and turn on Linda, but she had tried her best to steer suspicion away from her previously)

I am really happy about the Charlotte recruitment! I don't really have an idea on how strong it is strategically (especially considering Charlotte hasn't been focused on very much by the edit in the past few episodes, so we don't know too much about where she'll stand), but I have really enjoyed what I've seen of her, so I'm really excited to see what her and Minah will be like as a Traitors duo (and what she'll be like as a Traitor in the first place).

(As I said in another post) I am feeling slightly better about Ep6 because of this too, since because Minah was committed (at least this ep) to continuing the sisterhood, we probably weren't robbed of a Minah Dan traitor duo because that probably wouldn't have happened anyway

On that topic, rip Dan you would've loved the riddles (aka forms of logic puzzles) in this episode's task

I wouldn't be surprised if Lisa gets murdered tonight, considering she's pretty much confirmed Faithful to everyone there now Linda was revealed to be a Traitor (unless they keep her as a potential recruitment, but I don't think the intention is to do much recruitment – every one risks destabilising your place in the castle)

The dramatic zoom-in to the not-so-significnt secrets on the scrolls on Uncloaked was so funny (also I love the Linda Fozia dynamic so much, Fozia's last words in the Traitors proper were so on point as well)

[pumpkinhcad]

👫 - if it it's too early I understand!

RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS (ALWAYS ACCEPTING).

Ryuji and Pump have this running gag going on where they keep catching each other skipping. Somehow, by pure chance, and probably for similar reasons, they will appear in the same place at the same time and, well, "get caught red-handed" by the other. And the exchange that follows always goes the same way too: " I'm skipping? YOU are skipping! " And no, Ryuji has never successfully convinced Pump of going back to school. He tries to, or at least would like to, be a good influence around this kid but, well, he is just as guilty of having some "troublemaker" tendencies due to the status given to him.

Even when Ryuji does NOT skip school and hangs out with the other Phantom Thieves, sometimes he will have the misfortune of being the one guy that spots Pump having broken into the school grounds (he still wants to know what these teenagers do at school all day after all). Some other times, Ryuji will only find out because, legit, one of his friends mentioned "swearing they had spotted a Jack-o'-Lantern somewhere at school that morning" (which should not be possible but, whatever). Every time he will get nervous, excuse himself, and make a run for that kid because he should not be there!! Breaking into a school you are not enrolled in is bad!!

More than one person has assumed that Pump is one of Ryuji's younger relatives, and the latter does not have the heart to tell them otherwise because... well, he is just that good around kids, for some reason. He does not find Pump, or other children his age, annoying (unlike other teenagers, or even adults, would), and so they tend to gravitate towards him. It's mainly Pump, but wherever Pump goes Skid usually also goes so. It has gotten to the point that at least one girl has told Ryuji that he has "big brother charisma" and he has that kind of popularity now.

He SWEARS to God that he has seen Pump in a Palace one time, and is afraid to find out if it was really him or just a stray Jack-o'-Lantern. It is really that difficult to tell the difference between the kid and the demon sometimes because both really like their fire. It is also very likely that Pump has shown Ryuji some of the many unspeakable things you can do with only one lighter, which does not help clear up the Jack Bros. look-a-like allegations. It really had gotten that bad. Poor Skull cannot see a lone Jack-o'-lantern without having a bad feeling anymore.

[shiloh-ia]

"Uhum, exactly. Some, quite honestly, look just like ruffled chickens. Not even proper white." Was he overly crude towards his fellow angels? Perhaps. But Shiloh clearly didn't care about it, nor would he miss the opportunity to diss his kind, which probably left no doubt about the fact that he wasn't on good terms with the holy family up above the clouds.

"Modest too, aren't we? I'll give you this one, I complimented you first." Shiloh commented teasingly, his eyebrows shooting upwards with the mirrorwalker stepping away from him. Frankly, he found the reaction quite amusing, endearing too if he were to be honest to the core, but today wasn't that kind of day, so the angel stuck with amusing. Straightening his position, the heavenly creature fixed his lips into a pout with Lee Know's response, letting his wings drop deliberately to emphasise his disappointment.

"Oh, I thought you knew things. Because you see, up there," he pointed towards the sky, "They are pretty strict. We even had a curfew and whatnot." Not quite. "But I mean, I could teach you how to make a rosary if you feel crafty. But honestly, I thought you could teach me something. Cool guys like you don't usually make rosaries."

@leeknow-ia

[tidesfate]

“&– - Even if they stay to running, hold them on the soul. Collecting all the people, no giving into taking more needed to keep on feeding.” // @abysswarden liked for a lyrical starter

[iobartach]

@shinobinvku [chitose] asked; "Is that blood on my clean floor? It had better be yours."

It's not lost on him that he's returned to the same place, after sunset, without invitation, appealing for help... but not in a way that Chitose may expect. Little planning was involved when it came to deciding where the Society's leader ventured on a given mission -- and that included revisiting old haunts, testing his fortunes for a second time.

In terms of differences observed, though, there were several in number. Compared to last time, he remembered to knock first, rather than sneak into her clinic through an open window. And when Miguel had managed to slip successfully inside, he stayed standing, rather than retreat out of sight. The same constant remained however, as crimson blotches coated his curled fists and stretched along his forearms, still fresh enough that a few droplets had fallen behind him in a distinct trail, that led back to to the window.

"What does it matter?" An indifferent reply serves as his defence, sparing only the faintest of glances to examine the stains, before remembering to check his own hands. At this, fingers are willed to unclench, slow, tired movements that saw his visage twist painfully beneath that navy-blue disguise, indicating that he could be injured after all.

"...Okay, some of it might be. But not all." Which in turn led to the reason for his visit; "Could I trouble you to take a sample of the blood that isn't mine?" The circumstances weren't ideal, and what specimens could be gathered were likely contaminated by this stage, but he believed there was still enough blood clinging to his arms to to be viable.

[justassorted]

(Continued from here with @writedisaster )

writedisaster:

        Lip doesn’t have anything to say in response to the physician’s continued denial.  He just stares, as if he’s not quite sure whether Ithadel had been speaking to him or to someone else, someone in a different place, someone who can afford to hear no.  It’s Phyllis who first seems to understand.  She hides her face while Lip keeps staring.         The question makes Lip flinch.  The physician’s voice sounds low and taut; he sounds like someone they want to please.  But they can’t answer.  They can’t.  They’ve already fucked this up so badly.  They lift their chin, trying to look like Phoebe, act like Phoebe.  They’ll say something harsh about how it’s not his place to ask, and they’ll-         His hands look like their father’s hands.  Their head stops working again.         “Our… hosts,"  they hear themself say instead.  Their voice is clear enough, but it sounds like it’s taking a great effort to speak that clearly.  "It would be… rude… to refuse our hosts.”         Phyllis is crying.  She’s trying to hide it, but she isn’t as good at that as Lip is.  She’s young.  She hasn’t had his years of practice.  As quiet as it is, the sound makes Lip move again.  He wraps her in his arms, cradling her golden head against his shoulder as she shakes.  He forces himself to breathe in, and then to speak.         “It’ll be alright, Liss.  It’ll be alright.  We’ll be-  you’ll-  I’ll just ask the prince for help.”         The thing about being secondborn is you don’t really need to be smart.  Secondborn children don’t need the steadiness of the firstborn child, or the cleverness of the youngest.  It is to everyone’s good fortune that Prince Lip was born second.  And it’s a joke that he’s the one sitting here now, talking about this.         Phyllis stops crying, as much from surprise as anything else.  “The prince?"  she repeats, in a whisper.  "But he’s-”         “-so wise and so kind,"  Lip interrupts fervently, before Phyllis can say anything she shouldn’t.  "I’m sure he’ll be able to help us.”         He takes Phyllis’s hands in his own, gives her a light squeeze and a warm smile.  Despite the sleepless eyes and uncombed hair, he looks for a moment like the prince who waves to the tournament crowds.  Bright and lovely and unhurt.  “I’ll ask Harriet to bring ice for your ankle, and then tonight I’ll speak to the prince.  It’ll all be alright.”         He knows Phyllis is young, but she’s smart.  Smarter than him, probably.  Smart enough to know a bad idea when she hears one.  But she’s young and she’s hurt and he’s her big brother, and she wants to believe that he has the right answers for this.  He can’t blame her for that.  He kisses her forehead and draws back.  Things to do.         He pulls the bell-rope that will alert Harriet, and slowly, unsteadily gets to his feet.  “I’ll talk to her,"  he mumbles, looking at no one.  "If you have anything else that could help with the pain…”         The sentence trails off as he focuses on walking, leaving Ithadel and Phyllis to sort out the remainder.  He doesn’t know Harriet as well as he knows Anna; better to meet her in the hall than to have her come in and see Ithadel here.  When she shows up, he’s leaning against the doorframe outside; he relays Ithadel’s instructions on ice and care, then sends her on her way.  Once she’s gone, he leans back into the room.          “Are you ready?"  He asks listlessly, pulling at the clasp of his cloak.  "I’ll walk with you to the door.”

Ithadel’s ringing panic eases as Lip neither censures him nor accuses the monarchs, but it still takes him longer than it should to process the reply, watching the royals comfort each other with wide, wary eyes.

At least part of his difficulty is because what Lip is saying doesn’t make sense.

Hosts? If anyone should be the host it would be the royal family; this is their castle and he doesn’t know of recent travel. And… it’s hard to picture Lip asking his brother for help with this. Is another royal family visiting? Ithadel doesn’t pay much mind to public going-ons in that vein, but usually there’s some sort of public spectacle or chatter from his patients that he can’t avoid.

As the prince steps away, Ithadel speaks to the princess in a low, conspiratorial murmur. “Are you worried that you will still have to dance, or worried about disappointing your… your ‘hosts’?”

But the princess just shakes her head. Ithadel clenches his jaw and stares down at the bed – slowly notices his hands, and carefully unclenches those, smoothing apologetically at the bedding until it lies smooth once more. (Except it doesn’t. Pressed wrinkles remain, faint but accusatory.)

This. This is why. It wasn’t just his family, it’s any structure with people that have complete authority like this, isn’t it? All it takes is one unreasonable person in power and suddenly everyone else is forced to act out a nightmare.

…that thought is probably treasonous, in this context.

…but Earth and Sky, this isn’t his nation, he doesn’t have a home anymore, and he really, really didn’t want to ever have to do this dance again —

(You think these children are any happier with it?)

Ithadel closes his eyes. He breathes out a slow breath; draws it in steady, by sheer force of will if not true calm.

Do the work. No trick. No choice. He can’t fix the world, but he can do his job, and that’s all it has ever really come down to. So Ithadel numbly considers his options and begins to plan what little mitigation he can offer. Nothing about what he’s witnessed here so far has inclined him towards optimism; better to plan for the worst case.

When Lip leans back in, it’s to find that Ithadel has partially unwrapped Phyllis’s ankle and is rearranging and reinforcing the splinting to provide more support. He doesn’t look up from his work as the prince speaks. His lips are pressed thin and pale.

“I’m starting to think,” Ithadel says, a bit distantly, “that the advice I’ve given you so far may not be well-tailored to your current situation.” And then he adds the dangerous part: “If I knew more about that situation, I might have different suggestions.”

Ithadel finishes with the princess’s leg, sets it back on the cushion, and dares a brief glance up at the prince to try to judge his reaction before turning back to his bag, measuring out a dose of pain tonic for the princess.

“Either way, my… your…” How on Earth am I supposed to address royalty– “Prince Lip, I would appreciate the opportunity to tend to your feet as well. Burst blisters present the risk of infection.”

It’s an assumption, but an assumption in which Ithadel is confident. The prince’s movements are ginger in the extreme. Ithadel swallows and offers the medication to Phyllis, avoiding eye contact and doing his best to minimize his overall presence.

(These aren’t audacious suggestions from a lowly subject. Of course not. They are entirely neutral possibilities, presented for the prince to take or leave as he will.)

[four-horsemen]

"No shit? What part?" Francis asks, and while it may be fruitless to do so, after cutting eyes toward the path ahead to make sure that it's still clear, the biker keeps his sights predominantly set on the creature in front of him, even though he can't even see the other's face; not so much in an attempt to read him as it is an attempt to size him up.

On the one hand, it could absolutely be handy to have one of the little buggers nearby— assuming said bugger wasn't going to try and eat his face in the middle of the night. On the other hand, well. It could try and eat his face in the middle of the night. But damn, whether he'd ever admit to it or not, it sure is nice to have somebody around to talk to.

Regardless, he isn't committing to an answer right this second.

@intodivergence, continued from threads past

[paramoira]

@sungodded gets a random starter!

there was a certain peace of which encased the world in the dawn hours. dew still clung to blades of grass, streaks of color created prisms of reflections, and the ground still crunched under her feet as she breathed in the farm air. car door is closed quietly, phone left on the seat and ariadne seeking not to disturb the soft birdsong of nearby trees. it was nice, on weekend mornings such as this following a chaotic week of post mortems to be able to take the small drive to uncle nik's estate. there was no need to inform anyone of her presence, she'd held free reign of the estate since she was in her teens and ari was sure once those at the main house were awake someone would inform them of her presence if not simply due to the fact her car was present outside the stables. there's a few stable hands beginning their work on the far side, though she does not bother them, greeting her horse sherlock and brushing him out briefly before tacking him up.

it's still early when she mounts, starting out slowly on a path to warm him up before they veer onto a trail of the property. somewhere, within the recesses of her mind she's aware, perhaps, she should have informed someone of her route for as well as she knew the estate and as observant as she often was, some of the trails and fields tended to confuse her, especially when she neared property lines. still, when had sherlock or any other horse of the estate ever led her astray? if nothing else, they knew what direction to go to return to their food and she had the light of the sun as a directional guide. time quickly becomes relative as she allows the wind to find her hair, a kind of carefreeness washing over her has seemed to be lacking as of late given unexpected reunions and the fashion in which previously separate factions of her life suddenly felt as if they were melding together.

what the pathologist hadn't anticipated, however, was something to spook sherlock into rearing up, her subsequent tumble and the loudness of the horse's reaction transpiring too quickly for her to gather the details of the source. though, as her head hits the ground somewhere near the parietal ridge she thinks maybe she heard the rattle of a snake. her vision spots a few times, the blunt force of the fall causing her to possibly black out for a moment or two though she's unclear if such was the case or not. when ariadne's finally able to focus enough to see that her horse is still present, having stomped out whatever had scared him once he'd seen it coming toward her, she wonders aloud in her native turkish tongue.

'what gods did i manage to piss off this week, sherlock?' not that she has much experience with gods even if her work with the bprd has seemed to confirm at least an element of her belief that many of different pantheons existed. her comment had also been more of a joke than a true wonderment (then again, who knew these days?) of course, the dark horse with a brilliantly light mane can give her no answer other than to push her face with his nose. "you're a good boy, sherlock. thank you."

ariadne attempts to sit up, finds that while she's fairly certain she doesn't have a brain bleed or any life-threatening head injuries baring a likely concussion (at least it wasn't amnesia this time), the pain within her shoulder was another story-- dislocation, great. she lets her head fall back into the grass, the suns rays warming her skin as she faces it. perhaps it's not really a true prayer, and certainly not directed upon any specific god, yet she finds herself hopeful for help. not that she wouldn't manage on her own somehow, eventually, even if she'd have to pop her shoulder back into place somehow, maybe with the side of a tree? and here inlaid why uncle nik always told her to tell someone, anyone, before she went out for a ride.

[tides-of-clarity]

Guess who got a new laptop charger

[stellamarielu]

rusty

jack abbot x female reader

summary: after a dry spell in his sex life, jack would’ve never imagined the next women he’d have naked in his bed would be his favorite first year resident.

content: nsfw, 18+, mdni, resident!reader, touch starved!jack, established relationship, a little bit of fluff smushed in there, but mostly smut, jack being nervous to have sex for the first time in years, but then ofc something in him snaps and he gets a little freaky with it, jack uses the nickname kid for the reader (1) time, also uses the nickname sweetheart, fingering, handjob (if you blink you’ll miss it), p in v sex, dirty talk, condom use and the crowd boos (sorry had to keep it realistic! if i’m having sex with someone for the first time and they’re not wrapping it….questionable)

word count: 4.5k

author’s note: wanted to write something about big tough jack abbot being a little nervy to see you naked but i also wanted to write something about him having an inappropriate relationship with his resident…. so alas this was born. enjoy!

“I haven’t done this in a while.” 

The words stumble from Jack’s lips in an exasperated sigh. They nearly get lost between kisses, the confession hidden amidst the steamy exchange as your bodies barrel through his front door. 

Reaching up to thread your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck, your forearms rest on his shoulders to steady yourself as he maneuvers you into his bedroom. 

You don’t reply to his admission, just smile into the kiss as your hands trail down his torso finding the hem of his shirt. Your fingertips carefully tracing his skin underneath the material. 

He wanted to tell you it had been years since he’d been with a woman like this— wanted to apologize in advance for being a bit rusty, but the light touch of your hands exploring the skin just above the waistband of his pants, had him losing his previous train of thought. 

He couldn’t think about how long it’d been since he’d brought a woman back to his place, couldn’t even think about how insanely wrong it was to be kissing you in his bedroom.

With that being said, he should be proud of himself for holding out this long.

It had been months of having you on his shift.

Week after week of watching you prance around the ER with that cute little smile on your face, following every last one of his orders. Always meeting his sarcastic remarks with witty comments of your own, the two of you working effortlessly together like there was some sort of magnetic field between you that pulled him to every case you worked on. 

It was so innocent at first, shared inside jokes and granola bars in the breakroom. Him giving you a hard time for your absurd coffee intake through the night, making comments about how the quad shot of espresso you walked in with was going to send you into cardiac arrest. 

But then, there was the time he put his hand on your lower back to squeeze behind you at the triage desk. The second his touch met the polyester of your scrubs, applying just enough pressure to seep through the thin fabric, your head turned in his direction. 

You didn’t mean to look at him, but you couldn’t help it. His fingers stayed splayed out on your back for one second too long, and your eyes shot to his, the electric current running through your body impossible to ignore. 

A sudden tension emerged in the small space between you, his stare raking down your body to where his hand sat just above your waist, taking his time trailing them back up with a knowing smirk on his lips. 

The moment was fleeting but it played out in slow motion before his hand was gone and he was breezing past you into the trauma bay.

After that it became a game of cat and mouse, both of you sensing a pull of desire toward the other but almost too afraid to do anything about it. 

For Jack, it was because you were his intern, just a first-year resident looking to him for guidance and education. His apprentice. It felt wrong to look at you in any other way. He wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if he took advantage of the obvious power imbalance at play in the situation. 

Not to mention he was off his game. 

He had no problem coming across abundantly confident at work, but as far as dating went, Jack hadn’t waded into those waters for years. There was a part of him that gave up on his love life. Maybe that’s why he threw himself into work, to avoid the loneliness that found him in his lack of companionship. 

You could sense his apprehension.

The way he would subtly flirt with you and then walk away from the conversation like nothing happened. He was trying to avoid the guilt of getting too familiar, but it left you confused about his intentions. 

It wasn’t until one morning that you decided to rip off the band aid entirely, asking him to join you for breakfast after your shift. 

It was a simple invitation, one that could’ve been strictly friendly, but the way he smiled when you asked, looking around to see if anyone else heard, told you it was the start of something else entirely. 

And it was.

The two of you went to breakfast, talking for hours in a corner booth, over a stack of pancakes and a few slices of bacon. 

It was the first time you saw each other outside of the hospital.

Everyone else in that restaurant could recognize the two of you for what you were; happy. Finding joy in each other’s presence through constant laughs and affectionate smiles. But Jack couldn’t see it that way— couldn’t shake the conflicting feelings of guilt.

It wasn’t until you reached over him to dip your bacon in a pool of syrup on his plate that he finally relaxed. He soaked it in, sitting with you like that, because when the nagging thoughts of how inappropriate it all was began to cloud his mind, the gentle touch of your hand brushing his thigh chased them away. Your fingertips curled just above his knee as you continued telling him a story, the hold making him forget why he was even worried about saying yes to your invitation in the first place. 

That was the first time he crossed a boundary with you. Allowing himself to get lost in your voice, hidden away in some diner down the street from the hospital. But it didn’t stop there. 

The next time was when he walked you home after work, only three days after your shared breakfast date. 

He knew he shouldn’t have done it, but you parted ways outside the sliding hospital doors and he watched as you walked down the street, all by yourself.

For a split second he could imagine what his frame would look like walking next to you, and so he followed, catching up to your stride with satisfaction running through his veins at your surprised smile to see him standing at your shoulder. You lived in an apartment building a block away, he knew because you mentioned it one time, and even though his leg was killing him after such a brutal shift, he walked next to you all the way to the front door of your complex.

Your bodies lingered on the sidewalk, palpable tension bouncing between them through prolonged goodbyes. 

That was the first time your gaze fell to his lips. 

The curiously hopeful look in your eyes made his mouth go completely dry, because Surely you weren’t going to kiss him in broad daylight… right? The world spun around him while your eyes stayed fixed on the straight line of his mouth, until they fluttered back up, meeting his line of sight and smiling brightly.

“Goodnight Jack.” Your hand met his bicep, squeezing lightly as you turned to walk into the building with a small wave. 

Goodnight, even though it was nearly eight in the morning. 

It was something you said to everyone after each shift, bidding your coworkers a good stretch of sleep, knowing you all shared a fucked-up sleep schedule due to working the night shift. 

Jack found the greeting endearing. Smiling wide every time he heard the sing-song chime of your voice wishing everyone a restful day before leaving work in the morning. 

His days were hardly restful though, he never got much sleep when he went home, because you were always on his mind. 

After that day in front of your apartment building, he went out of his way to walk you home nearly every morning, if only for a few extra minutes of hearing your voice, and a small hope that you would look at his lips like that again. 

When you finally did kiss him, it was well worth the wait. 

It happened on the roof. 

An especially hard night landed you outside for some fresh air, overlooking the city as you tried your best to clear your mind. 

Jack came up to check on you. 

Avoiding him entirely, your apathetic stare stayed plastered on the lights of the city. He stood next to you in silence for a while before placing a gentle hand of reassurance on your cheek, bringing your gaze to his and searching your eyes to make sure you were okay. 

It was emotionally charged, the way you crashed your lips into his.

He held your face delicately in his hands, using his jaw to dive into the kiss, hungry and sloppy and undeniably passionate. 

More than anything he wanted to explore every inch of you— to let his hands travel your entire body, but instead his palms stayed strictly on your face, careful not to push things too far. 

In fact, weeks of suppression followed while Jack tried to respect the unknown undercurrents of your relationship. 

A few more kisses were shared, even some heated make out sessions and heavy petting in the on-call room at work, but nothing more. 

He’d be lying if he said his trepidation wasn’t slightly due to the rather lengthy sexual hiatus taking place in his life. But he could only deny his urges for so long, and this morning after breakfast, instead of walking you back to your apartment, he invited you over to his place for the first time.

An unspoken agreement hung in the air the whole way home, one laced with heavy sexual tension. 

That’s what landed you here— barely two feet past the threshold of his bedroom door with your hands dangerously close to the waistband of his pants, and Jack couldn’t dare to think straight. 

The only thoughts he could muster revolved around how much he fucking liked you. This other worldly figure standing before him, toying with the ties on his pants, fingertips brushing his abdomen and fuck- he was on another planet. Your touch was sending a vaguely familiar heat rushing through his body and he wanted more— needed it. 

Something about the situation sent him on a power trip. His cock pushing against the lose restraint of his scrubs at the sudden realization that he finally had you right where he wanted you after all this time. Months of getting to know each other and countless dates ending in polite kisses and lingering goodbyes— all of it leading to this moment with his fingertips curling into your waist. 

But there was still a little sliver of him that felt nervous, slightly unsure of venturing into unknown territory with you. 

He was still trying to convince himself that you were genuinely interested in him, because when he looked at you he saw this beautiful woman, all radiant and self-assured, on the arm of some guy nearly twice her age who rarely smiled and always had a grumpy wise-ass remark on his tongue. 

His hands went rigid at the thought, the doubts taking him out of the moment for a few seconds, and you could sense the uneasiness in his touch.

Pulling away from the kiss, you watched his expression, his lips parted to make way for fast shallow breaths as he stared back at you, his eyes hooded with desire but swimming with hesitation. 

“We don’t have to do anything Jack.” Your words were sincere as you continued looking for any sign of regret in the hazel of his eyes.

“No, I want this.” His brows furrowed as the winded confession fell from his lips. His hands grasped at your hips, holding firm while his thumbs rubbed into your sides. 

“You sure?” Voice changing slightly, you moved into a more playful state, fingers coming to the tie on his pants as you kept your eyes trained on his face. 

“We could just talk.” 

A playful whisper slid between your lips as you undid the drawstring between your fingertips.

“Or maybe watch a movie.” 

Then, your hand slid into the waistband of his underwear, only a few inches, just enough to make his breath hitch. 

He tried to cover his surprise at your touch, now dangerously close to the base of his cock. Mustering enough self-control to speak, his words come out calm and collected despite the dizzying effect of your hand down his pants.

“You’re funny, kid. You know that?” 

Kid. 

A nickname he'd been calling you since the day you were assigned to his shift.

You were just an intern; young, hungry, and passionate. Had he known you’d end up with your hands halfway down his pants in the middle of his bedroom, he might've opted for a different title of endearment.

“Seriously Jack, we can take things slow-“

A low chuckle interrupts your attempt to comfort him, trying to give him a chance to back out. 

He guides you back to sit on the edge of his bed, smirking and shaking his head from side to side.

“Stop talking.” The words are rushed. A deep rasp from his lips as he leans in to kiss you, pushing your body until your back meets his mattress.

“I don’t think you realize how long I’ve thought about this.” It was apparent that Jack was hungry— starving even— to see more of you. His hands working quickly to get your pants down your legs and onto his bedroom floor. 

“And what do you think about Jack?” He’d never heard that tone in your voice before, low and sultry while you leaned up on your elbows to look at him through your lashes.

“Jesus- I’ve thought about having you on my bed like this,” There was nothing subtle about the way his eyes scraped over your as he paused between words. Eyes drifting to your lower half, legs parted slightly, a pair of black panties acting as the only barrier between his eyes and your naked body. “all spread out for me like this.”

At his words, your legs open further, sending a muffled growl straight to Jack’s closed mouth as he lets his hand fall on your inner thigh. Trailing upwards, his fingertips come in contact with the hem of your underwear. 

“Can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about pulling you into the on-call room after our shift.” He’s leaning above you, eyes glued to your clothed core, fingers toying with the thin material of your panties at the inside of your thighs. 

“How badly I’ve wanted to fuck you on one of those shitty beds, or maybe even against the wall…” 

“But you deserve better. To be treated right, on a real bed.” Suddenly the smooth linen of his comforter feels much warmer beneath you, your hands splaying over the pillowy fabric at your palms. 

Jack watches the way your shoulders relax, and your head falls an inch to the side at his words, your body melting into the moment of shared desire. 

“Want to take my time with you. Make you feel good. Watch you fall apart.” He leans in to kiss you, right as one of his fingertip’s dip below the fabric of your panties to run along your slit. You gasp into the kiss, and he takes the opportunity to pull away.

“To hear the little noises you make for me.” His lips are only inches from yours as his breathless whisper fills the space between them. His hand fully pushes your panties to the side, his touch light as a feather, and lingering at your core.

“Bet you sound so pretty when you cum.”

Your mouth falls open and you’re not sure what triggered it, his words, or the way he pushes a single finger into you. The movement is slow and precise as he watches your eyes flutter in pleasure. 

For someone who’s sex life was currently non-existent, Jack didn’t miss a beat when it came to the rhythm of your gratification. The moan dripping from your tongue coming right on cue as he slips another finger in with the first, stroking with purpose and dedication as his name comes floating from your lips. 

“Jack.”

The word was foggy and desperate as his touch subdued you, his fingers curling at the sweet call of his name, hooking at just the right spot. 

“Fuck that’s it.” A whine of pleasure rippled through you at the pressure of his fingers against your walls. With one stroke after another, the building tension in your abdomen threatened to overflow. 

Jack’s stare falls on his fingers as they work you open. 

He can hardly handle how responsive you are to his touch; your hips bucking into his palm, little pleas falling from your lips— It’s enough to make him cum right there in his damn pants. 

“God- you sound gorgeous.” The compliment is almost primal, his voice nearing a growl as he looks down at your body writhing on the simple motion of his fingers inside you, a slave to his touch.

He lets himself get lost in the noises flowing from your mouth, allowing each moan to act as a signal, showing him exactly where and how you want him. 

“Even better than I could’ve imagined.” He finishes his thought and brings his stare back to yours, the fucked-out expression in your eyes telling him just how close you are. 

His words send you reeling, acting as a catalyst for the strain pulling in your abdomen. 

He can feel your body preparing to tumble over the edge, walls clenching around his fingers, and thighs flexing.

“There you go sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart. That’s new. 

It surprises you both the second it leaves his lips. But the surprise of it barely registers, instead the word is unleashing a flutter in your chest and a warmth between your legs. You’re obsessed with the way it sounds in the rasp of Jack’s voice. In fact, you like it so much your body trembles and whimpers fill the air as you come undone on his fingers.

His eyes watch as his movements slow, digits coated in your slick and pushing into you continuously even after your body finishes shuddering.

It’s almost sadistic the small smirk he’s wearing as his eyes stay fixated on his fingers sliding in and out of your body. 

He was starved. Starved of touch— the warmth of another’s body. The way you pulled him in with each thrust of his fingers made him want to stay there all night, making you cum over and over again to feed his craving of your body at his mercy. 

If it weren’t for your delicate hands gripping at his forearm, forcing him back to reality, he would’ve kept going, would’ve seen just how much more you could take. 

“Jack.” Your voice breaks him from his trance, hand wrapping around his arm and pulling him back to hover parallel over your body. 

An unsolicited grunt erupts from deep in his throat as your hands, once again, slide into his underwear. Only this time, they fall far enough to envelop his cock in your soft touch. 

His hand comes down forcefully next to your head, palm flat against the mattress to hold himself steady as pleasure washes over him.

You’ve only pumped over his length once and he’s already squeezing his eyes shut in focus, trying not to spill into your hand. 

“Sweetheart.”

In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have used that nickname again. Not right now, when he was seconds away from having an embarrassingly quick orgasm. 

Your grip tightened slightly at the word, hand working a little faster, and paying extra close attention to his overly sensitive tip. He has to put a hand over yours to conceal your efforts. 

“I’m not gonna last long if you keep that up.” His brows raise at your smug expression, your hand still stroking him despite his attempt to stop you. 

“I’m serious.” A breathless snarl meets your ear as his head falls lower, nearly resting in the crook of your neck.

You hum in response, one hand continuing its work between his legs, the other pushing at the pants still around his hips.

He was quick to oblige your unspoken request, bringing his own hand down to rid himself of his pants and underwear. His hands are then at your hips yanking your panties down your legs.

In a heated frenzy both of you took a few seconds to take off any remaining clothes. Sitting up to swiftly pull off shirts, and while you’re reaching to take off your bra, Jack stretches to his bedside table, fishing out a condom from its box that’s been sitting untouched in his drawer for far too long.

Then, you’re back to square one, his body hovering over yours, and his lips kissing down your neck.

Your hand finds him again, palm encircling his member as he freezes under your touch.

“You sure you wanna do this?” His voice is lost in the skin of your chest, his lips melting against your collarbone.

“You’re asking me? I thought you were the one who needed convincing.” The giggle in your voice has Jack nipping playfully at your skin, his hand confidently fitting between your legs.

“What can I say, you’ve persuaded me.” A teasing tone slips through his lust clouded whisper, fingers collecting the slick at your core with a groan on his tongue.

You grab the condom out of his hand, tearing it open and rolling it onto him with ease, the feeling causing him to lean further into your touch. 

This was one of the reasons Jack was so drawn to you.

You held such discreet authority. Always taking charge with a charming smile and a sweet command in your voice.

He couldn’t have imagined the same power he witnessed at work would roll over into the bedroom. Your captivating ability to take quiet control was suddenly so obvious in the way you were guiding his now protected length to line up with your entrance, body shimmying down the bed to coerce him into you. 

When the head of his cock finally pushes into you, you both let out noises of relief.

The placated gasp from your lips, and the profound groan on his, proves that you’d both been longing for this exact moment for weeks.

He takes his time. Learning the hug of your body. Savoring every inch of pure bliss, as he fills you at a painstaking pace. Your hands shoot to his back, fingertips digging into the broad expanse of his shoulder blades, just enough to encourage his movement until he enters you completely, pushed in to the hilt.

His eyes stay on yours, watching the way your lids almost close while you adjust to him, your mouth parted slightly at the stretch.

Then he’s pulling out and thrusting back in, moaning at the way you feel wrapped around him.

Your head tilts back into his comforter at the sweet friction of his strokes, and the sight beneath him has another moan bubbling up Jack’s throat. 

It was exactly how he’d dreamt this moment— your back on his bed, with your head thrown back in pleasure. Getting to watch your body respond to him his perch above you, your naked figure far more beautiful than anything he could’ve imagined. It was all so perfect. You were perfect. 

He picked up the pace of his thrusts, not too fast, but perfectly timed with the squeeze of your fingers on his back. He knew he must be hitting something right in the way you were gripping his shoulders and crying out for him. Crying out for him. Your voice was strained and winded as his name fell from your lips in a chant. 

His self-control must’ve been at an all-time high, because he closed his eyes for a moment, gaining his bearings and talking himself down from cumming at the sounds of your whines.

He collects whatever composure is left in his body and brings a hand down between the two of you, fingertips finding that sensitive spot just above where his cock is driving into you.

He rubs steady circles into your clit, and judging by the way his name jumps from you an octave higher than before, he knows he’ll get to watch you cum again. 

He makes it his goal. Setting his thrusts at a fixed pace, as his fingers deliberately stroke your bundle of nerves. He focuses completely on your pleasure to distract himself from the pulsing pressure running through his veins.

He needs to see you let go for him one more time before he can finish. An easy task given the way your back is arching off his bed, sending your hips further into him. 

“I’m gonna-“ The words are hardly coherent as they slip between your gasps and moans— wanting to tell him you’re close but unable to string more than two words together.

“Come on sweetheart.” His words were directed straight to your core, eyes back down and watching between your bodies as he slides into you. His mind growing hazy at the sight of you taking his cock so well. 

His encouragement was all you needed to let go. Your release washing over you in waves of bliss.

Jack’s eyes make the journey back to your face, watching in awe at your expression as it takes on a state of utter relief, your head falling even deeper into the blanket underneath you.

That image is what finally makes him succumb to the persistent chase of his release.

He’s groaning and panting, one of his hands coming to grip your hips, the other balancing himself on the mattress, pressed flat on the space next to your face.

He’s grunting profanities as he spills through his orgasm, allowing his elbow to bend so he can rest his forehead against yours. Both of you breathing heavy, eyes meeting in a moment of vulnerability and understanding as you bring a hand up to lace through his hair. Almost petting his grey curls, you lazily smile through the puffs of breath on your lips.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over seeing you like this, an angel laid out on his bedspread— just for him. Giving you both a moment to recover, he stays like that for a minute. He’s leaning into you, listening to your soft breaths even out, and he can feel himself getting hard again. His dick is still throbbing, not even fully soft and he’s already ready for another round.

His cock getting hard again, that fast after sex, was something he hadn’t experienced in over a decade.

These days Jack needed plenty of time between orgasms to even think about getting another erection, but in this moment, still buried in you and hearing the tiny gasps of breath coming from your heaving chest, he wanted more. He could feel his addiction to you growing stronger, reminding him of the forbidden nature of your budding relationship.

“What are we getting ourselves into.” Speaking his thoughts aloud, his voice fills the room, a grin lingering in his lips.

He can’t help but smile as he imagines what the future holds for your relationship, his forehead still pressed gently against yours. 

my masterlist

[faerus]

"you have a tendency to make things more difficult… yet more fun." ( wyll ) @evilaffable

he slides -- right heel catching against a fortunately lodged rock, as streaks of bright red blast from his palm. the goblin goes careening off her respective cliff, a wail of surprise fading with the increasing distance, before wyll manages a laugh. there are more than ten -- somewhere around fifteen -- on their figurative tails, each one more menacing than the last. there are raised clubs, longbows lifting to the clouds, and war cries as messy as their armour. astarion would probably reduce this plan to one of misplaced duty (or in short, a stupid one) but the adrenaline, the inevitable satisfaction of a clean - precise kill? that is a mutually understood rush. so wyll takes the comment as he knows it to be - a sign of acceptance. "if i propose we make a game of this - you'll forego the annoyance entirely?" it's unlike him to dole out bets on a battlefield (especially when risks and consequences stay inevitable) but there is a bubbling heat around the collar of his neck - and his fingers twist, nails curling into a fist, as infernal darkness plunges a wave of crossing rangers into shadow. wyll returns his attention then, to astarion. "count your kills. winner gets to ask something of the other."

[liahaslosthermind]

𝐀 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒓 𝐕𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Azriel x Summer Court Princess!reader

Summary: Azriel is forced to take a vacation periodically. It isn't his fault that he is allowed back at the Summer Court and Cassian isn't.

A/n: Haven't written in a few months so I am dipping my toes back in. Unsure how I feel abt this one. Also I usually don't give descriptions when it is an "x reader" but I made the reader Tarquin's cousin and she is described as having dark skin and stark white hair.

Warnings: Suggestive, Az pinches reader's ass once and vice versa, the Inner Circle is nosy (what else is new), Tarquin is soooo hot and sexy (not a warning I just thought it should be restated)

The Spy Master’s job was demanding. It required his mind and body to be focused, agile, adaptable, and strong. After centuries serving under two High Lords of Night, Azriel had seen and been through a lot. And sometimes, even the most trained of warriors simply couldn’t continue on without a break.

When Rhysand had first become High Lord, he suggested the idea to his shadowsinger. 

“A simple break, every once in a while, just so I don’t have to worry that you are going to lose it and damn this court to Hel.” Rhysand had teased. He knew better than to doubt his brother’s ability to protect his court, but he did doubt Azriel’s ability to know when he had had enough, when it was in fact time for a well deserved break.

Azriel had sent a scathing look to his brother, mumbling something about not being in the mood for Rhysand’s nagging, before disappearing into his shadows. 

Neither had given much thought to the idea, until a few years later. 

Cassian had gotten drunk, belligerently so. Rhysand and Mor not far behind him. What had turned into an exciting trip to the Summer Court to strengthen political alliances had soon turned into a drunken revelry. Instead of tightening said relations, the Night Court’s General had gotten to drunk he had leveled an entire building, one far older than Amren herself. In the end, the alliance between Night and Summer was hanging by a thread, and Cassian had been banned from the court for the rest of his life. 

Rhysand and Mor, upon hearing the news, had drunkenly promised Cassian that they would never return to Summer for any reason other than court politics so long as he was banned. While the rest of Azriel’s family pouted and begged him to join the pact, Azriel had realized the opportunity that presented itself at the end of the escapade. 

Maybe he will take that vacation after all.

Many years later…

“Is Azriel joining us?” Nesta asked as she sat down, extremely late, for family dinner. Her mate, who can be blamed for the couple’s lateness, tried to nonchalantly adjust his clothing, as if the smell from the two of them alone wasn’t proof enough of what just exactly the two had been up to that had caused their late arrival. 

“He is off in Summer for the next two weeks.” Rhysand replied, grimacing at the stench of sex coming from his sister-in-law and brother. 

“He just returned from a mission! You are sending him on another right after?” Nesta pointed an accusatory finger at Rhys. “I haven’t seen him in almost a month, do you know how hard it is to deal with him,” she gestured to Cassian, “with no one to mock him with me?” 

Cassian’s offended gasps were ignored by both his mate and brother. “He isn’t on a mission, Nesta. He is on vacation.” Rhysand answered. Nesta was always quick to accuse Rhysand of less-then-stellar decision making when it came to his family, but for once her claims were baseless. 

Rhys’ answer just made Nesta laugh. “In what world would Azriel take a vacation? Much less to a place like the Summer Court.” 

Cassian, still hurt by his mate’s previous comments, grumbled as he replied: “Rhys makes him take them periodically, and he goes to Summer just because he knows I am banned for life and gets a kick out of rubbing it in my face.” 

That sounded more like the shadowsinger Nesta had grown to adore. 

“It is not just you he is escaping from, Rhys and I are still not allowed because of that dumb pact.” Mor whined. She had justified her decision to join Cassian in his banishment from vacationing because she had thought it wouldn’t actually last for life… and because she had been so severely inebriated when she had made that promise. But 200 years later with not a single vacation to Summer since, Mor had grown to resent Cassian for his own banishment. 

“If it makes you feel better, Cassian, Azriel probably isn’t doing more than staying in his room and reading. I don’t think he is one for the Summer sun.” Feyre spoke up as she tried to comfort the Illyrian. 

Everyone seemed content with that answer, until two distinct laughs were heard from the end of the table. 

“I think the boy is doing just fine in Summer.” Amren snickered as she glanced at Varian, who was trying to hide his laugh behind his napkin. 

When neither of the two offered any more information, the High Lord spoke up.

“And what exactly do you mean by that, Amren?” 

“Did you see him before you left, Varian? I can’t imagine he was enjoying the sun on the beach.” Nesta asked. 

Varian gave Amren a look, blaming her for the situation she put him in, before replying: “No, I can’t imagine he was having much fun in the sunshine. But the female who was shoving her tongue down his throat certainly was.” 

There were about four seconds of silence at the table before the entire Inner Circle erupted in questions. While Amren rolled her eyes at their inquisitive eagerness, she too had been shocked and equally intrigued when Varian had told her of his findings last night. She had even gone to bed with a smile on her face, imagining the scenario in which she got to drop this bombshell on her family and then give no answers to their questions. 

Seeing it in person, though, was so much better than she could have ever imagined. 

Two weeks had passed by painfully slow for the Inner Circle as they awaited their Spy Master’s return. Since that fateful night, neither Varian nor Amren had been willing to share any more information. 

When Azriel finally arrived home, having been warned ahead of time by Varian that his family would have more than a few questions for him, Az felt all of the time he spent relaxing disappear in an instant as his family threw question after question at him. 

He let their interrogation go on for a few minutes before he started to get a headache from the noise. So much for those two weeks off.

Putting up a hand, Azriel let out a breath when they all instantly shut up. 

He could go about this a few ways, but he knew what his preferred method was when it came to dealing with his friends and their need to know everything about his life, especially the things he wasn’t quite willing to share. 

“I have no idea what you all are talking about. You shouldn’t believe anything that comes out of the mouth of those two. They just wanted to get you all riled up.” And with that, he disappeared into the shadows. 

For the next few weeks, Azriel had skirted every attempt to bring up his vacation beyond giving “it was relaxing. Maybe I need a vacation away from you all more”, until the Inner Circle eventually gave up. 

“With all of that said, I believe all of us would rather be anywhere else, no need to keep torturing ourselves.” Helion said as he effectively dismissed the meeting of the High Lords and Ladies.

As the Night Court got their bearings together, ready to winnow back to Velaris, Tarquin quickly stopped them. 

While they had helped save Adriata in the war, Tarquin hadn’t yet been willing to forgive Rhysand and Feyre for betraying his friendship, no matter how noble their intentions, so the entire Inner Circle had been surprised to see the young High Lord trying to speak to them. 

“Tarquin? What can we do for you?” Rhysand asked, hoping he could finally win over the Summer Court fae.

“Azriel, I have a letter for you. I had told her to send it herself, as playing messenger is not a part of my duties as High Lord, but she insisted she couldn’t trust it going through other networks.” The High Lord sighed as he handed the rather bulky letter to the shadowsinger, completely ignoring the rest of the court standing around them. 

Though he schooled his face, there was the slightest hint of blush on Azriel’s cheeks as he took the letter into his hand. Not waiting around for the rest of his family, Az disappeared into the shadows after giving a quick nod of gratitude to Tarquin. 

When the rest of the Inner Circle had gotten home, Azriel was nowhere to be seen. 

Rhysand quickly scribbled a note, seemingly delivering it to wherever Az had gone off to. A quick reply came a second later. 

I believe I am owed a few more days off. If you need me, don’t. - Azriel

“Oh come on! Is he seriously having Tarquin deliver letters from whatever fae female he is having an illicit affair with? Then disappearing to gods know where? Rhys, I got to know what the fuck is going on or I’ll lose my mind.” Cassian begged. 

“We all know where he is, Cassian. And if I remember correctly, none of us can visit because of you.” Rhysand replied. 

“That's not fair, Feyre can’t visit because of her own actions.” Cassian replied, pointing an accusatory finger at his High Lady. 

“My actions were for the sake of the entirety of Prythian, you all got drunk and made stupid decisions. They are not comparable.” Feyre argued. 

Amren, who had been silently enjoying the argument, snickered from her chair. 

At once, everyone turned to the small female, a clever smile adorning all their faces. 

Suddenly, Amren was no longer amused. 

“You” Morrigan wielded the word like an accusation, “have grown close to Tarquin through your… romantic entanglement with Varian.” Amren growled at the phrase. “Any chance you could get Cassian unbanned?” Mor asked, hope laced in her tone. 

It had been another High Lord who had banished the general. While Tarquin made it clear he wasn’t ready to be friends with the Night Court, she knew that he had enjoyed his time with them before and that he was all too forgiving. 

But could she ever use her amicable relationship to sway Tarquin into lifting Cassian’s banishment all so her family could torture Azriel while he was enjoying his time spent with one of Summer’s very own princesses?

…

Turns out, Amren could very well do that. 

While Tarquin had needed quite a bit of convincing, he had grown to like both Amren and Azriel through their visits to see their lovers in Summer. He didn’t know Cassian very well, and while Rhys and Feyre had deeply betrayed his trust, he couldn’t help longing for the friendship they almost had. 

After a long meeting, where tensions were squashed and penance was paid, the Inner Circle brought up the matter that had plagued them for months. 

Tarquin laughed at their anguish as they explained what little they knew of their brother’s rendezvous with a Summer Court female, or at least, as far as they knew, a female in the Summer Court. 

They truly knew nothing. 

“Come to dinner at my palace in Adriata tonight. I think you will enjoy the company you find there,” was all Tarquin offered before the Night Court took their leave. 

Begrudged didn’t even begin to describe what Azriel was feeling when he walked over to the dining room where he knew his family was waiting impatiently for answers he had been keeping for over 200 years. 

“You are such a baby.” The female at his side replied to his angry mumbling. “Gods forbid your family knows you are capable of love and happiness.” She teased.

“They are nosy. Forgive me for wanting to enjoy you in peace.” Azriel stopped, pulling her by the waist as he kissed her. 

Acting against her true desires, she pulled away after a few seconds. “I think you have enjoyed me just fine, Az. And I think you will continue to do just that, but this time your family won’t be worrying about if you are lonely or not.” She replied, turning her head before he could distract her with a kiss on the mouth again. Unfortunately, she didn’t think about the fact the action just gave him better access to her neck. 

“I will stop complaining.” He said, trailing kisses down her neck. “If I get to enjoy you just one more time before dinner.” Azriel hadn’t thought he could actually sway her into arriving late for dinner, that was until he heard a gasp come from her as he found her sweet spot. 

The two did make it to dinner, just an hour later than they were supposed to and with their clothes and hair rather disheveled.  

The quiet chatter had seized the moment they saw the couple enter the room. Rhysand and Tarquin grimaced at the smell coming from the two lovers as they tried (and failed) to act like nothing had happened. 

Tarquin shot the fae at Azriel’s side a sharp look. 

“It was his fault! He distracted me. And how can you blame me when he looks like this.” The female teased, gesturing to Az.

Tarquin sighed, “I would like to introduce you all to my sister.” 

“I didn’t know you had a sister! It’s an honor to meet you, princess.” Feyre spoke up. 

“I am actually his cousin from his mother’s side. I was raised alongside Tarquin, but I’ve got no royal blood in me, so no need for the formalities. I only force Azriel to address me as such when he has pissed me off. ” The female quipped, earning a pinch on her ass from Azriel in response. 

As the late arrivals sat down, Nesta spoke up: “How long have you both been…?” she trailed off, unsure of what to label the relationship between the two. 

“-fucking?” “-seeing each other?” The two replied at the same time, the Summer Court princess having a far more vulgar mouth than anyone had expected from the female. 

“He has been in love with me for over 200 years. We have only been fucking for about 150. I made him work for it.” She grinned, this time pinching Azriel’s ass in response. 

The Inner Circle looked around at each other, undeniably delighted by the princess in front of them. 

“Wait, when exactly did this happen? Where were the rest of us?” Rhysand asked.

“You three,” Azriel gestured to Rhysand, Cassian, and Mor, “were far too drunk, and far too busy getting banned from this court, if I remember correctly.”

200 (ish) years before…

Rhysand, Mor, and Cassian had disappeared to gods knew where. They had been belligerently drunk and while Azriel, far more sober than the rest of his family, should have followed them, he knew they would be fine. Hopefully. 

Plus, as much as he loved his family, he was not drunk enough to deal with their antics. 

In the meantime, the Spy Master sat on the beach, looking up at the stars he knew all too well as he listened to the waves. He had been so entranced by the combination that he hadn’t heard someone come up behind him. 

“You must be the famed shadowsinger of the Night Court.” A voice spoke up, causing Azriel to turn. The fae female was… ethereal. Dark skin beautifully framed by stark white hair, dressed in the softest of pink Summer style dresses, Azriel found himself at a loss for words. 

Unfortunately, the words he did eventually find weren’t as smooth as he would have liked. 

“How could you tell?” He asked earnestly. The female just stared at him, then his shadows, then the Illyrian leathers he was still wearing. As Azriel scanned the rest of the beach, he realized just how much he stuck out. 

Okay so maybe he was extremely drunk.

“A lucky guess.” She teased, sitting next down to him.

From that moment, Azriel knew it was over for him. Not many had the bravery to approach the shadowshinger, much less tease him, then choose to sit down next to him. 

They had spent the rest of the night talking, eventually watching the sunrise together. When Cassian, Rhys, and Mor, who were somehow still drunk, had informed him about Cassian’s banishment and their pact, all Azriel could think was that he couldn’t afford to lose what he had just found in the Summer Court. 

Then he thought how easy it would be for him to visit her now with his family none the wiser. 

It wasn’t that he was ashamed. How could he be when he had found a fae like her, but he liked to keep the few good things he had in his life close, even if it meant hiding it from his family for the time being. 

From then on, Azriel wasn’t as upset about his “forced” vacations

[decoysouled]

HELPING WAS THE LEAST HE COULD DO — to fulfil the wishes of others had long-since been his purpose in life, the goal that carried him through an abyss of suffering until, at long last, the light of dawn shone on Amphoreus once more.

❝There's no need to thank me.❞ Phainon says, a politeness within his refusal to accept her unnecessary thanks. ❝It's a pleasure to meet you, Baiheng. I'm Phainon, from Aedes Elysiae.❞ & it is merely a habit, to speak of a home long-gone, to carry its memory like the sky on his shoulders — for who, if not him, would do so?

❝I hope you enjoy your time in Okhema. I'll be sure to keep you updated on the repairs, but if you have any concerns, don't be afraid to call on me.❞

If he couldn't manage it, she didn't want to put too much pressure on him, but at least he was willing to help her locate someone who was knowledgeable about ship parts and metalwork. I'm hoping that someone with that kind of knowledge will be here. But judging by the way he looks, he may know someone who can assist; if so, it was a good beginning." Oh, that's great. It might be too long for you to manage, but I'm relieved that you'll be okay."

"That's alright. "I know the process will take some time. "I'm just glad I don't have to worry about repairs now." Her smile conveyed her appreciation for his assistance, even if he was not an expert in the ship's internal components." Really, that's great, and thank you so much for helping me with my ship repairs. Oh of course I'll leave it the repairs to you oh by the way, my name is Baiheng. It's a pleasure to meet you."

[rollingeevee]

Hello @dawn-sky-collective! I apologize, it wouldn’t let me write a reply to your ask so I took a pic and tagged you instead. Hope that’s ok ^^;

I have not answered this yet, so let’s get into it!

Shadow Milk has things all over the Spire for his darling to do. One thing he is really good at when it comes to a darling is providing them with ways to stimulate themselves. There’s all kinds of tools to engage oneself in creativity, such as art supplies to be used for various mediums; journals and writing materials, canvases and paints, sketchpads, needle and thread, sewing machines, and more. There are dolls and puppets in your room to allow for games and plays. Cards, board games, and other such manners to entertain oneself occupy your room and the spaces you’re allowed. There’s also like- a ton of books, seeing as he was formerly known as the Fount of Knowledge before his corruption. While lies are spread all throughout the non-fiction books, the fiction ones, meant more for enjoyment than education, remain untouched. There’s also the many creatures who lurk around the Spire, some of which take a liking to you, unaware that they should fear their Master’s jealousy.

Mystic Flour’s darling I can see making a hobby of gardening and possibly cooking. Taking care of a lovely array of plants around your Beast’s domain, marveling at their beauty as you cultivate them. Cloud Haetae also loves it when you join them in the kitchens to make buns and other treats. Speaking of Cloud Haetae, they love to play with you, if you allow them.

Burning Spice primarily entertains himself through destruction and fighting, so that’s unfortunately the most his darling can find to do. If you’re lucky, you might find a scroll or two for reading, but that’s about it. Your best bet is to ask the Wild Spices to spar with and help train you (something the Great Destroyer does allow).

Eternal Sugar’s darling likely occupies themself with cooking, cleaning, and, of course, napping. Your Beast loves the food you make and often insists you cook everyday for her and yourself.

Silent Salt’s darling is another incredibly lucky one when it comes to this. Their darling practically wants for naught, as the Beast offers them just about anything they ask for. If they don’t have it, they get it. Books, games, art supplies, musical instruments, you name it. If you want it, it’s provided for you.

When it comes to what darlings are allowed to keep from their previous life, most things are actually allowed. Clothing, hobbies, trinkets, memorabilia. At least… as long as it is on your person. If these things are at home and your Beast is not the jealous type, you might be lucky enough for them to send a minion to fetch the things you wish to have from your home for you. Silent Salt is the best when it comes to this, since, as stated before, their darling wants for naught. The primary thing you are no longer allowed is, of course, your freedom.

[drfruitcake]

Left On Read

Michael Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader

Rating: Explicit / MDNI (language & smut) Word count: ~4,200 Tags: reader insert, no use of y/n, colleagues to lovers, mutual pining, slight age gap (29F and 50M), smut, explicit sexual content, unprotected p in v, oral sex (F receiving), no beta

Summary: You accidentally send Dr. Robby a nude photo. You both spend the day spiraling out over it — and then you spend the night together.

Notes: This is literally just an excuse for some shameless smut. I am not a health care professional, so please forgive any medical inaccuracies.

Read on AO3 or under the cut.

Michael Robinavitch nearly dropped his phone, which could have been a disastrous fumble, given he was presently stepping into the elevator of his apartment building. 

It was nearly 7 a.m. and far too early for a text like that. Especially from you, the fifth-year surgical resident he had grown to know quite well; the one who was sharp and witty, poised and composed, always one of the smartest in the room. Though you were two decades younger than him, he viewed you as a colleague worthy of admiration and respect. 

He certainly did not view you as someone who sent 7 a.m. nudes accompanied by the caption, “You coming tonight?”

Michael stared in disbelief at the text thread, void of any coherent response. His brain seemed to stutter over the erotic image of you, posing in your bedroom mirror, fresh out of the shower with nothing on, your lips curved in a sly smirk as if you knew you were going to inflict absolute chaos that day. Of course, you didn’t know that the senior attending of the ER would be on the receiving end of that chaotic missile you casually dropped with one tap of the Send button. 

Michael blinked in disbelief as the elevator reached the bottom floor, its doors gliding open while his eyes remained glued to the sexuality splayed across his phone screen. It wasn’t until someone stepped into the elevator that Michael snapped from his trance. 

He scrambled to swipe the image from his screen in a clash of guilt and shame before he scurried from the elevator to head to work. 

A sudden tightness surged within his throat as the shame snowballed. Something felt morally wrong about seeing you that way. Sure, Michael had pictured how you looked beneath your scrubs on countless occasions, but that was a secret meant only for the filthiest depths of his private mind. This vision was now a mutual thread between the two of you — one he hadn’t asked for. Not that he was complaining. 

The truth was Michael had a painful attraction to you, and seeing you in your most intimate form wasn’t going to help him overcome it.

But clearly that picture had been meant for someone else, right? The previous texts before you sent that dastardly photo were your brags about beating Michael in your fantasy football league that week. There had been no exchange to prompt such an obscene display of intimacy, no indication of any attraction or desire – though it certainly existed.

Michael dragged a hand over his face as he pocketed his phone with no response. What could he possibly say to that, especially when he couldn’t be sure that photo was meant for him? 

Meanwhile, you strolled into the surgical floor of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center none the wiser to your little mishap. Once you removed your jacket and put your purse in your locker, you decided to check your phone one final time before the start of your shift.

You frowned in disappointment at the blank screen. Surely Rodney, your six-week situationship, would have at least replied to your risqué text with a heart-eyes emoji.

When you opened up your message threads, your stomach sank — and you wanted to sink to your knees, or perhaps all the way into the earth.

“Fuuuuuck,” you hissed as you realized your mistake. The worst part was the “Read 6:55 AM” below your message, sent to the hot senior attending of the ER you’d likely have to face before the day’s end. “No no no,” you groaned as the fear and mortification bloomed throughout your body.

You considered marching up to the roof of the hospital and flinging yourself to the streets below. But the worst part was, if you somehow managed to survive such a fall, Michael would be one of the first people you’d see when they inevitably scraped you off the sidewalk and hauled you into the ER. And then he would have seen you naked and brain dead all in the same day. 

You decided to avoid the ER at all costs.

Of course, that vow was short-lived as soon as Dr. Walsh sent you down there for a consult. You held your breath the entire elevator ride down, your heart rattling within your ribcage as you silently prayed Dr. Robby had the day off. You exhaled and thanked every higher power you didn’t believe in when you didn’t see him at the nurses’ station.

That gratitude was fleeting. Two steps into Room 2 and you damn near stopped dead in your tracks when you spotted Dr. Robby standing behind Dr. Mohan. You locked eyes before you could avert your gaze and the mutual realization of your shared situation sent your nervous system into overdrive. You couldn’t read him, which unnerved you even more. 

What if he thought that photo had been meant for him? What if he thought you were some kind of sexual deviant? What if he’d lost all respect for you? What if he’d shown that photo to your colleagues? 

All of your anxieties mingled until you became acutely aware that there was a wounded patient in front of you.

“What have we got?” you croaked, tearing your eyes from Dr. Robby.

“Gerard Milligan,” Samira answered. “Coworker says he fell about 10 feet off a roof and landed on a fence post. Vitals are good.”

You examined poor Gerard Milligan and ordered the team to take him up for surgery, but it was painfully clear you were distracted. So was Dr. Robby.

You snuck a sideways glance at him, your eyes darting away as soon as you realized he was watching you. You felt certain your skin would catch fire beneath his gaze. Part of you wished it would.

“You alright?” Samira asked with worried eyes as the room cleared out. You watched Dr. Robby return to the desk to chat with Dana before you sucked your top row of teeth.

“I fucked up,” you said quietly, your lips thinning as you tried to decide how to reveal to your friend that you’d mistakenly sent a nude photo to her boss.

“With the patient?”

“No. With Dr. Robby.”

“How so?” Samira studied you with curious eyes.

“I accidentally sent him something,” you continued carefully. “Something he wasn’t meant to see.”

“What are you talking about?”

You heaved a sigh. “I accidentally sent Dr. Robby a nude.”

Samira’s eyes doubled in size. “What?!”

“I meant to send it to Rodney – that guy I told you about – the one I’ve hooked up with a few times,” you explained. “But I accidentally sent it to Dr. Robby this morning.”

“What’d he say?”

“He left me on read – no response!” You could tell Samira was fighting a laugh. “Don’t laugh, this is serious!”

“You probably left the poor guy speechless,” Samira mused. “He probably doesn’t know what to do with all that.”

“It’s not funny! What if he thinks I meant to send it to him?”

“Well, would that be the worst thing?” Samira asked with a pointed stare. You’d been close friends for four years and she’d picked up on your crush on Michael ages ago, not that you ever discussed it.

“Yes!” you hissed. “Because it’s not like he’s into me! He probably thinks I’m a freak.”

“Maybe he’s into freaky shit.”

“Be for real!”

“I am,” Samira said. “Everyone down here in the ER thinks he’s down bad for you.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“Think about it,” Samira said matter-of-factly. “He’s always going on about how brilliant you are, and how he wishes you would have considered emergency med. And he’s always eyeing you with that sad, wistful stare. Plus you know more about football than him, and I think that secretly turns him on.”

“Oh, stop!”

 “I’m just saying,” Samira laughed. “I’m sure he’s not upset about receiving that photo.”

“I want to die,” you groaned as you followed Samira from the room.

“Well, what are you going to do?” she asked.

“Avoid the ER for the rest of my life.”

“Or maybe you should just talk to him about it.”

“Or maybe I could quit my job and move across the country.”

“Hey, sweetheart!” Dana called toward you. You swore under your breath before turning to offer Dana a smile, your eyes determined to avoid Dr. Robby. “How you been? Had a good a weekend?”

“It was good,” you offered casually as you strode toward the nurses’ station. “Uneventful.”

“Heard you kicked Dr. Robby’s ass in fantasy football.”

Jesus fucking Christ. “Yeah,” you managed with a breathy laugh. “Not like it was hard.”

You could feel Dr. Robby’s eyes fixated on you. Was he thinking about that photo right now? Was he disturbed or disgusted? Was he disappointed in you? Or was there a chance he was turned on?

“Pretty easy to rack up a win when you’ve got Saquon Barkley on your roster,” Michael said. You shrugged a nonchalant shoulder and finally dared to meet his eyes. Their intensity made your breath hitch.

“Draft better next year,” you said simply, praying you could keep your cool. Meanwhile, Dana and Samira were watching your exchange as if it were live theatre.

“I’m okay with you beating me as long as it means you beat Langdon,” Michael said. “I can’t stand another year of his insufferable bragging.”

“I’m sure I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m sure you will.” Something flickered in his eyes as he spoke, rendering you immobile. You couldn’t decipher it, and you didn’t dare provoke it in front of your colleagues.

“Well, I’d better get upstairs,” you finally said, tearing your gaze from Michael to smile at Dana. “Catch up with you later, okay?”

As you disappeared behind the elevator doors, Michael disappeared into the bathroom. 

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered after splashing cold water on his face. He wasn’t even halfway through his shift and that image of you had him in a chokehold. Michael gripped the edge of the sink and squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to ground himself and banish the vision away. Instead, he found himself imagining you in even greater detail.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he hissed as he shook his head. 

He couldn’t continue to work like this, but he also couldn’t possibly broach the subject with you. What would he do, waltz up to you and declare, “Hey, nice photo!” That was a sure trip to human resources. 

He had no choice, he decided, but to continue to pretend as if it hadn’t happened. Eventually, you’d both forget about it, right?

But Michael knew damn well he couldn’t forget about that picture if he tried.

Dr. Walsh didn’t help matters. Despite your protests, she ordered you back down to the ER for another consult in the afternoon. You checked your phone first, expecting to see a reply from Rodney after you sent him the photo, but instead found a message from your best friend from college.

“Check Instagram,” was all her text said. Your heart sank as you opened the app and scrolled through your feed, unsure what you were supposed to be looking for. You stopped mid-scroll when Rodney’s face popped up, your throat tightening as you realized he’d been tagged in a photo by a woman. He stood, smiling with an arm hooked around her waist as she kissed him on the cheek. The caption said, “Celebrating one year with the love of my life!”

“What the fuck,” you groaned in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?” 

You tossed your phone into your locker and headed for the ER.

“What have we here?” you asked with feigned composure as you walked into the chaos unfolding within Room 1.

“Two-car MVA,” Samira responded. “The dashboard folded inward and pinned his legs.”

The patient hurled a string of obscenities in pain as he flailed, arms shooting upward. One caught you on the cheek with a closed fist, forcing you backward.

Michael was on you before you could even taste the blood in your mouth. 

“Are you okay?” he asked worriedly, a hand finding the small of your back. You felt that more than the sting in your jaw.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you sighed, wincing at the raw cut inside your mouth, where your tooth connected with your inner cheek. “I hate the taste of blood, though.”

“Well, that clears up the vampire rumors,” Michael quipped. Your colleagues vacated the room and wheeled the patient out, leaving just the two of you. You offered him an exasperated smile and he leaned in closer to peer at your cheek.

“I’m fine,” you insisted quietly. “Just a small cut in my mouth.”

“Do you need some gauze? You didn’t bite your tongue, did you?”

“For once, no,” you joked. Michael flashed a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes, and you knew exactly what he was thinking about.

“Listen,” you sighed before you could stop yourself. “About that text…” Michael held his breath. “That was… a really unfortunate and horrifying mistake.”

“It was… certainly an interesting start to my morning,” Michael said carefully. There was a hint of lighthearted jest in his tone, and while you were grateful for his attempt at softening the situation, you were still humiliated.

“I can’t even imagine,” you continued, a flush settling across your features. “I mean, I really am so, so sorry. It was so completely inappropriate and I swear I never would try to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine,” Michael cut in gently. “Really. Forget it happened.”

You paused to catch your breath, your nerves still screaming in despair. “Okay,” you said with a long exhale. “Thanks for, you know, understanding. And I promise to double-check before sending any more texts like that.”

“Good idea,” Michael replied. “I’m sure your boyfriend would appreciate that.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you responded stupidly, before you could stop yourself. “He’s just a guy I was… seeing.”

“Ah, I see.”

“To be honest, this was all for naught. I found out today he has a girlfriend.”

“Ouch. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You breathed a fake laugh, in disbelief at how your day had managed to devolve into such absurdity as you moved to leave the room. “I’d only been seeing him a few weeks. Not a big deal. Anyway, I apologize if I’ve left you permanently scarred for life.”

“Like I said, forget it happened,” Michael said reassuringly as he held the door open for you.

But any chance of him forgetting evaporated when you’d mentioned you didn’t have a boyfriend, and that things had fallen apart with Rodney. Though it was now clear that picture wasn’t intended for him, Michael realized he’d never look at you the same.

He decided he could either be plagued by the omnipresent vision of you looking like absolute sin incarnate, or he could make an effort to put years of distant, desperate desire to bed.

When he ended up loitering on the front steps of your townhouse, you nearly tripped over your own feet.

“Dr. Robby?” you asked, slowing your pace as you approached with caution – not because you were fearful of him, but because you were stunned he’d seek you out after you’d essentially sexually harassed him via phone.

“Hey,” was his response.

“What are you-”

“I, uh, just wanted to check and make sure you’re okay. You seemed to have had a rough day.”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright,” you answered carefully, your dry mouth a stark contrast to your sweaty palms. “Nothing I won’t get over. You know, beyond the lifetime of embarrassment.”

“Don’t be embarrassed.” There was a glitch in his tone; much more confident and dominant than you’d expected. It matched his gaze, which was starting to suffocate you with its intensity. Michael no longer felt like the senior attending of the ER or your colleague. He felt like a man you desperately needed to discover at a much deeper level. 

“Do you… do you want to come inside, have a beer?” you asked, silently willing your nerves to develop some semblance of confidence. You wanted to be the fun, sexy version of yourself you’d shown in that photo. But Michael already saw you that way, and he wanted to match it.

“Yeah, alright,” he responded, his voice turning raspier than usual. He stood behind you as you unlocked your front door. You felt idiotic as you nearly fumbled your keys. You were a fucking surgeon, known for your steady hands, and you couldn’t even unlock your goddamn door.

But once inside, Michael gazed at you through heavy lids. You stared back with bedroom eyes and gathered the courage to pull the trigger. 

“You know, that photo was meant for someone else,” you started steadily as you kicked your sneakers off and slid out of your jacket. “But I’m curious to know what you thought.”

You watched the muscles shift inside Michael’s throat as he swallowed. “I thought about it all day,” he rasped. “And I’ll probably think about it for a long time.”

“But what did you think?”

“I think that the guy it was meant for is a fucking fool.”

“Oh yeah? To be honest, I’m not thinking about him at all.”

You stepped toward Michael, and the low embers that smoldered between you surged, igniting in an inferno as you kissed him. Your lips crashed hard and his hands grasped at your waist until he was forcing you backward. The backs of your calves met the staircase and you ended up seated on the third step with Michael on top of you. His cock stirred inside his pants.

His lips found your neck and the ache between your thighs became a scalding heat that left you desperate for relief. You helped Michael out of his hoodie and tugged the hem of his shirt overhead, your greedy hands dragging over his torso. But he was even greedier.

He lifted up your own top and you could feel his hands snaking up your back to unhook your bra. He didn’t hesitate to palm your right breast, his left arm supporting himself above you. You were already shifting beneath him, your hips begging his for more.

Robby’s lips planted a stream of kisses from your collarbone to the swell of your breast until his tongue flattened against your nipple. A low hiss escaped your lips as he sucked against your flesh.

You believed this would go quickly; that years of unspoken lust would culminate in the form of something quick, unsophisticated and needy. But Michael didn’t want this to be a fleeting, singular act. He wanted it to become more permanent, more lasting than that fucking photograph.

His hands curled around the waistband of your pants until you were kicking them off, your panties right behind.

Suddenly, the photo from that morning was forgotten. This was far better than pixels on a screen.

Your own hands moved to help Michael from his pants, but he caught them to stop you. Panic mounted in your chest and your brain, convincing you that he changed his mind. Instead, he lowered himself until his knees met the floorboards and his arms were hooked around your thighs.

The moan you’d been desperately trying to suppress finally made itself known, breathy and short as Michael’s tongue met your clit. It sent a surge of arousal through your nerve endings until you were whimpering in submission.

“Robby,” was all you could manage through pitiful panting. He hummed in response, his eyes drifting upward until they were staring in yours. Your fingers gripped the edge of the step.

More moans left your throat as Michael’s tongue flattened itself against your swollen clit, rolling in waves until you could feel the mounting tension in your nerve endings threatening to collapse. Your nails scraped against the wood step, threatening to snap like the taut string of your climax. It strained tighter and tighter, your hips grinding your cunt against Michael’s tongue until you were on the cusp of your reward. 

You let out a string of curses as the string snapped, your orgasm rippling over your cunt until your back arched and your legs were fully draped over Michael’s shoulders. He continued the pressure until you were pushing him away, your core too sensitive for any more assault.

Michael placed a swift kiss to your thigh and sat back on his heels as he watched your chest rise and fall in recovery. He couldn’t help but palm the bulge in his pants in arousal.

“Let me,” you croaked as you reached for his belt and helped him shed his remaining clothing. 

The wood step was narrow, awkward and painful against Michael’s knees as he settled between your thighs, but he’d rather die than wait another moment to discover how it felt to bury himself within you.

“I can flip over-” you started to offer, but Michael shook his head.

“No,” he commanded. “I want to see you.” You sure as hell weren’t going to protest. “Fuck,” he groaned against your neck as the tip of his cock sank into your slick walls. “Fuck, you’re so good.”

The pressure was dizzying as your walls stretched to accommodate him. You could swear you felt every ridge of his cock until he reached the hilt, igniting your nerve endings into overdrive. You couldn’t help but squeeze your cunt tighter around him, drawing a groan from Michael.

His hips retreated and rocked forward, threatening to send your eyes rolling back into your head. You clamped them shut as you focused on the friction within your core and Michael’s shaft dragged through your walls, his tip pressing into the deepest part of you. He gritted his teeth at your tight heat, his cock nudging you closer to the edge with each snap of his hips. 

“Fuck, Robby, don’t stop.” You didn’t like to beg, but you were far too drunk on Michael for any grace or dignity. You’d ask him to drag you through Hell if that’s where he was going, just so you could follow him. 

The way you pleaded, the way your flushed face strained in desperation, the whines that chorused from your lips – it left Michael in a dilemma straight from his dreams; the need to prolong this to commit it to memory, and the desperation to discover how it’d feel to make you fall apart. 

Michael’s rhythm increased, his jaw clenched as he fucked you into the stairs, the step's ledge gouging into your back. It knocked the wind from you and left you gasping and sputtering between broken moans. Michael set a fervid pace, desperate to claim every inch of your inner core. You drove your hips upward until the sounds of smacking skin chorused around you.

“Robby,” you choked again – half plea and half warning. Your nails raked over his shoulders, clawing desperately at a release. His hips drove upward until he was damn near lifting you off the stairs. Your legs locked tighter around Michael as if they were demanding he grant you an orgasm.

He buried his face in your neck. The stairs creaked with each movement in harmonic tandem with the whines from your throat. 

“Don’t hold back,” Michael ordered. “Come for me.”

Your walls began to flutter and you bit down hard on your bottom lip. Your whines became strained and painful as control slipped from your grasp and your core. Finally, you unleashed a resounding wail as your climax sent you trembling around Michael’s cock in euphoric waves.

The adrenaline from your high surged through Michael and pulsed through his cock as it throbbed. He barked a sharp grunt as he spilled himself inside you, his hips ending their assault.

Michael’s body went slack. He used the scant remnants of his energy to prop himself up above you, his eyes scanning yours. Their quiet hunger had been replaced with tender affection as you both caught your breaths.

“You okay?” Michael asked.

“Yeah, I’m good. You?”

“Good.” Your unwieldy and uncomfortable position on the stairs settled with more clarity when Michael winced from the pain in his knees. “I’m getting too old for this,” he groaned as he shifted himself to sit next to you. You lifted an amused eyebrow at him and he chuckled softly. “Not that I’m complaining,” he added. He pressed a kiss to your temple for emphasis.

“Can I ask you something?” you finally asked curiously.

“Of course.”

“Why didn’t you reply to me earlier? You left me on read.”

Michael offered you a sheepish grin. “I didn’t know what to say,” he admitted. “I mean, I assumed that picture wasn’t for me. And I was afraid if I responded, you’d think I was being a creep.”

“So you instead chose to say nothing and leave me to spiral out all day?”

Michael laughed and rested a hand on your thigh. “If you keep sending me photos like that, I promise I’ll never leave you on read again.”